A birthday visit from my sis, battling a toxic relationship with Britknee, and attempting to belong to a country

 Hey Friends!

How's it going? I always feel for my Canadian friends and family this time of year, as it used to be my most hated pseudo season - "fake spring". The snow melts, green leaves begin to appear, you start putting away the winter clothes, when, poof!  A snowstorm/cold front hits, eliminating all hope, causing one to contemplate jumping into the North Saskatchewan River (but then realizing you can't because it's still frozen). No? Just me? Anyway, I hope that "real spring" is finally there to stay!

I have a few updates since my last blog. 

Firstly, my new furry friends - the "Paw Patrol" are doing well, and such lovely additions to our family. Unfortunately Dilbert is heartworm positive (we knew this when we adopted him). Apparently many of the stray dogs here have heartworm, which is transmitted through mosquitoes. Thankfully, Dilbert's case is mild and one treatment should kill all the worms (fingers crossed). The treatment, however, is quite extensive! First he required antibiotics for a month, then he received his first injection of immiticide. Immiticide kills the worms in the dogs heart, and then the body absorbs the dead worms. After one month, Dilbert will receive 2 more injections to ensure 100% of the worms are killed. You must keep your pet very calm during this 2-month period, as if the heart rate becomes elevated for an extended period of time, the dead worms can block the vessels/arteries, leading to stroke or heart attack. No pressure. Lucky for us, Dilly is a very chill dog, and only gets really excited when we return after being away. We're distracting him with all kinds of nice things like bacon cheese spray. Yes, you heard that correctly. Bacon Cheese Spray for dogs. I keep waiting to find Ev eating it out of the can! Dilly is also working with a trainer. He is very submissive and fearful, so we're hoping that this will improve his confidence. 

Stevie, the blind cat, is not at all happy with Dilbert's new zen routine, and often attempts to provoke him into a little tussle, by swatting him with her paw. "Play with me, dammit!" We'll all be happy once this 2-month period is over and we can resume fun play with our paw patrol members!

physio with the fam!

As for the third new addition - Britknee, well, let's just say that she's probably been one of the most "toxic" houseguests I've ever had. Unfortunately, she literally is a "piece of me," so she will be driving me "crazy" "until the world ends." (See what I did there?) 

I have given Britknee everything. She gets every single exercise ever recommended by any professional who has ever worked with knee replacements. She gets heat. She gets cold. She gets pills - all the pills. She gets electrical stimulation (tens machine). She gets acupuncture, chiropractor, massage. She got birthday champagne - the good stuff! I even gave her a full day off - no physio, no exercise - nothing (this day just resulted in major guilt).  Regardless of what I give this bitch, she continues to complain. 

The other knee, Courtknee, was a breeze compared to this one. I was able to eliminate all of the opioids by the third week, and other than that slight tear to my hamstring 2 months in, there really was minimal pain compared to all the other knee surgeries I've endured. Britknee, on the other hand, is on more pain medications today than she was in the hospital! The pain is relentless and feels like someone is slowly turning a screw into my knee cap (I don't even have a knee cap anymore!) In addition, I'm suffering from nerve pain, which feels like my knee is being randomly electrocuted. At this point the pain is affecting my ability to progress with physio, as well as sleep, focus, and, frankly, to participate in life.  I'm still on crutches, which feels demoralizing this far post surgery. To add to this, Britknee still has issues with being straight, and despite putting myself in torture hangs twice a day, she is only gaining about a degree a week. It's very frustrating. Although my physio encourages me, and praises me for working so hard, he knows that the pain is getting to me. As he eloquently put it, "You're fighting the good fight but it's just not doing you any good right now." 

Y'all know that I like to be good at stuff. It's just in my nature. It kills me that things are sucking so bad right now. Naturally I blame Britknee. Apparently she's structurally sound, and the professionals say that once my nerves have re-attached, this pain will diminish. I wake up everyday (after tossing and turning all night), hoping that she's happier. It's very reminiscent of years 12-18 when I woke up each day praying for a pair of boobs (and we all know how that turned out 😐)

This sucks. I feel like a loser. I know that I'm not, and if I ever saw someone else in this position I would give the person way more grace than I'm giving myself. I know that it's the meds, pain, and overall detachment from the rest of the world right now...but I'm being totally honest. That's how I feel. I know it's temporary and it will get better. I have all the knowledge, skills, and support to change my mindset...and I will. I'm just struggling with this one. I'm so ready to move forward. Literally. 

fu#$ing straighten up Brit-Brit!

On to happier things...

My sister, Kayla came for my birthday! Oh my goodness how I needed her visit! Kayla spent all of March scooting around Bali, followed by a "life changing" Taylor Swift concert. Thankfully, her expectations were low, and she was very eager to chill in Cayman after a busy month. We spent most of her visit doing pool physio and watching reality TV. Kayla even braved the left handed driving and took me to all of my appointments. We organized "daily excursions" to get out of the house, and although they never lasted long due to pain, it was just so nice to have a change of scenery after being cooped up in this condo for the last 6 weeks. Although my birthday was far from a rager this year (ha!), Kayla made me an incredible limoncello cake and we celebrated with a beach BBQ and Britknee's first dip in the sea. Kayla's visit was so good for my soul. I'm so lucky to have her, and I'm glad we've both been able to move past the "babysitting incident of 1995" when she told me that she hated me, I cried, and then stole my dad's booze. 

Finally, I wrote my Permanent Residency exam last week! Evan and I have been "residentless" (is that a word?) for the past 9 years. Although we still possess Canadian passports, we are no longer Canadian residents, and basically work permit holders in Cayman. After 9 years of residing in Cayman, one can apply for Permanent Residency (PR). It's quite a process, which requires letters of reference, medical examinations, police clearance, etc. PR works on a point system. You receive points for certain criteria such as owning property in Cayman, mentoring Caymanians, etc. I submitted my paperwork last August and was required to write the exam yesterday. The exam focuses on the history and politics of Cayman - two of my weakest subjects. Memorizing hundreds of years on all these freakin' medications was no easy feat, but I think I did OK-ish. The exam is not a pass/fail, but rather, you receive points for every correct answer you get - so it's not really that big of deal if you already have sufficient points. Anyway, I memorized 460 flashcards, and only 40 were on the exam, so I now have 420 useless facts floating around my brain. If anyone is interested in information on the history of Cayman, hit me up ASAP before I drain the brain of this information! This information is fleeting, just like Cayman's dependency on Jamaica from 1863 to 1962 😏

Well, kids, that's the April update. I'm off to pamper Britknee with a CBD lotion massage, in hopes that she'll realize she was, indeed, "Born to make me happy."

Cheers!

New additions to the family

Hey friends,

It's been a month since the right knee was replaced. I've been waiting for things to improve so I could post something uplifting and positive, but the reality is that things aren't super awesome right now....but they are "pawsome" (more on that later!)

The whole surgery experience was much different than the other knee. I awoke from surgery feeling cocky, ready to take on the world. The physio came to see me as soon as they transported me from recovery to the ward, saw how exuberant I was, and suggested we try a walk. I tucked my bare bum back in my hospital gown and started cruising the hospital halls. The pain was minimal. I was putting weight on my new knee. I was going down in history as the best knee replacement patient ever. I was high as a fricken kite. I ate a banana and drifted off that night, feeling like a million bucks. Then unfortunately things took a turn. 

Come and see how awesome I am!!!

Wanna see a squat? Maybe a bunny hop?

I started puking and continued to retch for 48 F'N hours. Who knew that you could throw up a banana for 2 F'N days. It was rank, kids. RANK. (BTW: I'm off bananas now. Forever). 

My whole shtick with my non-empathetic surgeon is to showcase my incredible-ness so that I can get discharged faster, but with this horrible nausea, I found myself crying and whining to the whole Ortho team. It was humiliating. They all stood at my bedside staring at me as I dry heaved into a bowl and bawled, "Please make it stop." My surgeon corrected my leg position while I heaved,  "You can't sit like this. It's bad for your knee!" and then proceeded to put me on every IV anti-nauseant known to man. 

My medical team decided to reduce my pain meds in hopes of reducing the nausea. It worked. I was in quite a bit of pain, but preferred that to puking. I knew that I needed to catch up with my extension and flexion, so I requested the CPM - Continuous Pain Machine (I made that up, it's actually the continuous passive motion device, but my name is more suitable). You may recall that the CPM and I have history. I once rented one for $800 to torture me for a month. On my last admission, the CPM from 1985 wasn't working properly and kept stopping just as my knee was positioned at the highest level of flexion. This time, the Physio assured me that the CPM had new parts and was operating in tip top condition. It was...until the power outage.

I sat on the CPM with mom at my side. Every few minutes mom would ask if I was ready to increase the flexion (it increases the bend in your knee), and I was slowly working my way up to 70 degrees. Once I hit 70 degrees, the power suddenly went out in the whole hospital. I was stuck in flexion at 70 degrees! Although the generator was kicking on and off, the machine wasn't working yet and my bed controls wouldn't work to lay me down so I could escape this machine. I tried not to panic, wondering how the patients on life support were doing? (like sheesh). We could hear a patient in the room next to me yelling for help, so I just kinda sat still, hoping this would be over soon. Finally mom helped me awkwardly Houdini my way out of the the torture device. It turned out to be an island-wide power outage - what are the odds? 

I'm home now. It's been a month since my surgery. Mom left after a few weeks and I'm really missing her company. My knee is not happy. It's been a much different experience than my last knee. It's hard not to compare the timeline of the last, and I'm currently much further behind in my recovery. I'm struggling with pain control. I'm experiencing nerve pain, which can be excruciating at times, and causes numbness in my foot. Apparently it happens and can continue for a few days, or months, as my nerves reattach. My new knee, like Courtknee,  is also struggling with extension - it doesn't want to be straight! (In today's age, can't we just respect her wishes?) I attend Physio 3 times a week where he tortures me into extension. I cry a lot. I've called him very bad names, but I know from experience that the sooner I can get full extension, the better off I will be. I really do value my physio, despite all the torture/terrorist jokes. This pain now will lead to a functional, pain free knee in the future.  I know that. I recognize all of the effort going to in to help me. In Baba's words, "So be it." 

"torture hang" (I named it)

People often tell me, "You got this." I appreciate the pep talks and positive encouragement - I really do, but to be honest, at this moment in time, I don't got this. I am struggling. It's been too many consecutive days with high levels of pain. My pain receptors are overloaded. I've had 15 knee surgeries, some much worse than others, but unfortunately, this one is on my top 3 worst experiences list. I'm definitely going out with a bang, but it feels never-ending at the moment. 

I'm days away from shaving my head and smacking faces with an umbrella; therefore, I've obviously named this knee Britknee. She's not well. She's erratic. She's emotional. But...she works hard and has potential for greatness. Welcome to the family, Britknee. Please take your meds and simmer the F down. 

So that's my sad story. But...I also have a really pawesome story to share! We've officially adopted Stevie, the blind cat, and - plot twist - Dilbert, the runaway dog. 

You all knew we'd end up adopting Stevie, didn't you? We've had Stevie, the blind cat, since November. My good bud, Stacey and his girlfriend Charlene, have been raising Stevie since she was a kitten. She had a terrible infection in her eyes when she was found on the streets, and the vet decided to remove both of her eyes. Stacey "lent" Stevie to me in November for company when I was recovering from Courtknee's surgery. Stacey knew exactly what he was doing! Haha. She wasn't the cat I wanted. I wanted a cuddly cat who would curl up with me on the couch and purr away my sadness. Stevie didn't like to be touched. She was quite introverted, although always needed to be near me. Stevie is also very smart. She easily navigated around our house, bravely jumping on the couch, and feeling edges with her paws. It's incredible to watch her balance beam across the top of our couch and move around objects withe ease. In the end, I grew to love Stevie and she grew to love me. She's still quite introverted, but at night, when I'm laying in bed catastrophizing (as we do), she releases the loudest purr and kisses my face with her little nose. She's very sweet, and I admire her sassiness and confidence, despite her disability. 

Sweet little Stevie - a rare moment of cuddles

Now Dilbert was another story. Evan and I have been wanting another dog for quite some time. I knew that we needed to find a calm and gentle dog to co-exist with Stevie. The Humane Society suggested a dog who had recently been rescued off the streets, but was currently in a foster home. The foster mom reached out to me and asked if I wanted to "trial" Dilbert while she was on holidays for 2 weeks. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but oh man, the timing was rough. Dilbert came to us the night that I returned from the hospital. 

Poor Dilbert was terrified when Morgan, his foster mom, dropped him off. He wouldn't eat, drink, or accept treats. He sat at the window and cried all night. I knew a little bit about Dilbert's history. The Department of Agriculture had found him wandering the streets. Often these dogs are euthanized, but thankfully the Humane Society stepped in and took him immediately. Given Dilbert's condition, they theorized that he was around 3 years of age and had been someone's pet at some point, but likely dumped and abandoned.  Unfortunately this is a common practice on island. It was apparent that he had sustained some abuse, as he was very submissive, terrified of men and feet (he was likely kicked). Poor dude had a very rough start. 

The next day, Dilbert would still not engage. He cowered in the corner, obviously sad and scared. He barely moved so we didn't even consider that he might make a run for it...

My mom went to take out the garbage and suddenly Dilbert saw his window, sprinted out the door, and took off down the streets of West Bay - his old stomping grounds. 

Dilbert ran for 3 days. Like Forrest Gump, he just ran. And ran. And ran. 

My mom, Evan, Stacey, Charlene, and various other volunteers chased Dilbert for about 8 hours. There were occasions where someone would get within feet of the dog, but then he immediately sprinted away. No one could catch him!

We finally decided to leave him and put food, water, and his favorite toy on our patio, in hopes of luring him back. (By the way, his favorite toy is "sharky," a stuffed shark, which seemed like a good sign, given our love of shark week). 

It worked! That night I heard scratching on the patio door. It was Dilbert! As soon as he saw me, he took off running again. This dog did not want to be caught. 

By the second day, we had all had it with this dog. Dilbert became "Dickbert" and "Dildo." We contacted the Humane Society to get a trap in place. We posted his face on every online Cayman group, and received multiple messages a day, "I see him in the bushes by my house," and "He's right here by your car!" 

Finally, on day 3, one of his previous fosters agreed to bring her dog, one of Dilbert's buds, to the area where he was last seen. Within 15 minutes Dilbert ran out of the bushes and began playing with this dog. We had him!

I knew that Dilbert was not the dog for us, but we had agreed to look after him while Morgan was away, so I tried my best to speak softly and kindly to him, although frankly, I wanted to pack up this dog and take him back ASAP. 

Then something magical happened. Dilbert and I became buds. 

He began snuggling in with me on the couch, resting his little head on my lap. He followed me cautiously around the house, as I crutched from room to room. He gently approached Stevie, allowing her sniff and examine him. Although he initially peed himself with fear whenever Evan came near him, he eventually accepted his treats and began walking nicely on a leash next to him. Dilbert immediately became very attached to me, and would celebrate my return with a long excited howl and an intense tail wag that often smacked Stevie in the face! Dilbert won his way into our hearts with his gentle, sensitive demeanor. 

When Morgan returned from holiday and texted me about picking up Dilbert, I immediately called her and explained that we had decided to keep him. I think she was quite surprised, given our rough start!

The best part of the Stevie and Dilbert adoption is the connection that they appear to have with each other. Dilbert has become very concerned about Stevie's safety, and immediately runs to her side if he suspects she is upset. One night, Stevie fell off the bed and Dilbert howled to get our attention. When I turned on the light, Stevie was a bit disheveled and obviously embarrassed, while Dilbert sniffed and licked her, ensuring she was ok. They also awkwardly play together. Dilbert chases Sharky around the house and Stevie attempts to intercept Dilbert as he returns with his toy. Basically, Dilly is Stevie's seeing eye dog! I've named them our "paw patrol," as they appear to wander around looking for missions.  Their connection is so sweet,  and I love how happy their presence is making me. They make me laugh, which is exactly what I need right now. They are the best company during these long days. What would we do without pets?

Paw Patrol to the rescue!

Dilly with his favorite toy, "Sharky"

Poor mom was on the "chase Dilbert around West Bay" rescue team. 

There's my long update for y'all! I'm hoping that my next blog update will showcase all the cool things that I'm doing sans crutches with my paw patrol gang. 

Happy Easter!