tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29259336922888780492024-03-16T07:20:17.282-07:00Making WavesKirstie's Adventures in the Cayman IslandsKirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-8762165876014494092024-02-10T06:32:00.000-08:002024-02-10T06:32:35.781-08:00The Evolution of Romance<p> Given that Valentine's Day is just around the corner, I've been spending time with my students discussing love, and ways to show someone that you love and care for them.</p><p>One little girl was very keen to explore the topic, "When a boy gives you flowers, that's romantic, right Ms, Kirstie?"</p><p>"Yes, I guess it can be," I responded. </p><p>She nodded her head as she traced her heart picture, "But what does romantic mean?" she asked. </p><p>Good question.</p><p>I wasn't really sure how to answer this one!</p><p>"Something is romantic if it makes the person you love feel excited or happy?" I shrugged, attempting to redirect the line of questioning. I really didn't know how to define "romance" to a 6 year old!</p><p>When I look back at the last 28 years with Ev, I can very plainly see that my definition of romance has vastly changed throughout the years!</p><p>I've been told that I possess incredible episodic memory. Sometimes a smell, song, or phrase will transport me back, even as far back as my toddler years, and I able to recall an event, or even the way that I felt in a particular moment in time. I assumed everyone had this ability, but I've learned that most of my friends can't remember that one time I angrily threw Kyla's "baby alive" down a flight of stairs in preschool (baby was NOT so alive after that one!) or the joy I felt when I opened the cool purple Northern Reflections T-shirt that Amy and Janna bought me for my birthday in grade 5. I remember it all!</p><p>One of my most favorite romantic memories stems from a magical night in March 1997. </p><p>I was 17 years old, had been dating Evan Lindsay for approximately 1 month, and was absolutely besotted with him (I've always wanted to use the word "besotted"). Evan invited me to a Raider party, which basically consisted of the hockey team, and whomever could fit in the unlucky host's basement. The team had just won a big game, Evan was MVP, I was dating the MVP, about to graduate high school, and sitting on top of the world!</p><p>I arrived a little late to the party, donning my Guess jeans paired with my Mavi jean vest over a white crop top (the Shania Twain "Any Man of Mine" look), wreaking of Malibu Musk. I looked HOT. To my shock and amazement, my very introverted boyfriend was dancing on top of a table, and chugging red wine out of a paper bag (we were at the mercy of the 19 year olds who pulled booze for us). Granted, our relationship was new, but this wild "party Evan" persona was very new. </p><p>Mark McGrath (Sugar Ray), "Fly" was blasting from a CD in a sweet JVC stereo, and as Evan saw me walk through the door, he locked eyes with me, pointed his shaky drunk finger in my direction, and lip sync'd the words, "<b>Who knows how long I've loved you." </b></p><p>OH. MY. GOD.</p><p>Did anyone else just see Evan Lindsay profess his undying love for me in front of all of his teammates at a Raider party?</p><p>Apparently not...but I sure did. </p><p>I can still feel my heart completely fall out of my chest. This was my teenage girl fantasy come true. </p><p>That night, I felt like I was dating the most romantic "man/boy" (we were 17!) in the world. Even as I pulled the car over later that night, watching Evan violently puke all the red wine into the street, I just knew this guy was a keeper. </p><p>The romance just kept coming.</p><p>Every 3rd of the month (our first date was Feb 3) for ONE WHOLE YEAR, a box of 12 long stem roses were delivered to my house. These weren't Safeway roses, people! These were exquisite, perfect FLORIST roses. Evan often included a thoughtful note, or even an original poem, professing his very real 17 year old love for me. </p><p>I hung each and every rose, upside down, in my room for that entire year until one day my Mom walked in and exclaimed, "This place looks like a rose graveyard. Maybe we can toss some of these dead roses?" </p><p>I found out years later that Evan had been using his parents credit card (for emergencies only) to purchase my very pricey roses each month. "Well, it was kind of an emergency!" he explained...which to me, was also quite romantic. His parents may have thought differently! Ha. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivNo5qSD2zP5XY0mfWr0Yiz0AhfvwTyLvpAWXwbh8GLh0z2aBOo5yr7sPreDGK1dq-lCInJf8qUCaSaODyy34668OuxmK-QorJLV8zVnEwPaN14eTta6iezVefUXWP91OOAmnXmtI0L943UUu5Y_PJovY7UgfFK_h4mIwDbZhg0jRb_qQIrFBLRz3w3RI/s720/download-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="720" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivNo5qSD2zP5XY0mfWr0Yiz0AhfvwTyLvpAWXwbh8GLh0z2aBOo5yr7sPreDGK1dq-lCInJf8qUCaSaODyy34668OuxmK-QorJLV8zVnEwPaN14eTta6iezVefUXWP91OOAmnXmtI0L943UUu5Y_PJovY7UgfFK_h4mIwDbZhg0jRb_qQIrFBLRz3w3RI/s320/download-24.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPPq9EdJO0vA_OswimKnsFD6fRgeJR-UI52fuGAT_sVTQTfbJttPIpEHb06YuMZ7bPRCUiA0BpEP4fe-DnSIHb0pnsQ9GFWxBnrgN_l0Q6fsNfSeZNHJmc9F3Zij0v_s50zUaILjr7thiuD2Dswk104kKe4YoBatwqNBhyDA3IG1nQ4wzJXPOavVnJ0rXJ/s720/download-23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="720" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPPq9EdJO0vA_OswimKnsFD6fRgeJR-UI52fuGAT_sVTQTfbJttPIpEHb06YuMZ7bPRCUiA0BpEP4fe-DnSIHb0pnsQ9GFWxBnrgN_l0Q6fsNfSeZNHJmc9F3Zij0v_s50zUaILjr7thiuD2Dswk104kKe4YoBatwqNBhyDA3IG1nQ4wzJXPOavVnJ0rXJ/s320/download-23.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiP-6GRcZq__ol9KQ58Vr0DRdhYNbVV1eyzg8b1YtSEgX9EqBnxKJ1RPX4yAGZy_NBmLWKewQPxpF3za9nhZRusF6WIJ_xEUV6geJkJD6V_TIAfJ7SjXXE861OIzIZlRbPDQ32Urke1fGXg8frA93A1TcBBW82vVVfJl8kqqtZtsdGddIoRWQcgXCCQh1U/s720/download-25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="544" data-original-width="720" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiP-6GRcZq__ol9KQ58Vr0DRdhYNbVV1eyzg8b1YtSEgX9EqBnxKJ1RPX4yAGZy_NBmLWKewQPxpF3za9nhZRusF6WIJ_xEUV6geJkJD6V_TIAfJ7SjXXE861OIzIZlRbPDQ32Urke1fGXg8frA93A1TcBBW82vVVfJl8kqqtZtsdGddIoRWQcgXCCQh1U/s320/download-25.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZs38xOsjfFNX79TlYjmMUvlvj1rhOEsO6k4IUmPBOe13d3K1WU0uGB0kf8x2pat0-dSGQ8c_2amgrEbciUMYlpXr8G5FeQ0r6TT5Ijb4yjl9SLswxKB_J2ml1IToiwG-I_B4brEZdJkPpAXEhf4_wkBazugo3rQPaA-Wrl2nlKFKhv0z2fs8xa1mjUI4S/s720/download-26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="720" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZs38xOsjfFNX79TlYjmMUvlvj1rhOEsO6k4IUmPBOe13d3K1WU0uGB0kf8x2pat0-dSGQ8c_2amgrEbciUMYlpXr8G5FeQ0r6TT5Ijb4yjl9SLswxKB_J2ml1IToiwG-I_B4brEZdJkPpAXEhf4_wkBazugo3rQPaA-Wrl2nlKFKhv0z2fs8xa1mjUI4S/s320/download-26.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_W13zyqbGbDzEapIL-6ca88az6P0B4_wdhbTwlsTSAoz6i-iLrZqlfRf7bAbEEIVos4sGID2nakTw0aPx4cCASOaDgSzoK9OZhp5CQU-zvNbq5rN3iLweQtsmkIYZmEaK4dFt2mY4sBBrrfG828Xth-3Nz5-dwQf2Nx-jPBX0_RP-xNMOkLllkfq099m5/s720/download-27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_W13zyqbGbDzEapIL-6ca88az6P0B4_wdhbTwlsTSAoz6i-iLrZqlfRf7bAbEEIVos4sGID2nakTw0aPx4cCASOaDgSzoK9OZhp5CQU-zvNbq5rN3iLweQtsmkIYZmEaK4dFt2mY4sBBrrfG828Xth-3Nz5-dwQf2Nx-jPBX0_RP-xNMOkLllkfq099m5/s320/download-27.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p>After 28 years together, the romance isn't quite so "flashy." And...thankfully Evan is no longer drunk dancing on tables or using his parents credit card to purchase flowers for me (AND...I'm no longer wearing Malibu Musk). Because that would be weird.</p><p>Romance now is more subtle...but also much more meaningful and thoughtful. </p><p>Romance is preparing my tea for me early in the morning, so that it's the perfect temperature to sip as soon as I've woken up. </p><p>Romance is filling up the vehicle with gas the night before I need it for a work road trip.</p><p>Romance is leaving little notes in unexpected places, wishing me a good day or encouraging me to keep going. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcn8EvtG3sogUUIAx0fyxz4PqhjUXeM2-bAP9UP8yYCQqq4BlQ4ZqbZriJdKDrgHMO3uFqxSwQawY_FbtFX97l1OFvVInhghpcerClFM8bM-BAm8ngSpHHq9xq8go5rL630ZoojR-Rt7XR4kFXyH6fIN5QFvIxDLNA6XE8XPuC3aJisWVcY8df0qPeABza/s720/download-29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="692" data-original-width="720" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcn8EvtG3sogUUIAx0fyxz4PqhjUXeM2-bAP9UP8yYCQqq4BlQ4ZqbZriJdKDrgHMO3uFqxSwQawY_FbtFX97l1OFvVInhghpcerClFM8bM-BAm8ngSpHHq9xq8go5rL630ZoojR-Rt7XR4kFXyH6fIN5QFvIxDLNA6XE8XPuC3aJisWVcY8df0qPeABza/w200-h193/download-29.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Terrible handwriting, but lovely to discover under my pillow!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Romance is cooking and freezing meals for me when he's off island for work (he knows I'll probably eat popcorn and cookie dough like a 12 year old!)</p><p>Romance is holding my hand and giving it an extra squeeze in uncomfortable situations. </p><p>Romance is not having to say a word, just sitting quietly together, thankful for your person's presence. </p><p>Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy passion, flowers, and impractical gifts on the occasion, but to me, it's the day-to-day ways in which he demonstrates his love for and pays close attention to my needs that also qualifies as romance now - a much different definition than my 17-year old self would have expressed.</p><p>Ev's been off island for the past 12 days for work, missing a massive "nor' wester" that produced 18-foot waves, destroying our landscaping and causing our pool to overflow with trees and debris. Needless to say, I'm really looking forward to his return this weekend. It will be nice to get back to our regularly scheduled programming. </p><p>Cheers friends - Happy Valentine's Day!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5KlhXJp3dhmpj_YkcLRRgVEtrlzEKUaKC0-ojjc25avOxrL1nK526ORXTbEhPPBy-cGAeau3xenJyln2dqGy938kwnjPMqoSelmf7n05nk-NjFLH4ZM6bXur1K6Orap6qRhX_Ld2ERVh47RrlZTLwECpvCc23rM8Yw4intmWguwkYaQXnrjF45xYW55wE/s720/download-28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5KlhXJp3dhmpj_YkcLRRgVEtrlzEKUaKC0-ojjc25avOxrL1nK526ORXTbEhPPBy-cGAeau3xenJyln2dqGy938kwnjPMqoSelmf7n05nk-NjFLH4ZM6bXur1K6Orap6qRhX_Ld2ERVh47RrlZTLwECpvCc23rM8Yw4intmWguwkYaQXnrjF45xYW55wE/s320/download-28.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This pool...not so romantic!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-5374573080498099222024-01-07T07:16:00.000-08:002024-01-07T07:16:59.678-08:00California Love<p> Happy New Year Friends!</p><p>I hope that your 2024 is off to a good start. </p><p>I had a really incredible Christmas break - one of the best! Lani, my Mom's very good friend, summer it up as "the perfect Trifecta," and that, it was!</p><p>Cayman Airways now offers a direct flight to LA, which is super convenient. In less than 6 hours, you can be standing on the edge of the Hollywood sign! (Name the song!). I flew to LA on Dec 18 and met up with my dad and sister, Kayla, who flew down from Saskatoon. Oh man, we had a good time! We rented a really cute Airbnb in Fallbrook, California, which is a little town between San Diego and LA. It was close to one of my favorite seaside towns, Oceanside, as well as Temecula, the wine valley. I loved this house! We had a huge comfy couch, a cute back yard with fruit trees, hammocks, a fire pit, and a galvanized tub for cold plunges. We spent every morning drinking hot bevvies by the fire, and evenings watching "Travels with my Father" on our big comfy couch (so appropriate for our vacation! "DADDY!")</p><p>The first activity was the Temecula wine tour, which I had previously partook in with Ev last February. When we boarded our stretch black party bus with a seemingly shy couple and a mother and daughter duo, I whispered to Kayla, "Just wait until the 2nd or 3rd winery, everyone will come out of their shell." And, as predicted, I vividly recall looking up and watching dad, Kayla and the rest of our crew hanging onto the poles whilst dancing and belting out "Gloria" (dad's selection) at the top of their lungs! It was so fun. I asked dad if he enjoyed the wines on the wine tour and he responded, "It's really just a booze cruise." Haha. Yep, I suppose it was.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe8rcVqbryDeDHIsLl8OX3BZw9K2JIDpJCr6nWMs09mTyC8VAcHWNlvB7YXoDzDesnlOcO4LkVMlQhEuqqedZ6N9JNUkDAvQdU4pwMt0O10J284ldyLplyaCKjHhnk4s_vVitVrkIJ8QH9kmTwSbFJYKDrWOzFqOu5z0u2aUSzjPMc2rQsFwNFWoI4Yg9Y/s720/download-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe8rcVqbryDeDHIsLl8OX3BZw9K2JIDpJCr6nWMs09mTyC8VAcHWNlvB7YXoDzDesnlOcO4LkVMlQhEuqqedZ6N9JNUkDAvQdU4pwMt0O10J284ldyLplyaCKjHhnk4s_vVitVrkIJ8QH9kmTwSbFJYKDrWOzFqOu5z0u2aUSzjPMc2rQsFwNFWoI4Yg9Y/s320/download-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Temecula Valley</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhha76wIAPbqh8Ed1iUTdy5wHPWXFA8nG9kBoc6oZfUpoOX6W7mDlKl_LAnff613RG_5ulUTQcV1zkNQdQsPAwtoxkCqYqAJ8gElS6NolyUqWuW3qykfGt8me00PnnEBV095zKhQOARpVQq47fGMfg52d5BlXLu-VTFHi6B7UF7Q0_ZDm-dpNgvIlSLn66F/s1024/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhha76wIAPbqh8Ed1iUTdy5wHPWXFA8nG9kBoc6oZfUpoOX6W7mDlKl_LAnff613RG_5ulUTQcV1zkNQdQsPAwtoxkCqYqAJ8gElS6NolyUqWuW3qykfGt8me00PnnEBV095zKhQOARpVQq47fGMfg52d5BlXLu-VTFHi6B7UF7Q0_ZDm-dpNgvIlSLn66F/s320/download.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well that escalated!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>I loved hanging out with my Dad and sister. We had so many laughs. They are so much fun to be around! Kayla and I good-naturedly tease our dad, he takes it, and we all have a good laugh. We often lose dad on holidays, and eventually find him...typically making a new best friend....and this one wasn't any different. Eventually we found him a local pub, saddled up at the bar with an orchard farmer, "This is my new friend, Paul!" proclaimed dad. "Please don't take Les away, we have so much to talk about!" replied new bestie, Paul. They exchanged emails (it's that what you do in your 70's?) and vowed to meet up in Mexico.</p><p>Another key moment was driving through Laguna Beach. Kayla and I religiously watched the MTV show, "Laguna Beach" in the early 2000's, so we took great enjoyment in seeking out filming locations and singing the theme song repeatedly "Let the rain fall down...." Dad didn't even flinch. He just took it all in...over and over and over again! Secretly, I think he enjoyed it. We rented a 3-man bike in Oceanside and took turns pedaling down the coast, laughing as we dodged walkers and bikes, with zero elbow room. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5mVikHjpAqt0nZVP-X8WaPm4pmXl7PcvXxzp9nBwWjYsg3PHW13atGxx6RZcyr2PgoxqacR5lGGDMGou_lwMBC4QCNQvR-Ya2g7z6AjGyXhGb3GF3ATybb65JVL6Mvq-qfOCR1vB2j6fyPQS-G-wgHeyURJDP1CYIb0TiWLvBAsAprd3rPcYBRzawxR4/s720/download-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5mVikHjpAqt0nZVP-X8WaPm4pmXl7PcvXxzp9nBwWjYsg3PHW13atGxx6RZcyr2PgoxqacR5lGGDMGou_lwMBC4QCNQvR-Ya2g7z6AjGyXhGb3GF3ATybb65JVL6Mvq-qfOCR1vB2j6fyPQS-G-wgHeyURJDP1CYIb0TiWLvBAsAprd3rPcYBRzawxR4/s320/download-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oceanside</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbNVtaKn_HrPvU0N1CFWDBbkYmvFcgrEDyiw70CbA9XxZWG1-5QWUOqA2yfZ-EUVBPAD61VJjzL8gtqkBaze54X4PS-CxaTHkNkvYNBdfzJ_DmdTO_K8Euxz_9YHPrCeH0FSN0VbVDJN2OqofP3Na97HjLVkV9m334ygBliY5n4BWM8SHuYNvjXsPcGqT/s1024/9b2001a9-722b-4ddd-b39a-ed03b43bc16a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbNVtaKn_HrPvU0N1CFWDBbkYmvFcgrEDyiw70CbA9XxZWG1-5QWUOqA2yfZ-EUVBPAD61VJjzL8gtqkBaze54X4PS-CxaTHkNkvYNBdfzJ_DmdTO_K8Euxz_9YHPrCeH0FSN0VbVDJN2OqofP3Na97HjLVkV9m334ygBliY5n4BWM8SHuYNvjXsPcGqT/s320/9b2001a9-722b-4ddd-b39a-ed03b43bc16a.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Temecula Town</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR6QiVE7XawOdPnxGK3u_7fs3iGWMIaB1l9GKhorK2X35ODcHz11iBd3yjk832V6I_Lp5AZ2C0xB7aKoSk7pXLXcwFNktLxaVTs_-lDBFr3uO0E06IO7Jl_uphzmSd9ZHbS8ZN4f5V_Aq1mFZ17TqsHD6lVsqRNqxMxMXeWv3_Fth4Nji8pNXvGascsv0P/s720/download-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR6QiVE7XawOdPnxGK3u_7fs3iGWMIaB1l9GKhorK2X35ODcHz11iBd3yjk832V6I_Lp5AZ2C0xB7aKoSk7pXLXcwFNktLxaVTs_-lDBFr3uO0E06IO7Jl_uphzmSd9ZHbS8ZN4f5V_Aq1mFZ17TqsHD6lVsqRNqxMxMXeWv3_Fth4Nji8pNXvGascsv0P/s320/download-6.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fallbrook</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>After 4 days with my Dad and Sister, I hopped on a little puddle jumper to my Mom and Lenny in their dessert oasis, Rio Bend. This is retirement life at it's finest, people. First order of the day is aquacise class in the 90 degree pool, proceeded by ample Today Show coffee time, followed by golf, ending with a happy hour that spans anywhere from 3-4 hours. Bedtime is anytime after 7pm and let me tell you, I live for this schedule! I had such a nice week with my mom. We were able to do lots of Christmasy things like bake goodies for all of the neighbours, and watch our favorite Christmas movies. The highlight was definitely the golf cart carol singing. Everyone in the community decorated their golf carts (picture lights, giant blow up santas, wreaths, bells - you name it, it was there! We then drove around in our carts, stopping along the way to sing Christmas carols! After completing 2 Christmas songs, we were often rewarded with a shot. Yep, a shot - there was Bailey's, fireball, butterscotch schnapps - bottoms up! By the end of the caroling, golf carts were colliding, reindeer ears were sideways, and Christmas tunes were out of tune. It was a blast! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqK93wSE8F4enM7JKu6EBcwNO6CiT0zstqFgVpqDuXnLEm8sXCyhwNoUUvUXyG-Zj4hzyt9xS8L9MyInZJrOnocysKVJNohSA4jZBap-FdT-P952PpNV9lDQUzJZuZEEhUIerijS0ozHrxph5blHt7Rv1PYGHyJaJ6WoahgtXLkJ5mhqM24x1M9cs_GmSs/s320/download-7.jpg" width="240" /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPHqf96-kYADIWxr7PQnzzEf7e9yhphSzSpqkIb6f7liWjZWBazfVz_3-hdf0ZOB7Ob9VZi6lSNofLa64ZVh3lRpKYQf9EHZj7Vw4WhqNDra_GBTfIEggCzoHgs5kEFY3EYUAJIRqrhGCyW3_T2ERokZF1uR42Q614tQnqOO_94T6ozx48MaH-t349rx4/s720/download-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPHqf96-kYADIWxr7PQnzzEf7e9yhphSzSpqkIb6f7liWjZWBazfVz_3-hdf0ZOB7Ob9VZi6lSNofLa64ZVh3lRpKYQf9EHZj7Vw4WhqNDra_GBTfIEggCzoHgs5kEFY3EYUAJIRqrhGCyW3_T2ERokZF1uR42Q614tQnqOO_94T6ozx48MaH-t349rx4/s320/download-8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmRZbhOL4_sLJvxDfp0KT_zRo9VkGPxaI4L7iPvLmDxYcmP7M1T6kgUKYCwxxMz7lQ1ShcCssCOCd29_oYlDSOkMM6oOV0ZJSaJobaUz6bqFcnKl5LP3d8nhjA-iVv3wtloRfF6jY4YDGluY4d6rYQrbyZ6qqJ3xOB56kXImyanLDlNC93RfTAnrBgKwmK/s720/download-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmRZbhOL4_sLJvxDfp0KT_zRo9VkGPxaI4L7iPvLmDxYcmP7M1T6kgUKYCwxxMz7lQ1ShcCssCOCd29_oYlDSOkMM6oOV0ZJSaJobaUz6bqFcnKl5LP3d8nhjA-iVv3wtloRfF6jY4YDGluY4d6rYQrbyZ6qqJ3xOB56kXImyanLDlNC93RfTAnrBgKwmK/s320/download-10.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>We had a near Christmas miss when Mom's oven stopped working around 7pm on Christmas Eve. Poor Lenny pulled that thing out and attempted to fix it, stating, "Maybe something will be open tomorrow for parts?" haha, on Christmas? Can we quickly beg Santa for an oven element? Luckily, Mom's friend and neighbour suggested their Traeger grill, and although Mom was initially skeptical, it was one of the best turkeys I've ever had! A Christmas miracle, indeed (Traeger, sponsor me!)</p><p>I always enjoy spending time with my mom, but it's a huge bonus if it's not after one of my surgeries! We had such a nice relaxing time, just enjoying each other's company, and having lots of laughs with Lenny and their friends. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE-KPeWlQVafj7OMsoyTmY4NxumQzPZ5B87BphruZFAZ7On3xHw-IsH9XJnnP2bRc1dFCaQBWwZnreGzWjHhInH6zsu3thBrMe5uz9u7dcuepmHzFtDztRrP1Q897arofJxav9tRjjXsxEoDyBaH1npQ9eAVAM-t8Tu1Id2WSSjdBC7qGo03ioUFQjYebR/s720/download-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="542" data-original-width="720" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE-KPeWlQVafj7OMsoyTmY4NxumQzPZ5B87BphruZFAZ7On3xHw-IsH9XJnnP2bRc1dFCaQBWwZnreGzWjHhInH6zsu3thBrMe5uz9u7dcuepmHzFtDztRrP1Q897arofJxav9tRjjXsxEoDyBaH1npQ9eAVAM-t8Tu1Id2WSSjdBC7qGo03ioUFQjYebR/s320/download-11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Once Christmas was over, I hopped back on my private jet (Southern Airways tiny Cessna), and flew back to LA, where I was reunited with my Evan! Ev had spent a really nice (much colder) Christmas with his mom, Peggy, in Red Deer, Canada. We immediately picked up our Minnie Winnie for our Pacific Coast RV adventure!</p><p>Our first stop was Malibu, where we enjoyed a beautiful ocean view from our campsite. We then proceeded down state route 1 to Pismo Beach. Pismo Beach is a classic, no frills California beach town. The sandy beach extends for miles and a long pier jets out into the sea. We camped at the Pismo Beach State campground, at the end of river. After exploring the pier and enjoying a cocktail in Pismo Beach, we headed back to our campsite, attempted to start a fire with the wettest wood ever, and eventually gave up, falling asleep to the sound of the river behind us. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3aIvMtyhL7w-t9XVLRX7nuXCvNBqm-5pDBZon6a98YL1E2AT1yNG-StD9OzQYCQvB5GMKl0Iqin4UqLGlz2PETpuxMwM9ruflHniHMqWZEOEkVr5Mt90HagwvlpZ82Da8xdiyXIZ7cgIzuEUCW67PFq6VkwJGLTDhXZ0OovBUTjqR93uSv4itLMNE7qy/s720/download-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="542" data-original-width="720" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3aIvMtyhL7w-t9XVLRX7nuXCvNBqm-5pDBZon6a98YL1E2AT1yNG-StD9OzQYCQvB5GMKl0Iqin4UqLGlz2PETpuxMwM9ruflHniHMqWZEOEkVr5Mt90HagwvlpZ82Da8xdiyXIZ7cgIzuEUCW67PFq6VkwJGLTDhXZ0OovBUTjqR93uSv4itLMNE7qy/s320/download-13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Malibu</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnOYVeDE-18vbe0mHxxDFpFpVusp6Ibc4euNk2zpvjIJRebaa4ry_drP4pWztJ5TwhDHDPzBHbrRsvGHe9uUp9y2GE77NO_8u8rSbqtbXI95ugWwgmbr7L6fS1eWxadRn8mP7tdRx7S6vuEmhBUyhnQNVHLOgKAp86ShYalgugPwiKfrSk9Tt4FrMM5O8/s720/download-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnOYVeDE-18vbe0mHxxDFpFpVusp6Ibc4euNk2zpvjIJRebaa4ry_drP4pWztJ5TwhDHDPzBHbrRsvGHe9uUp9y2GE77NO_8u8rSbqtbXI95ugWwgmbr7L6fS1eWxadRn8mP7tdRx7S6vuEmhBUyhnQNVHLOgKAp86ShYalgugPwiKfrSk9Tt4FrMM5O8/s320/download-14.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pismo Beach State Park</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>The next day we intended to take the Pacific Coast Highway up to Big Sur; however, every time we plugged in our destination, Google maps was rerouting us. We discovered that a storm hundreds of miles out in Pacific was creating massive waves. This, paired with the high tide, was causing these waves to unprecedentedly crash onto shore, damaging part of the highway. So, unfortunately, we were unable to enjoy the full Pacific Coast experience, we were diverted and aable to reach Big Sur via the 101. </p><p>Ev and I did this drive in our early twenties, so I recall just how magnificent Big Sur is! So, I had expectations, and luckily, those expectations were met.</p><p>Big Sur is all about the drama. Once you enter the beautiful city of Carmel, you begin the trek on the narrow, windy roads that drop hundreds of feet into the crashing surf. Not one to ever worry (ha!) I began picturing the door to our Minnie Winnie spontaneously popping open, sending me flailing into the crashing surf. Man, I love relaxing vacations 😟 Due to the storm, Ev and I were able to witness huge Mavericks - 50 foot waves that crashed into the caverns and rocks that jutted out from the coast. It was mesmerizing! Big Sur is breathtaking, and not to be missed if you are considering a California road trip. </p><p>Our campground in Big Sur was something out of Disney's Fern Gully. Surrounded by enormous Red Wood trees and a forest bottom teeming with ferns and bubbling brooks, we quickly started a fire (this one worked!!), prepared dinner and sipped our drinks, enjoying all the smells and sounds around us. I can still smell the smoky wood burning mixed with the earthy scent of the forest. It was magical. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGY3tMk44gK1pYcL0dYpyKZSt87Y4sbjx_ROCBD1pip0SCWO3PFDt-awsEBAZyB-H5dFFzH4__wHObCi5fIAUY5s43xc0-37cHu87NqCnouRKw14GjnG2_UbuRbEJTVHHRAGF1a2ROYXIvLR4gu36a8qyzG_NLuy2P-ZJQSHDa0N89ArcnD4p-OukWomzb/s720/download-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="542" data-original-width="720" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGY3tMk44gK1pYcL0dYpyKZSt87Y4sbjx_ROCBD1pip0SCWO3PFDt-awsEBAZyB-H5dFFzH4__wHObCi5fIAUY5s43xc0-37cHu87NqCnouRKw14GjnG2_UbuRbEJTVHHRAGF1a2ROYXIvLR4gu36a8qyzG_NLuy2P-ZJQSHDa0N89ArcnD4p-OukWomzb/s320/download-15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Sur</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv2oBS6hcJ1U1hm-ZPQkv-Yz7ckmRdEfKe1j8MzxckpSmqKwqN8-mcxvtTKU282mLUli9DmSgTcsUPYNCDvrVfEn4CN9_DZMmVtwO6IXJgBKlcXP3evQnGEePGrRZuD3dKCeASBz4KGeP4wa7twaetsrWJvZ_7O2MwuOWsF6PwQzUH4i2PeRtgqLJVJtSP/s720/download-16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="542" data-original-width="720" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv2oBS6hcJ1U1hm-ZPQkv-Yz7ckmRdEfKe1j8MzxckpSmqKwqN8-mcxvtTKU282mLUli9DmSgTcsUPYNCDvrVfEn4CN9_DZMmVtwO6IXJgBKlcXP3evQnGEePGrRZuD3dKCeASBz4KGeP4wa7twaetsrWJvZ_7O2MwuOWsF6PwQzUH4i2PeRtgqLJVJtSP/s320/download-16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pacific Coast Highway</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvEe-4VdPXXtaodrMgXJtSFNSxQOlWiKT-l55PqixY9l061jSOI7oe5sH9bKhTjycq5yJ-FahkdikCR_n_vW79uYNqtrAX33Z-ZP9tvq-djS2qXLwIFAfkLBxdm9naVcYYf9TQFeUKx4nLqLYO2BNpuKmxCzJ64IjI7pz2cmHjy7bLVmbhy9E8TUXesPqH/s1024/download-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvEe-4VdPXXtaodrMgXJtSFNSxQOlWiKT-l55PqixY9l061jSOI7oe5sH9bKhTjycq5yJ-FahkdikCR_n_vW79uYNqtrAX33Z-ZP9tvq-djS2qXLwIFAfkLBxdm9naVcYYf9TQFeUKx4nLqLYO2BNpuKmxCzJ64IjI7pz2cmHjy7bLVmbhy9E8TUXesPqH/s320/download-19.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morro Bay</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLF8VWIw9y53GCZ2wEzFxW1C8cdX1i2HfflXu0JeXbaV2Hz1RR01NQpAKXZCIoPwx85VD8i4QFCNTJLsEzau2bg5mj5SVXl7ZEANu1Hb0R-Rv0nv0Q64ilssgk9QpXp7yz709wM4AoEOdzcFSx2LC1jE5LBWFZE4u183GCXzd4CMxKaHrcPubK_ED3-iW/s720/download-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLF8VWIw9y53GCZ2wEzFxW1C8cdX1i2HfflXu0JeXbaV2Hz1RR01NQpAKXZCIoPwx85VD8i4QFCNTJLsEzau2bg5mj5SVXl7ZEANu1Hb0R-Rv0nv0Q64ilssgk9QpXp7yz709wM4AoEOdzcFSx2LC1jE5LBWFZE4u183GCXzd4CMxKaHrcPubK_ED3-iW/s320/download-20.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Sur</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09LnqUxM-PSB9azJPMRqO7E44jCsEx2beDac4km0lEQDqq9wpKJh8mw_S6aXmECH7bQaEwZreC_9ouRVwISxHqeDdq1GCYrhJiPWtMGnby2mOBtJxbov60hgBI24hlgTduKA5XFwIkZVmAG8nn-vMQGG7Od2jMlWAi5O9MFBgadK_BncWZcFp9kGAHSnE/s720/download-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09LnqUxM-PSB9azJPMRqO7E44jCsEx2beDac4km0lEQDqq9wpKJh8mw_S6aXmECH7bQaEwZreC_9ouRVwISxHqeDdq1GCYrhJiPWtMGnby2mOBtJxbov60hgBI24hlgTduKA5XFwIkZVmAG8nn-vMQGG7Od2jMlWAi5O9MFBgadK_BncWZcFp9kGAHSnE/s320/download-21.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Sur</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Although we had pre-booked the majority of our campsites for our trip, we failed to book our last night, as we weren't entirely sure where we would be. We were struggling to find a campground near Santa Barbara, when suddenly 1 spot opened up at a place called "Jalama Beach." On the map, it appeared to be somewhat close to our destination, and the description boasted an ocean view, so we decided to go for it. </p><p>We reluctantly said goodby to Big Sur and continued our trek back down the coast. After a few hours of driving, we came across a sign for Jalama Beach. The turn took us through cattle fields, forests, and across small creeks. With not another vehicle in sight, it honestly felt like we were heading nowhere (or to a place where strangers harvest our organs - again with the worry). I kept second guessing the directions, wondering if we had strayed off course, but signs continued to promise it was just up ahead. </p><p>Suddenly we turned a corner and were met with a spectacular view! There, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, was a beautiful secluded beach. Mouth agape, I couldn't believe that we had found such a treasure! </p><p>Once we checked in, we parked our Winnie up on a cliff, overlooking this beautiful beach. Our neighbours immediately began to inform us that a huge rogue wave had hit the campground the day before, destroying the first 2 rows of campgrounds and even uplifting the playground! Apparently the campground was evacuated and then reopened on the day that we arrived. I guess that's how we managed to score such a great spot. </p><p>This site was one for the books! A small store and restaurant sat just down the hill, serving, the "world famous Jalama Burger." This little ma and pa restaurant has been open for over 40 years. This place had an incredible history - it was such great find! I also discovered one of the best sauvignon blancs I've ever tasted, from the Brander Vineyard just down the road, and Ev and I proceeded to eat our delicious burgers and sip wine by our fire - gazing at one of our favorite California views thus far!</p><p>Overall, the RV trip was awesome. Although I do enjoy a 5-star resort (with a jetted tub, please), I must say that the RV trip is a great way to explore a lot of the state. There is nothing better than falling asleep to the sounds of crackling fires and crashing waves, and then waking up to a beautiful view while sipping a hot drink. In addition, wifi was spotty, which forced us to get off our phones, and just really enjoy each other and the nature around us. I loved this trip, and would highly recommend it to others. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZu3IoWr2pEXfoM_ZUlw0M5tn4bXEwZrKx-6ZWARF2AyPm3gdL1-0kkOy0A6tYBly2Mt97I7siWMSKOviVDoyn9J6gIxGxcrnyHF1DwN_9jDYIhL5ysmf-wOWsFUpyyhaBjq6SlYJtQdu9NrYx1Nu2qBmxsyztcQKZykalF7Wm3dUi3vdk7tLAg0c6yPYX/s720/download-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="542" data-original-width="720" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZu3IoWr2pEXfoM_ZUlw0M5tn4bXEwZrKx-6ZWARF2AyPm3gdL1-0kkOy0A6tYBly2Mt97I7siWMSKOviVDoyn9J6gIxGxcrnyHF1DwN_9jDYIhL5ysmf-wOWsFUpyyhaBjq6SlYJtQdu9NrYx1Nu2qBmxsyztcQKZykalF7Wm3dUi3vdk7tLAg0c6yPYX/s320/download-17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jalama Beach</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ox9fDzYVdB4TzhWRL3OaU98rvbNXtVfVJMiLryKQRwYsIDV27jpjmQBaGwNk_N4cBv9HYpaQAklxtxOj0H7qDHKxVDmoXB-DmYF5gKOK_RUkIf7v_D4yzR_YH_rsKBuYwJ7CCQ0m8y9bHKBeF_FKWDWBiWToM2mkcTss526_YRXqjE5mhUdEU4dCb2FB/s720/download-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ox9fDzYVdB4TzhWRL3OaU98rvbNXtVfVJMiLryKQRwYsIDV27jpjmQBaGwNk_N4cBv9HYpaQAklxtxOj0H7qDHKxVDmoXB-DmYF5gKOK_RUkIf7v_D4yzR_YH_rsKBuYwJ7CCQ0m8y9bHKBeF_FKWDWBiWToM2mkcTss526_YRXqjE5mhUdEU4dCb2FB/s320/download-18.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jalama Beach</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Aside: Johnknee was OK. Like his namesake from Dirty Dancing, he's a bit unpredictable at the moment. He will happily dance on a log over a river, practice "The Lift", but abandon me in a huff because he's moody or whatever. Anyway, there were moments of good and moments of "why won't my fricken knee work," but I'm hopeful that we're heading in the right trajectory, as we all know Dirty Dancing had a happy ending. ;) </p><p>Ok, Friends, I apologize for the long post, but I needed to document one of my best holidays - my "Trifecta" with my nearest and dearest. </p><p>Happy New Year! I'm excited to make some positive changes this year. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis0I9KhwRv1ip3uXIAYe0gWz1TnAuiHTJEpqQBnDtKmPjXoPXIchPqOJUVG2B41AoKo4y2PentQsKFWttWDOz0xTrYSCBpnrBuvPZsCzG-V4DmwIOs2VzpI273UufqwnK7xH9Vcx_umTgP20VKCAWDvXvsb77NHeqDgkVsQugJs9KTQA2MwQNTQbULGuu1/s720/download-22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis0I9KhwRv1ip3uXIAYe0gWz1TnAuiHTJEpqQBnDtKmPjXoPXIchPqOJUVG2B41AoKo4y2PentQsKFWttWDOz0xTrYSCBpnrBuvPZsCzG-V4DmwIOs2VzpI273UufqwnK7xH9Vcx_umTgP20VKCAWDvXvsb77NHeqDgkVsQugJs9KTQA2MwQNTQbULGuu1/s320/download-22.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-78477444262560311632023-12-02T06:48:00.000-08:002023-12-02T06:48:45.586-08:00Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner!<p>I sat patiently as the Ultrasound technician slid the wand purposefully around my swollen knee. </p><p>I glanced at the monitor, seeing only black and white wisps across the screen.</p><p>"So, can you tell if it's a boy or a girl?" I inquired straight faced.</p><p>The Tech dropped the wand on the table, looked at me wide-eyed, and burst out laughing.</p><p>We both belly laughed for a solid minute and then she picked up the wand, moved it through the slippery gel over my knee cap and exclaimed, "It's definitely a boy!"</p><p>A boy! Well this a turn of events. This changes everything now, doesn't it?</p><p>About 8 weeks ago I had a little "incident" at work. I was walking one of my students back to class. This particular student has autism spectrum disorder and often acts impulsively. I held his hand and sang our transition song, "The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah" as we trudged slowly back to class. Suddenly as we neared the car park, my little friend turned abruptly to run towards the cars. Holding his hand, I was jerked sideways, felt a searing pain down my knee and fell on the ground. Ouch. Luckily the student was fine. I, however, was not. </p><p>After a check-up with my surgeon and various tests (including that very "telling" ultrasound. Ha!), the surgeon diagnosed me with a bone contusion.</p><p>A bone contusion occurs when a bone sustains trauma and becomes bruised. My bone, apparently was bleeding and inflamed. </p><p>Who knew?</p><p>Unlike a regular bruise, bone bruises can take months to heal. Yippee for me. </p><p>Ugh. </p><p>It's been quite painful, and I took a week on non-weight bearing measures. Oh the PTSD! I forgot how frustrating it is to transport my tea from the kitchen to the couch on 2 crutches, without putting weight on my leg. Every little thing becomes a major task. I have not idea how I managed non-weight bearing for 6 week stints! Brutal.</p><p>Anyway, here I am with a bruised bone, attempting to rest and heal this damn knee, (as much as one can while working and adulting full time), and realizing that I've misgendered my knee now for almost 9 months!</p><p>Obviously Britknee is angry because Britknee, in fact, is male. </p><p>I screwed up. </p><p>So, based on this turn of events, I will be officially renaming the right knee.</p><p>Can I present to you....drumroll please. drumroll (If you're a Christmas Vacation fan, that will mean something to you).....</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Johnknee!</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidnF3JFM-7dlnMLILlJYi1KMuBslQIRNcYzLKuqysZY9wPqeevjX2QEnoUcs0gCE0FMrKltMJ4bDeEXIfGPbJwaibi9aCEm9eqsb4h3G9LUqcnIcDzkrDmCX-1hzelWICvNAjbCJ5tDhkeFi77aVyvVhanEehyphenhyphenO1y7w_bv9RmGrWF99_ODJRNcsO7A1g_/s1286/thumbnail_Screenshot_20231202-094436_Instagram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1286" data-original-width="906" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidnF3JFM-7dlnMLILlJYi1KMuBslQIRNcYzLKuqysZY9wPqeevjX2QEnoUcs0gCE0FMrKltMJ4bDeEXIfGPbJwaibi9aCEm9eqsb4h3G9LUqcnIcDzkrDmCX-1hzelWICvNAjbCJ5tDhkeFi77aVyvVhanEehyphenhyphenO1y7w_bv9RmGrWF99_ODJRNcsO7A1g_/w225-h320/thumbnail_Screenshot_20231202-094436_Instagram.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b><p></p><p>I specifically selected Johnknee, based on one of my favorite movie characters, Johnny Castle from Dirty Dancing. </p><p>Johnny Castle was charming and suave...yet cynical. Johnny was an underdog who proved himself through hard work. I prefer that personality to my former namesake Britney. Did you read her memoir? My knee doesn't stand a chance as Britknee. </p><p>Johnny Castle was loyal. He didn't turn his back on Baby when things got tough (well, he kinda kid for like 24 hours) But...he came back, pulled her out of that corner and time of her life'd her!</p><p>Johnny Castle obviously had amazing knees. That lift required serious quad strength and knee extension, not to mention confidence - three things that I'm currently lacking. </p><p>Finally, at the end of the movie, with the help of Baby, Johnny realized that the world could, indeed, be a good place</p><p>I kneed this knee to realize that this world is fine. Everything is fine. We need to stop wallowing, do our effing job and move forward (literally and figuratively!)</p><p>So now that we've cleared that up, I'm assuming Johnknee will rise to the occasion and provide me with the support and endurance that I so desperately kneed. </p><p>I'll be registering at "The BABY Shoppe" in George Town (hehe, now I can regularly throw down Dirty Dancing puns!)</p><p>Cheers!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWMYoBZ9vO_zIe2XxQvR4SXXXtz5H_Q0GJvgfxQNqMiJZoeZM9Iydk_NsSCg-qpvPOobt5l_DSwg49amOEv5xu2Z7l18RWYADA42Q8ISSpMuM2HFPht9hslGN-fEpkoU2f7_M6HZEk-avhrjJ1yJeqryjvXw7nsydF-b6IcwJfDKwp7D1m-kGYNA7jbyE/s272/download-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="185" data-original-width="272" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWMYoBZ9vO_zIe2XxQvR4SXXXtz5H_Q0GJvgfxQNqMiJZoeZM9Iydk_NsSCg-qpvPOobt5l_DSwg49amOEv5xu2Z7l18RWYADA42Q8ISSpMuM2HFPht9hslGN-fEpkoU2f7_M6HZEk-avhrjJ1yJeqryjvXw7nsydF-b6IcwJfDKwp7D1m-kGYNA7jbyE/s1600/download-1.jpg" width="272" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unreal flexion</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EW84WAO4wFMiAwg3N83g68uu0X3Z4qW5ImeaYZQ9lOddhEF4pna5bEjB5mr2nBLH3sw82Dxubi8BKfnhjthVBh2xXpBzX_ACq6oihaAqT9mqBocpUdr08oxEaGonKfPEma6KFJc5ycTXtoIDg6WS42NfknvNQmR1CTQ3cs71s4K7WoeUHkxmQGQwp8im/s300/download-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EW84WAO4wFMiAwg3N83g68uu0X3Z4qW5ImeaYZQ9lOddhEF4pna5bEjB5mr2nBLH3sw82Dxubi8BKfnhjthVBh2xXpBzX_ACq6oihaAqT9mqBocpUdr08oxEaGonKfPEma6KFJc5ycTXtoIDg6WS42NfknvNQmR1CTQ3cs71s4K7WoeUHkxmQGQwp8im/s1600/download-2.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">can withstand high impact</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgujvz4BFa_jb5q0V8g4Q1TB3u6lCZwTfvFq9OtEkeowUT4bfDPIlQydMFuADb3WRv-IY-u7yiG2JZZBPmGeLWTHCG0aSqh3olhatujpDoTMLakQRA8F-ciwaU9VnoekmiaUYRwuEiIi-x1Z1QChXkIo4mhqGSVKsKOmgn4cn0NHnwlSFGjXkcFJKqdO6Jj/s225/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgujvz4BFa_jb5q0V8g4Q1TB3u6lCZwTfvFq9OtEkeowUT4bfDPIlQydMFuADb3WRv-IY-u7yiG2JZZBPmGeLWTHCG0aSqh3olhatujpDoTMLakQRA8F-ciwaU9VnoekmiaUYRwuEiIi-x1Z1QChXkIo4mhqGSVKsKOmgn4cn0NHnwlSFGjXkcFJKqdO6Jj/s1600/download.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">squatting and lunging - not a problem</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-71782769826028663272023-11-11T07:14:00.000-08:002023-11-11T07:14:16.745-08:00Costa Rica<p> Hey Friends!</p><p>Ev and I recently got back from a really great trip to Costa Rica. We had been to Tamarindo (north Pacific side of Costa Rica) about 17 years ago, would you believe, for our honeymoon?! At the time, I thought it was the most magical place in the world, but as we've aged and traveled more, I've often wondered if perhaps Costa Rica seemed incredible because we were young, on our honeymoon, and hadn't yet seen a lot of the world. So I was curious if I would still feel the same way 17 years later...and man, I sure did!</p><p>Evan spent a week in the Jaco area (Pacific coast) for about a week before I arrived, where he hosted an event for his gyms. Ev has been hosting regular events every 6 months or so where staff from his gyms and other fitness businesses that he coaches attend a 3-day workshop. It sounded like everyone had a great time - surfing, waterfall adventuring, and visiting a monkey sanctuary. My school break fell the week after, so I flew into San Jose, Ev picked me up in a rental car, and we made the 3.5 hour trek to La Fortuna. </p><p>The roads that we traveled were in good shape. There weren't any major highways or overpasses, which can make trips faster, but we enjoyed the meandering drive through little villages and pastures. The scenery became more impressive as we gained elevation. La Fortuna is only 70 miles northwest of San Jose, but it took us almost 4 hours</p><p>La Fortuna is a quaint little town tucked in at the base of the Arenal Volcano. I chose a little boutique hotel with more of a jungle feel for the first half of our stay, about 10 minutes away from La Fortuna. Ti-fikara Lodge promised "peace, comfort, and harmony" amidst a rainforest setting, and I was like, "sign me up!" We were not disappointed. Ti-fikara was a beautiful place to begin our holiday. <br /></p><p>Our "rainforest room" was a little stand-alone bungalow with a really cool outdoor shower and up close and personal views of the jungle. A frog sanctuary exists on property, so you can hear and see a variety of these cute and colorful little frogs. Not to toot my own horn, but I became a bit of a frog expert, identifying the poisonous, yet aloof blue jean frog on a leaf one day. Have you ever heard that aging folks often take up a sudden interest in birding? Frogging, people! Frogging is the new birding for the aging population. haha. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFwo9cTN8HxOuWeUyOv3yO9zzVFV1TyjNAg7_FgJFzzgw5K34GnJr7uLQkZN3kwABTJdFAprs6cKA6RvXVpSw-78lgPjnlsfGWhB-aRjPnO40qUL4KMyWyyL1fgHYvNkHj8tS_BszAjUS3-pPYac4z8hfQ76lQVrP7N2FzlEH4fnYXrTxDGwkNZI_ayIU/s1664/368105676_3671303286432120_429069129632914293_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFwo9cTN8HxOuWeUyOv3yO9zzVFV1TyjNAg7_FgJFzzgw5K34GnJr7uLQkZN3kwABTJdFAprs6cKA6RvXVpSw-78lgPjnlsfGWhB-aRjPnO40qUL4KMyWyyL1fgHYvNkHj8tS_BszAjUS3-pPYac4z8hfQ76lQVrP7N2FzlEH4fnYXrTxDGwkNZI_ayIU/s1664/368105676_3671303286432120_429069129632914293_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG-mOl4am6MWkqLdHN9X6LsdD-bvQWxS7tNAqirj16D6Fv3za7USox6cUZxEs3C5H8PV2MTELdfva3QTU8yloPF_dK__J1mlNmmCR5xKRaCkp7du65i1FFa2X1xvLqePzWQ9804Y4NWz3o9uu9I_5sLuG8dzJripYkCMKJDx7Z9D3bnTfTBnKy8nTkpJ7G/s1024/386868838_659653099686542_475364988460480090_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG-mOl4am6MWkqLdHN9X6LsdD-bvQWxS7tNAqirj16D6Fv3za7USox6cUZxEs3C5H8PV2MTELdfva3QTU8yloPF_dK__J1mlNmmCR5xKRaCkp7du65i1FFa2X1xvLqePzWQ9804Y4NWz3o9uu9I_5sLuG8dzJripYkCMKJDx7Z9D3bnTfTBnKy8nTkpJ7G/s320/386868838_659653099686542_475364988460480090_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><img border="0" data-original-height="1664" data-original-width="1248" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFwo9cTN8HxOuWeUyOv3yO9zzVFV1TyjNAg7_FgJFzzgw5K34GnJr7uLQkZN3kwABTJdFAprs6cKA6RvXVpSw-78lgPjnlsfGWhB-aRjPnO40qUL4KMyWyyL1fgHYvNkHj8tS_BszAjUS3-pPYac4z8hfQ76lQVrP7N2FzlEH4fnYXrTxDGwkNZI_ayIU/s320/368105676_3671303286432120_429069129632914293_n.jpg" width="240" /></div><p><br /></p>I was a bit bummed about visiting Costa Rica in semi-mobile state. When we had planned the trip in the summer, I assumed that I would be fully healed, traversing waterfalls and hiking mountains. But, you know, Britknee is a full-time biatch these days, so I was a bit nervous about finding excursions that didn't involve actually using my knee. But, surprisingly, there were quite a few options for exploring the La Fortuna area that accommodated the semi-mobile!<p></p><p>The first excursion that we participated in was zip lining. We zip-lined 17 years ago when we visited Costa Rica, and I recall absolutely loving it. We found a company that boasted the highest zip line AND a tram that transported you to the top of the lines. Perfecto!</p><p>I was super excited about the experience until we reached the top (about 800 feet above sea level), and could not see a damn thing. We were literally at the top with our heads in the clouds.</p><p>I watched the first person zip away into the abyss and suddenly began freaking the eff out. </p><p>I started emitting this weird laugh and saying strange, semi-inappropriate things to my fellow zip liners. Every time a new zipper would zip into the cloud abyss, I would giggle and say, "yay. good job. yay. good job." in this unrecognizable voice. Ev just kinda kept side-eyeing me and occasionally asking, "Are you ok?" Oh my god, I was a nervous wreck. I began examining the safety harness and questioning construction of the platforms. I don't recall even considering safety issues of the zip lines when I was in my 20s! Dude! I used to catch rides with random strangers, traverse down gravel roads to bush parties in the middle of nowhere and drink myself silly in subzero temperatures without a care in the world and now I'm concerned about a very popular "family" excursion? (Sorry for that, mom, by the way). </p><p>I suddenly began to question my future. Is this how it happens? Am I nearing an age where I am too afraid to experience an adrenaline rush and prefer identifying frogs and watching exotic birds from my balcony? No, I was not going out like this. I may have the knees of an 80 year old after two knee replacements, but dammit, I'm a young and vibrant 40-something. I bit the bullet, assumed the knee tuck position, and flew through sky (screaming the entire way). </p><p>I have to admit, the first 2 lines were absolutely terrifying. I flew through the clouds at 43 miles per hour, having no idea where I was or where I was going (is this a metaphor for my life right now? ha).</p><p>Once we reached the fourth line, we could finally see the tree tops and my lungs allowed me to fully inhale. Although I didn't turn my head more than 10 degrees each way (for fear it would throw me off my line), I did manage to enjoy the incredible view of the jungle tops and Arenal Lake in the distance. It was amazing, and I felt really awesome when it was all done. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBKFds3Ru95ziQKMNb0C2ztaUJq6FbFE169T5awMnoDVe6sknnzl_ZbL39Ba0Jk9SLcEqVlXWp7OdaY3Wb0vTzMox4vhvu6Dt1PGQp_tf5gmHK1V9sqgzcSpG3Fb_PY-j5BI5Eg_elvj147HPiaxxmBBbSbPqScpVarXByAZW8_hMlRjALx0atvRvICOKb/s1024/366752791_313691714770120_1135060434758610378_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBKFds3Ru95ziQKMNb0C2ztaUJq6FbFE169T5awMnoDVe6sknnzl_ZbL39Ba0Jk9SLcEqVlXWp7OdaY3Wb0vTzMox4vhvu6Dt1PGQp_tf5gmHK1V9sqgzcSpG3Fb_PY-j5BI5Eg_elvj147HPiaxxmBBbSbPqScpVarXByAZW8_hMlRjALx0atvRvICOKb/s320/366752791_313691714770120_1135060434758610378_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwyoolOOZgZC1RQhLfujDewAbL3TrWLX4zHTDpepDZwBJ-QJ2vO3ynhU4dvNKSuBv247d2lCZeV1tac8BO9Vw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4t43CoNEIXDPYpxy9V8uXnVEbnxuqNW9JL-rkbhS6lQsZdZCfsvBiZr0MhfOqEDh-jjlXeVNokZz-qan2K8mgESOMbz4qVdG_wRaty7NDxQs_Th-jNb3Bqo79wiFYzCeZ58i1jJ8tLRzf-eISZk2BjFLlGz33E58NTL-IhDkKGjvR-rr4nTxh4qaCYqkg/s1024/387467420_348690314322776_4677767180339686066_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4t43CoNEIXDPYpxy9V8uXnVEbnxuqNW9JL-rkbhS6lQsZdZCfsvBiZr0MhfOqEDh-jjlXeVNokZz-qan2K8mgESOMbz4qVdG_wRaty7NDxQs_Th-jNb3Bqo79wiFYzCeZ58i1jJ8tLRzf-eISZk2BjFLlGz33E58NTL-IhDkKGjvR-rr4nTxh4qaCYqkg/s320/387467420_348690314322776_4677767180339686066_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm not really into food. I mean, I like food, and really enjoy Evan's cooking, but I'm not one to make reservations at popular restaurants or pre-plan meals. I just kinda eat whatever when I'm hungry. That being said, I must admit that I enjoyed some of the most delicious bites that I have ever had during this vacation. The Ti-kifara hotel provided breakfast each morning, and, OH MY GOD, the breakfasts were incredible! Everything was so fresh! Fresh pineapple that tasted sweeter than any pineapple I've ever tasted, in addition to fresh papaya and mangos. Big chunks of avocado were inserted into every dish. I found myself waking up each morning and salivating in anticipation of those incredible breakfasts!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUJmy9NsKrNAqvE8f1OUT1ATW-y-qVgJV9aFjthufFGnIbwJd5mMHAo2RXPcmyvFjigeyB5cb6Se_b9TI5lI5bg0-qSBvFXBIySJ9kbkgdBe3K75V_ZYNahgVNcKhCLy_g5X3Uv4LNe_keY8OS5mcbQ5LBZhL_V1v3obH4WLVFqaCkp2GUtkkxGsklX7lC/s2016/367987767_247331834688854_2786945454187101047_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUJmy9NsKrNAqvE8f1OUT1ATW-y-qVgJV9aFjthufFGnIbwJd5mMHAo2RXPcmyvFjigeyB5cb6Se_b9TI5lI5bg0-qSBvFXBIySJ9kbkgdBe3K75V_ZYNahgVNcKhCLy_g5X3Uv4LNe_keY8OS5mcbQ5LBZhL_V1v3obH4WLVFqaCkp2GUtkkxGsklX7lC/s320/367987767_247331834688854_2786945454187101047_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhygP0-RPNJLsI2YfAMvWTzkEz5FL4pAEYOQm3mqhgMOHzLKLFerE2hR7BCA-UTJ5WCJ5WvfCIo0yp7wMSIcQ5PZm8tOzw-EiqBWnkMCe63Pm8yvIvlxn1Cm45vJ22-sdMEpu2yxMUpIjQ-bDgU3EKzeY4DQS5XpisUQvX4fg9nEMh2n5XXD_IHYFytW2SG/s2016/385522622_672424034978047_1759167229736380178_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhygP0-RPNJLsI2YfAMvWTzkEz5FL4pAEYOQm3mqhgMOHzLKLFerE2hR7BCA-UTJ5WCJ5WvfCIo0yp7wMSIcQ5PZm8tOzw-EiqBWnkMCe63Pm8yvIvlxn1Cm45vJ22-sdMEpu2yxMUpIjQ-bDgU3EKzeY4DQS5XpisUQvX4fg9nEMh2n5XXD_IHYFytW2SG/s320/385522622_672424034978047_1759167229736380178_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p><br /></p>We spent the second half of our holiday at the Arenal Kioro Suites and Spa. I chose this resort because it is situated at the base of Arenal Volcano, and boasts one of the best views. Although Arenal Volcano is about 5000 feet tall, it is often covered in cloud, and difficult to see. One tour guide told us that only 20% of people who visit actually get a full view of the volcano. Given that we opted to visit the rainforest during rainy season, where shockingly, it rains every single day (who knew? ha), we weren't really able to see the volcano for the first few days of our holiday. Once we reached our room at Kioro; however, we had the most incredible view of the volcano! It was absolutely stunning. <p></p><p>Ev poured me a glass of wine, turned on some vintage reggae (vintage now means 90's by the way), and settled in on my balcony to enjoy the view - steam was constantly emitted from the top of the volcano. Within minutes, I began googling, "When was the last eruption of Arenal volcano? How do you know when a volcano is erupting? How fast must you run to escape an eruption?" Obviously I'm so good at relaxing. So so good. </p><p>As it turns out, the last big eruption of Arenal Volcano was in 1968. At that time, three neighboring villages were destroyed and 87 people were killed. The volcano continued to remain active, spewing rocks and lava until 2010. Since 2010 it has been dormant, although on a clear day, you can still view the steam rising from the top. </p><p>Did this information ease my fears? Sorta. I did consider that maybe the volcano was due for another big one, but Ev began making me his famous rum punches with delicious fresh juices, and I quickly stopped caring, or at least was at peace with succumbing to a large volcanic eruption, and simply the enjoyed the majestic volcano and the toucans flying gracefully from tree to tree. </p><p>The resort was surrounded by beautiful natural hot springs, so we spent quite a few afternoons floating in the hot water, feeling the warm raindrops on our face, and listening to the sound of the waterfalls flowing around us. We often had the springs to ourselves! It was really awesome. When I was a kid, I used to lay in a hot bath with the shower on and pretend that I was in a waterfall. This was even better!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyCyX4GucEbdsDqwHlwD7hhK2-QyEJEt70QfxH6oAEZRKya2q2nTarLm-EJ5ZYvYfIsygqH1AiSAUmu7yQnMjdkQl1GP435wTq2t1u7ppZYHbPZDEP_RhBAFnO_0iMzcxjHtIxhPXrqDsfAxGfOi3MiYKfkH_kg5Gk9zCt1sYmc5CaitB5tUrElbSy4f9T/s2016/370200528_1805603543243622_2998883664623735238_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyCyX4GucEbdsDqwHlwD7hhK2-QyEJEt70QfxH6oAEZRKya2q2nTarLm-EJ5ZYvYfIsygqH1AiSAUmu7yQnMjdkQl1GP435wTq2t1u7ppZYHbPZDEP_RhBAFnO_0iMzcxjHtIxhPXrqDsfAxGfOi3MiYKfkH_kg5Gk9zCt1sYmc5CaitB5tUrElbSy4f9T/s320/370200528_1805603543243622_2998883664623735238_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtImESTit2j7zgDD93l5h63JsNbDd207bCzsU9wDpBr39OT1LO3PCl6Y6NCVa9eF6Jo1k_fuvcry4lZ-y1XmEfylB59t3rykSVfI8QhhsnI9fUNiQWTJEixQSDAk8iVtFgAU2q0EZTCF_ltQ28lIIgSk5-8c4qXQYleYEDrhQ4Bk-XUS4EMog20zrQQhyf/s1024/363500975_1290870481428035_908196325023051411_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtImESTit2j7zgDD93l5h63JsNbDd207bCzsU9wDpBr39OT1LO3PCl6Y6NCVa9eF6Jo1k_fuvcry4lZ-y1XmEfylB59t3rykSVfI8QhhsnI9fUNiQWTJEixQSDAk8iVtFgAU2q0EZTCF_ltQ28lIIgSk5-8c4qXQYleYEDrhQ4Bk-XUS4EMog20zrQQhyf/s320/363500975_1290870481428035_908196325023051411_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuTg543shc4doPq0FUWYsqClUvgMXEpli8rOv88J7uAgTLiGlHMWoNtfkfxgDFBUfdrgOfQv7CG4UFETlOFmqWAkwJwpXnt4QYa6vW2td3lr_PWwweP5Jk6dXi2E5vFIfItRBAkNDpEqJNAxtT8EPGj0ejxSwWDJ_cXbcGiYL8vFJr7T6vNyLoGtH6AbOq/s1024/377149897_985968229164534_4444508111476484143_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuTg543shc4doPq0FUWYsqClUvgMXEpli8rOv88J7uAgTLiGlHMWoNtfkfxgDFBUfdrgOfQv7CG4UFETlOFmqWAkwJwpXnt4QYa6vW2td3lr_PWwweP5Jk6dXi2E5vFIfItRBAkNDpEqJNAxtT8EPGj0ejxSwWDJ_cXbcGiYL8vFJr7T6vNyLoGtH6AbOq/s320/377149897_985968229164534_4444508111476484143_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEite83FUB7Fmgl6IbW_9-pxaBHq8OQ2G9sotnE26uP765w3XeA9keUw3hTPbVtQUycok79t1K-_U30ryxZEqJ9Z7WkHeb3z2zdSEBE37lF9f7fEFo5ept_ukVi6ffewtgl_ej8v4yAV7RDv6_kKi8PcwP4XgdGUK9VrhPvuzNPN90-xb7Chomjem6WS7j3H/s1024/387502324_883105583158139_1048007284389310159_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEite83FUB7Fmgl6IbW_9-pxaBHq8OQ2G9sotnE26uP765w3XeA9keUw3hTPbVtQUycok79t1K-_U30ryxZEqJ9Z7WkHeb3z2zdSEBE37lF9f7fEFo5ept_ukVi6ffewtgl_ej8v4yAV7RDv6_kKi8PcwP4XgdGUK9VrhPvuzNPN90-xb7Chomjem6WS7j3H/s320/387502324_883105583158139_1048007284389310159_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p><br /></p>In addition to the zip lining, we did a safari float, which entailed floating down the Penas Blancas River in an inflatable raft. That was cool! We saw monkeys, turtles, caimans, and even a nesting mother crocodile ("um...should we be kinda afraid? anyone? anyone?"). I was really hoping to hold a sloth because they have the cutest little schmoopy faces in the world, but our guide explained that human interactions cause the blood pressure of sloths to rise to a dangerous degree. This made me feel terrible for even wanting to hold one, so I opted to creep on a lazing sloth dangling from a branch through a telescope. The last thing I wanted was to give a sloth anxiety! Geeeez. <p></p><p>Our final excursion of our trip was a last-minute decision - we opted to do a ATV tour on the mountainside. I'm so glad that we did it! It was super fun. Ev and I took turns driving the quad. When asked if I had ever driven one, I assured the guide that I was very familiar with ATV's, as I had flipped our farm ATV several times. He suggested Ev do most of the driving. We cruised the mountainside, splashing through giant puddles, stopping to look at the magnificent volcano, and resting at the river's edge to clean the mud off our feet. It was so much fun. Ev and I both left that adventure with huge smiles plastered on our faces!</p><p>Overall, it was a great trip. I highly recommend the La Fortuna area. I think it would be an excellent holiday to bring kids as well. The people of Costa Rica are some of the kindest and warmest folk I've ever encountered, we felt safe the entire time, and the food was so delicious. We really enjoyed it. </p><p>Also, I've said this before and I'll say it again. If you are single and looking to find your person, I will strongly recommend that you don't settle for just anyone. Choose a person with whom you really like spending time with. Evan and I do not have a perfect relationship by any means, but I truly enjoyed his company. So much of our last year has been spent dealing with hospitals and health concerns, and strategizing future plans (hard-core adulting) - it was just really nice to escape, have a super fun week together, and enjoy the beautiful Costa Rican surroundings!</p><p>Cheers! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0T22KaQ31OIr4Cg8VgdR9QEgGov2Kx54NRjAXFNRvMvn1yuAIhPhEFHnuv1g33w2Lml_9UNsRBixw4RRPxwVWAomWEry3mXi2HnPUqB0SSV8DpamlDFAMBzCKyY8aZx-iojao0DgIhcCxWXjSd1DMA7S6xOHO6bIoTKvALIXq7kSugEKkklwvJ8PDO222/s2048/368022143_742449391050485_4635003335114854490_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0T22KaQ31OIr4Cg8VgdR9QEgGov2Kx54NRjAXFNRvMvn1yuAIhPhEFHnuv1g33w2Lml_9UNsRBixw4RRPxwVWAomWEry3mXi2HnPUqB0SSV8DpamlDFAMBzCKyY8aZx-iojao0DgIhcCxWXjSd1DMA7S6xOHO6bIoTKvALIXq7kSugEKkklwvJ8PDO222/s320/368022143_742449391050485_4635003335114854490_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OmlTophLyhnnFZ8fHEMTHAESEylZS2xEfYitSgfYKIlbSv033_5Ts9Dhf8WXEuHhSAEhw_bCZRwogG4vBe22pZNW9SJTUA_4Wv52b8L5bbhUcuSN9NeElcHv5F4zWZqNVbOloXAWC8x1SeJbaJ72CzOgRrD4EMJ6ERhv7kqN5aigqNrNniI4VeAuK7Fs/s2048/368517591_726761259498527_4353903241292032777_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OmlTophLyhnnFZ8fHEMTHAESEylZS2xEfYitSgfYKIlbSv033_5Ts9Dhf8WXEuHhSAEhw_bCZRwogG4vBe22pZNW9SJTUA_4Wv52b8L5bbhUcuSN9NeElcHv5F4zWZqNVbOloXAWC8x1SeJbaJ72CzOgRrD4EMJ6ERhv7kqN5aigqNrNniI4VeAuK7Fs/s320/368517591_726761259498527_4353903241292032777_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoV7VJ3y-8HxsUcXAbW2g_OQcGAtPvVPtCwvwED1_sosdxn444S32HIgKxgvUNYztJFLX3mgq0KDJwPaJjJbszjBj-AQ7v_PliEF60uuE4D_athWt2o6xCosabonqDhLPM24UO3WG_jwS2bIMB5jRMFOckXaRPQRawLUOFhdcXqKmDOQXah9eQKBH5CQof/s1024/385550441_994222761655470_1032349924208832147_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoV7VJ3y-8HxsUcXAbW2g_OQcGAtPvVPtCwvwED1_sosdxn444S32HIgKxgvUNYztJFLX3mgq0KDJwPaJjJbszjBj-AQ7v_PliEF60uuE4D_athWt2o6xCosabonqDhLPM24UO3WG_jwS2bIMB5jRMFOckXaRPQRawLUOFhdcXqKmDOQXah9eQKBH5CQof/s320/385550441_994222761655470_1032349924208832147_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOR1L3oNmNYdhUTCj6iluNBjZ3VKSEw6rOy_XUmAlHbtWPpAtFUf5v8_3cw0hb1tQqeEG19LSLJxHsVrJ5f8-V5hcxNMRSZEttICPZ5EAJK2SlRqf8sESO1WoiyqLGLotiVXgIk0iMW-I1eWbqHHaoMaXyT6Aj-YkBc-dClHze-Y-eajSh9O4Qx1yBeeEv/s2048/371507213_1883446468720167_3448566992417180418_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOR1L3oNmNYdhUTCj6iluNBjZ3VKSEw6rOy_XUmAlHbtWPpAtFUf5v8_3cw0hb1tQqeEG19LSLJxHsVrJ5f8-V5hcxNMRSZEttICPZ5EAJK2SlRqf8sESO1WoiyqLGLotiVXgIk0iMW-I1eWbqHHaoMaXyT6Aj-YkBc-dClHze-Y-eajSh9O4Qx1yBeeEv/s320/371507213_1883446468720167_3448566992417180418_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBI_eFnN30VBUHvAfBwLtqZU6uOVrQyrfg3b_w41Bweq_y_uITh6zGNAi7ffmg-sMAJyVlYNhi_1mrqAuAAJI-kwYMlBAwqMbmuKQeuYPT67C41x_ZS5NkFsme2PWIgoEWEBdWp_QZsN9Y9QyfC6NuMhryypIh9XdWXa1Su1fGW5uTuUTUswe7K6_y_is/s1024/368078107_1067655160940213_2931754558332590916_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBI_eFnN30VBUHvAfBwLtqZU6uOVrQyrfg3b_w41Bweq_y_uITh6zGNAi7ffmg-sMAJyVlYNhi_1mrqAuAAJI-kwYMlBAwqMbmuKQeuYPT67C41x_ZS5NkFsme2PWIgoEWEBdWp_QZsN9Y9QyfC6NuMhryypIh9XdWXa1Su1fGW5uTuUTUswe7K6_y_is/s320/368078107_1067655160940213_2931754558332590916_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-24090991185673121092023-10-04T15:36:00.000-07:002023-10-04T15:36:22.925-07:00conservatorship for Britknee!<p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"> "It'll give you a new lease on life!"</p><p style="text-align: center;">"You'll never regret it!"</p><p style="text-align: center;">"Best decision I've ever made!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">Those, my friends, are various quotes from total knee replacement forums, reviews, and shiny orthopedic clinic pamphlets. I clung to those reviews when I was grabbling with the decision as to whether or not it it was time to get new knees. And those reviews, frankly, are pissing me off right now. </p><p style="text-align: left;">It's been a full year now since Courtknee, the first knee, came into my life. I am very satisfied with the result. I have limited pain in that knee, I can kneel all the way into child's pose, I can bend it (past the point of prosthetic limitations, no big deal- still a high achiever!) , I can straighten it, and overall, it's a high functioning, overachieving knee. I want to break out the bubbly and cheers this solid addition to my body, but unfortunately, Courtknee's success is currently being overshadowed by her evil sister Britknee's failures.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We're heading into the 7th month now since Britknee came into my life...and can I just stop right here and ask, Why did y'all let me name my knee Britknee? Like, hello? I was heavily medicated and, like a mother who is disorientated post-childbirth, I decided to name my knee after one of the most dysfunctional celebrities in the world right now? C'mon! I digress...Britknee sucks. I don't know how else to put it. She still won't straighten to a functional position. Because I am unable to get her to full extension, all my muscles from my ankle to my neck are affected - they are shortening and tightening. Each week I spin the wheel of muscle pain roulette and see if I'm going to strain my back, hamstring, quad, glutes - or this week's special - tear a ligament! I'm in constant pain. The pain awakens me at night, and it feels like I have to swing this giant dead appendage across my bed in order to roll over. I'm sporting an ugly limp, as I drag this unstable, disorderly knee behind me everywhere I go. Britknee is legit toxic (currently dancing with knives???), and I want a refund. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBgJpbjF9-BMiMWKFEPSp7wpZNpWqdTvf2WS0nFtqQalqW-v2pHi3B7FS3IISyqFeJb9LEfwk-ohALVT-4FIjGU4VmM-l0wTACCJOR-O85bQu-wJB1oO4KTJDfFgTa0ZTFpQUctYoZPvsPS6Vg14tJmSeTDmFUD0zYW1y1PL721x8J8ctKqa_wYlKfi2F/s299/download-2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="168" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBgJpbjF9-BMiMWKFEPSp7wpZNpWqdTvf2WS0nFtqQalqW-v2pHi3B7FS3IISyqFeJb9LEfwk-ohALVT-4FIjGU4VmM-l0wTACCJOR-O85bQu-wJB1oO4KTJDfFgTa0ZTFpQUctYoZPvsPS6Vg14tJmSeTDmFUD0zYW1y1PL721x8J8ctKqa_wYlKfi2F/w180-h320/download-2.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why? Why? Why?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The surgeon who performed my surgery encouraged me to be patient. When I told him I was very disappointed with the outcome, he nodded and replied, "So am I. But...we must wait a full year to see if it settles. So...see you back here in March! Keep pushing and stop limping." </p><p style="text-align: left;">Super.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I went for a second opinion and the Orthopedic Surgeon recommended that all the hard-core joint mobilization therapy to straighten Britknee be stopped immediately. He explained that there is a window in which pushing and forcing the knee may aide with extension, but my window has passed. He hypothesized that all the forceful pushing is inflaming the scar tissue in my knee, preventing extension from happening naturally. If you let scar tissue mature, it becomes more malleable, and may eventually loosen, allowing extension to occur on its own. He suggested drastically reducing my daily step count and any high impact, but continuing to strengthen with physiotherapy (it's my 18 month anniversary of physio!), light weights, and cycling. He recommended giving it a solid 3 months. </p><p style="text-align: left;">A second explanation was provided regarding a plastic piece in my prosthesis. There is a possibility that the piece is too large for my joint, preventing full extension. A smaller piece could be swapped out, which sounds easy peasy, but in actuality is another big surgery. I gathered that this would be a last resort kind of decision. I'm not really into this. I'm more of a "15 and done" kinda gal. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I appreciated his explanation. It made sense to me. He also seemed to "get" me immediately, as he gently explained, "I can see that you are a person who will push yourself past your limit. You've done everything you can. You've gone above and beyond. But you need to rest a bit and just allow it to heal. This is not your fault."</p><p style="text-align: left;">So, you know...I listened and shed a few tears. Maybe I was just looking for some validation. I have been working so hard. In my mind, I had been the perfect patient. Can I just get an award or something???</p><p style="text-align: left;">So be it. (If you know, you know ;)</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm trying to be more relaxed and restful in my approach; however, real life does not necessarily promote this. This strategy was fine in the summer when I had absolute control over my daily routine, and could balance rest with activity. But I am currently back at work full time in 4 different schools with students who have special education needs. It's a challenge to control your movement in the unpredictable school environment. When my impulsive 5-year old student with severe Autism suddenly breaks free to chase chickens near the busy parking lot, I am unable to gently stop, apply light pressure equally to both joints while maintaining proper posture and announce, "My surgeon recommends no high impact." </p><p style="text-align: left;">I am tired. I am in pain. I feel defeated. For some reason this 7 month thing is really getting to me, mentally. Given the fact that I was essentially pain-free at the 4-month mark with Courtknee, my expectations were set pretty high. There are days when I feel pretty hopeless about my situation. I was told to avoid knee replacements for as long as possible, and I did this by enduring surgery after surgery for 12 years. When I finally came to terms with the fact that it was time to replace my disease-riddled knees, my gut told me that I would regret it. And, currently, I do. I regret it. Maybe I should have left the right knee alone for a few years, or tried one more cartilage transplant. Was it that bad? Regrets are the WORST, and wake me up at 4am (why can't you wake up at 4am thinking about puppies and kittens?) </p><p style="text-align: left;">Can you hear my tiny violin in the background playing a sorrowful sombre tune?</p><p style="text-align: left;">I hope that in a few months time, I will look back on this post and laugh at my dramatics, realizing that I just needed more time for healing to occur. My rational brain tells me that 7 months isn't really that long, right? (But my God, 13 years is!!!) My second-opinion surgeon was confident that I'd be feeling much better by Christmas. And, I suppose I should be thankful that one of the knees is a success story. But, honestly, I'm in the thick of things right now, not feeling so thankful at the moment, and I'm sick of hearing about so-and-so's grandma who resumed her role as captain of the bowling team a mere 3 months after her knee replacement. I'm tired of being Chumbawamba - I get knocked down, but I get up again. But like how many times can we repeat that chorus? I really just feel like staying down...for a while, anyway.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMToXfwmOi9DDHmt4xVtEDCndkgLKpdOORwHGhXcauhkvcUUCEPYeXG0efJ1lKaFPWhMSFEy7afIVYCeMFGH-kE8c_C2wCXirJswFHsYDSKfgf-TdPXGR0ZLTXsSA9NW8gJsSHrKigBp8KaedYm0vz9bSz4tw0c8_wjLDCnhJjgdiBEmfruCDDYgIhEBoR/s1080/thumbnail_Screenshot_20231003-122131_Instagram.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="973" data-original-width="1080" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMToXfwmOi9DDHmt4xVtEDCndkgLKpdOORwHGhXcauhkvcUUCEPYeXG0efJ1lKaFPWhMSFEy7afIVYCeMFGH-kE8c_C2wCXirJswFHsYDSKfgf-TdPXGR0ZLTXsSA9NW8gJsSHrKigBp8KaedYm0vz9bSz4tw0c8_wjLDCnhJjgdiBEmfruCDDYgIhEBoR/w400-h360/thumbnail_Screenshot_20231003-122131_Instagram.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even in the depths of despair I can throw out a bum pun.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">I needed a good venting session. Writing this down makes me feel better. Thanks for listening. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-63675783853072299352023-08-26T07:33:00.000-07:002023-08-26T07:33:22.592-07:00Those were the days, my friend<p> Hey friends,</p><p>I can't believe that our summer vacation has come and gone. Sometimes I feel like I'm standing on the landing at London Underground, and time is shooting past me like the trains whooshing by. There were so many moments this summer that I willed time to hold still for just a little longer. I'm not sure if it's a result of aging, or maybe I've developed a more fatalistic attitude, but I know that next summer, something will have changed. Someone may be gone. Someone won't be well. I know that positive change occurs as well - new babies, new relationships. Regardless, I felt myself holding tight to moments that brought me great joy. Someone described these moments as "glimmers" - like the opposite of a "trigger." I'm personally <i>triggered </i>by the overuse and misuse of the word <i>trigger</i>, so I'm overjoyed to refer to words/experiences that spark joy and peace as a "glimmer." These moments calm your nervous system, and make a positive impact on our mental health. </p><p>Once we arrived at our house on Candle Lake, I released a great sigh of relief, and just thoroughly enjoyed my time, my surroundings, and the awesome people around me. </p><p>I know you're all wondering how our emotionally traumatized dog and blind cat made out on our travels. They did very well! Dilbert, the dog, maintained a drug-induced sleep for most of the trip, took a big dump in the middle of Toronto Pearson airport, and generally quietly traveled at our side. Stevie, the blind cat, let out a massive scream on each take-off and landing, but settled as soon as we put our hand in her carry-on to soothe her. She was a champ!</p><p>Anyone wondering how I managed on our travels? </p><p>Not well.</p><p>I was a fricken mess. I think the stress of traveling with these two special needs pets for the first time accumulated over the weeks leading up to our big travel day, and I just finally broke down - conveniently at the airport, as we prepared for security. </p><p>Suddenly, my eyes welled up with tears, and despite Evan's best effort to blow those tears away (his #1 strategy to prevent crying), I began uncontrollably sobbing in the security line. (You guys know I'm not a crier!)</p><p>Evan looked at me, "Oh wow. What's going on?"</p><p>"I don't know. I'm so worried. I'm just so worried."</p><p>Ev provided a little pep talk, I gathered myself, and we carried through security with no issues. </p><p>I cried again on the plane when an overhead bin fell off the tracks, deplaning was suggested, and the pilot secured it with duct tape, saving the day! (Thank goodness, can I get some wine please?) Other than my mini mental break-down (what the hell???), things went well!</p><p>The summer was exactly what I needed. We didn't do or see anything new or spectacular, but I just relished my time at our house at Candle, surrounded by so much love and support. I loved introducing our new pets to friends and family, and seeing them thrive in their new environment. Dilbert surprised us all and did not run away. He enjoyed sitting outside on the deck in the mornings, taking daily walks though the forest, and even fell in love with Darren and Allicia's dog, Coco! Stevie was amused chasing grasshoppers in the yard, and participated in Bocce ball games with the gang by following the thumping of the bocce balls impacting the ground - she's so smart!</p><p>These are a just a few "glimmers" that I experienced this summer: </p><p></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Taking my first breath of fresh Candle Lake air (I wish that I could bottle that spruce/lake scent)</li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnb1bJFDdm-z6ZANELSGpytvi0bpPnlmS6aNf93KY5jSFBsKAmjX_6bhouh6fXB707VLMh9jtEL_yZmupuCFXC5e_5WEWrIZuJ0xB_eTJrQAU38LVpnEp2ekAXfh3vbggkyFV0Vhqy3Z8CLT4-4C0HBFn3YnbHQs3jrOrC-ogqNed8Ddz_XJdRRJllBvI/s2016/371481586_1583287788865576_8240543444700952214_n-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnb1bJFDdm-z6ZANELSGpytvi0bpPnlmS6aNf93KY5jSFBsKAmjX_6bhouh6fXB707VLMh9jtEL_yZmupuCFXC5e_5WEWrIZuJ0xB_eTJrQAU38LVpnEp2ekAXfh3vbggkyFV0Vhqy3Z8CLT4-4C0HBFn3YnbHQs3jrOrC-ogqNed8Ddz_XJdRRJllBvI/s320/371481586_1583287788865576_8240543444700952214_n-1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div></li></ul><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Paddleboard workouts in the morning with Kayla. The lake was so quiet and still, and the only sound was the distinct sparrow tune (and Kayla and I grunting while attempting to stay on our boards).</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwuebFf3D0aqiWje9R8qwWXdpHF_2BZKIrCehGD21xN7_sgWTAs9_DmthUkAJsHIRaqT0yCSYPaMM5G23iuUqz1dRd_YMDLbIBNftKi5wwmKpolSXoXosH1maiu4d1Wf6o5CPhLiEFj9WxUV9wUYd0wtEBK8xglx3A-Hbm09IIaTUG8nKS3GPPnoAMWS4k/s1920/371487257_311363654890126_5112346556867715670_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwuebFf3D0aqiWje9R8qwWXdpHF_2BZKIrCehGD21xN7_sgWTAs9_DmthUkAJsHIRaqT0yCSYPaMM5G23iuUqz1dRd_YMDLbIBNftKi5wwmKpolSXoXosH1maiu4d1Wf6o5CPhLiEFj9WxUV9wUYd0wtEBK8xglx3A-Hbm09IIaTUG8nKS3GPPnoAMWS4k/s320/371487257_311363654890126_5112346556867715670_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Singing "Those were the days" with all my Tycholiz family at Baba and Gido's farm for our big celebration, "Farmfest '23". I remember looking around at all my aunts, uncles, cousins, and cousins' children and thinking how happy this would make Baba. It was pure magic.</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOXTMQZeDs5LLR7Wh2daTDvZOp7nYlbEFb9vi03_UqYnW-uENa3LRubGb7NOXjZPXLDCjZRSjuOKTkofMQWbP7IWVVQs_89LzJ9Y11QviCHnjU3ZhzabYMhmV-0l-Yi53v0DiFOKcEzNgluXejUaIA4c3kIJuNJlXDTSYXzHiSRj9TtWYu9qtOCRfqxmBf/s1024/368510505_671865821528386_1286726837033018627_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOXTMQZeDs5LLR7Wh2daTDvZOp7nYlbEFb9vi03_UqYnW-uENa3LRubGb7NOXjZPXLDCjZRSjuOKTkofMQWbP7IWVVQs_89LzJ9Y11QviCHnjU3ZhzabYMhmV-0l-Yi53v0DiFOKcEzNgluXejUaIA4c3kIJuNJlXDTSYXzHiSRj9TtWYu9qtOCRfqxmBf/s320/368510505_671865821528386_1286726837033018627_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Pulling up to the boat parties and seeing all my favorite people jumping up and waving us in</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThcye_WiUXw5NOmdZEKZpt5vdMIe1v4IBLSWf1xD8kOfiQhSJtBHvcgt2SYDk6sitPIyuTpAnxCHkeTAykIRk2OZNKgCrMsIzb1PbwFDWRGjT8hdxwTF7tsWfZGlNm1C25vCrx_IRrIUcDZCJBHSaFCEu0qT-BgRp8dgT73XMMs3zBydKnEBHUePTU6DI/s2048/368518148_1100350514274922_7648224601175114526_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThcye_WiUXw5NOmdZEKZpt5vdMIe1v4IBLSWf1xD8kOfiQhSJtBHvcgt2SYDk6sitPIyuTpAnxCHkeTAykIRk2OZNKgCrMsIzb1PbwFDWRGjT8hdxwTF7tsWfZGlNm1C25vCrx_IRrIUcDZCJBHSaFCEu0qT-BgRp8dgT73XMMs3zBydKnEBHUePTU6DI/s320/368518148_1100350514274922_7648224601175114526_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Falling head over heels for Joey on the "The Bachelorette" during our regular Monday viewings with my sister and cousin. We had so many laughs on those Monday evenings.</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsi0puwbj5xo3QQIc577YcmVfElswuS019UnxAD-ysL_yDgvtoVnSR0vk_4nrJHgAx-vZbjTIpahhy-IX-AnNk-7aniVJrpnQZmcakAKwFxyLhHriZPcI8n_IGOURcME82sJU45iaL49zWwFsyETMemEOus02-dazHPvEqYVTajYogIVUgN0rmnZ5jDNw1/s813/371509614_6215977608514086_3004985957710229343_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="764" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsi0puwbj5xo3QQIc577YcmVfElswuS019UnxAD-ysL_yDgvtoVnSR0vk_4nrJHgAx-vZbjTIpahhy-IX-AnNk-7aniVJrpnQZmcakAKwFxyLhHriZPcI8n_IGOURcME82sJU45iaL49zWwFsyETMemEOus02-dazHPvEqYVTajYogIVUgN0rmnZ5jDNw1/s320/371509614_6215977608514086_3004985957710229343_n.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Saskatchewan "pop-ins," where family and friends just randomly pop by for a visit. I love surprise visitors, and was super excited when I arrived at the door to see my cousin and his family on bikes. </li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmm1i27fYqlY9omOavlFGjdGzux3bjBqdB2yqxT9ECdIVs4RH1bIewicbqqeqa902pcsbhthIWB5jvDYfox92Za7GESwfmT6DI1YOpsPEs2iLwL4OsEJWkhiSIfTLzLA8YoaRwnlZq4eTKKnTP6eWCm2bT21R8Ofp0A6H0AbsY3x7BCH89Q1JhaL2l8jM/s1024/368511425_976695853572167_4482183627802915388_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmm1i27fYqlY9omOavlFGjdGzux3bjBqdB2yqxT9ECdIVs4RH1bIewicbqqeqa902pcsbhthIWB5jvDYfox92Za7GESwfmT6DI1YOpsPEs2iLwL4OsEJWkhiSIfTLzLA8YoaRwnlZq4eTKKnTP6eWCm2bT21R8Ofp0A6H0AbsY3x7BCH89Q1JhaL2l8jM/s320/368511425_976695853572167_4482183627802915388_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Enjoying coffee on the deck with my mom and her siblings one beautiful summer morning. Everyone looked so well and happy. </li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vf2FMHyrVsbzfg101R1j0jU27C6AU33iFDjtMLnz8x7mtG3oYQMquK5rto9y0crLfImeL1Qo3qo3tekfkyKm0GZvyjtFVSxVlf7cf6z2kY9i3IJ667LMvroDFZyA2MYOsxdomnPw1IAUnO_BJ2MlbTDw3zHfRLK9QWL6NTUEfwr3_3XIebKbkUOYFAvb/s800/371514848_1351279215799752_5704565664548924340_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vf2FMHyrVsbzfg101R1j0jU27C6AU33iFDjtMLnz8x7mtG3oYQMquK5rto9y0crLfImeL1Qo3qo3tekfkyKm0GZvyjtFVSxVlf7cf6z2kY9i3IJ667LMvroDFZyA2MYOsxdomnPw1IAUnO_BJ2MlbTDw3zHfRLK9QWL6NTUEfwr3_3XIebKbkUOYFAvb/s320/371514848_1351279215799752_5704565664548924340_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Participating in Dad's "Meath Park tour." Kayla, dad and I hit the road on the side-by-side, sipped a beer, and got the full tour of Meath Park (population 150), according to Dad's memories ("A really nice family lived in this house. They had 4 really attractive girls. I remember giving one a Valentine in grade 2"). It was an incredibly comprehensive tour. Haha!</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kShYv_u3sViHQblD4mk63WNAj6A6QCkKQANZH_VkTK4Cx22y-LaZYo4FERIgbrk6zKSxl-DSg_awv7gWxLTG9JJzQdGnOUJpMcYI8r9Y4z4SYcrnYAfMSUILvfiyFmzK08sqpP_O1rh1YWConlPzi_0mJIIDQfXQ8yZwBfg4HRnNnrZkAF_PvFRPaG1x/s1024/368509939_2435140136659078_78112942375537794_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kShYv_u3sViHQblD4mk63WNAj6A6QCkKQANZH_VkTK4Cx22y-LaZYo4FERIgbrk6zKSxl-DSg_awv7gWxLTG9JJzQdGnOUJpMcYI8r9Y4z4SYcrnYAfMSUILvfiyFmzK08sqpP_O1rh1YWConlPzi_0mJIIDQfXQ8yZwBfg4HRnNnrZkAF_PvFRPaG1x/s320/368509939_2435140136659078_78112942375537794_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Boat rides back from the boat parties. That's when Kayla and I cranked our little stereo, and Ev drove extra slow so we could turn up a dance party and pretend we were in a boy band (and eat ketchup chips). I Love dancing and singing with my sister!</li><li>Lunches with mom and friends. Our "ladies who lunch" group included Joanne, Lani, and Aunty Donna. It was so nice catching up with some of my favorite ladies.</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwSU99DdOoVYVQSvh3z-p6_hvaSxyUN7zUMMYyHAHQgIc7Ve6n6eMRC1fRo2msavUya_MJbNHKtvZSaui1ftZJD0lP3U70-Zf6Z6_c3DgY2zaVvsrfrzLJ4bYATA25OB3M4qw2sRF_zT_-tofxN6_OjOxnK8WkRxmUMIQHiDFaKOSySOGiAE8KU_o3FREG/s1024/371503553_1368787647069053_3868050033253250713_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwSU99DdOoVYVQSvh3z-p6_hvaSxyUN7zUMMYyHAHQgIc7Ve6n6eMRC1fRo2msavUya_MJbNHKtvZSaui1ftZJD0lP3U70-Zf6Z6_c3DgY2zaVvsrfrzLJ4bYATA25OB3M4qw2sRF_zT_-tofxN6_OjOxnK8WkRxmUMIQHiDFaKOSySOGiAE8KU_o3FREG/s320/371503553_1368787647069053_3868050033253250713_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Our cousin day at Shell Lake. Kayla and I spent a day with our super fun cousins, Courtney and Rochelle, as well as our awesome aunts and uncles. My face hurt from laughing so hard, especially when we sipped fireball whilst trying to stop our peddle boat from consecutively turning circles. I miss those girls!</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJmXA2hW2O3VNouaZ5wRXNiYHrGS6BTACx9YghCA-IcuUxhKHIEwStinzRBymVA-66CYZASKZqdmShlZobthm44LcuL0zy_ILjF_hG5SGAeI5azVj8Df2zI40X7WjCWFuxQFX7jbdH-oCOf_9L-qUEbL7XUpXvebQvxedixKWce3wZugxtuLoBB5Ln2PVs/s1024/371470364_2233755590169116_4751679102187945390_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJmXA2hW2O3VNouaZ5wRXNiYHrGS6BTACx9YghCA-IcuUxhKHIEwStinzRBymVA-66CYZASKZqdmShlZobthm44LcuL0zy_ILjF_hG5SGAeI5azVj8Df2zI40X7WjCWFuxQFX7jbdH-oCOf_9L-qUEbL7XUpXvebQvxedixKWce3wZugxtuLoBB5Ln2PVs/s320/371470364_2233755590169116_4751679102187945390_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Shark week Celebrations. These are always a good time. We consumed our 12 bottles of bubbly and celebrated every shark on the planet! The shark cake was perfection, and the lawn games (whilst donning full shark gear) were super fun. </li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-5NLlNOS7MTymSZ1F4s_vMibhpFEOH4uQMxKbTPwh_7rKlZM19diPxm9PR-uGxkzHHliHPOJEqgtvsg5VtSg0Z0qvesDqu2imwlzA4cMtjb4glUAdnABwqKZ0u2LK--NgZj7P5IbbpRFLFzPk6zhVytK5xzd3mrTNXmI0-p6TN_Fi0ykgYfPVKArJAKt/s1024/371510649_1404262433452020_5945429754724614881_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-5NLlNOS7MTymSZ1F4s_vMibhpFEOH4uQMxKbTPwh_7rKlZM19diPxm9PR-uGxkzHHliHPOJEqgtvsg5VtSg0Z0qvesDqu2imwlzA4cMtjb4glUAdnABwqKZ0u2LK--NgZj7P5IbbpRFLFzPk6zhVytK5xzd3mrTNXmI0-p6TN_Fi0ykgYfPVKArJAKt/s320/371510649_1404262433452020_5945429754724614881_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Our anniversary: I pulled my veil out of storage for the 18th consecutive year (it now reeks of tequila, fireball, and bad choices ;) ). Our favorite people arrived for brunch rum punches, and we celebrated on our deck. I can't believe it's been 18 years - I still vividly remember that giddy feeling I had while repeating my vows to Evan. It was such an incredible day. </li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishKKGpKxtK2p3WcA3FrQ6x6nhXwou6s91yHZer5n2rhE_IamC5-G40nhncb1AkuB1VraD4tOMv-rMnYTLh6QZ4toxQMyasRkkwY4ZPJAE-fUkyQd-mriccrf0zkeQgD4avd8gTHagjQxEz6bK-80ZXq_CZKi5wcUKYWvMJ2c_4mLnEZUS5w8Kr8-cHNB9/s737/371449668_824016006132567_2535428204484948663_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="737" data-original-width="737" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishKKGpKxtK2p3WcA3FrQ6x6nhXwou6s91yHZer5n2rhE_IamC5-G40nhncb1AkuB1VraD4tOMv-rMnYTLh6QZ4toxQMyasRkkwY4ZPJAE-fUkyQd-mriccrf0zkeQgD4avd8gTHagjQxEz6bK-80ZXq_CZKi5wcUKYWvMJ2c_4mLnEZUS5w8Kr8-cHNB9/s320/371449668_824016006132567_2535428204484948663_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Special day visits with my dear friend, Lisa, who drove 2.5 hours to see me, and my "Janna day," when my super bud since kindergarten comes to my house for 9 hours of "coffee."</li><li>Watching the Northern Lights dance in the sky, as I lay on my dock at 11:30 at night. Mesmerizing!</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKaBTB0Zz7Nya6VHXoAX1o-PkzWZsXn-giHFmQAy04z5Ew04wa0Z1OLXEmfhGAopx7iR1spcNOUeXkDzNDc-G0rknV577A3-zyRigipmhqCFwYOdr5QqJCxkIZa6I8UOMdxQ8BFYH-6XEcdMnMqxd-y9k5UsmV2XFDG_C8MJ_38lj0xsNpGere9MNeuHsh/s960/370574328_656671669744141_344235098210241617_n.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKaBTB0Zz7Nya6VHXoAX1o-PkzWZsXn-giHFmQAy04z5Ew04wa0Z1OLXEmfhGAopx7iR1spcNOUeXkDzNDc-G0rknV577A3-zyRigipmhqCFwYOdr5QqJCxkIZa6I8UOMdxQ8BFYH-6XEcdMnMqxd-y9k5UsmV2XFDG_C8MJ_38lj0xsNpGere9MNeuHsh/s320/370574328_656671669744141_344235098210241617_n.gif" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Surfing behind Darren and Allicia's boat for the first time since my knee replacements. I took it very easy, but it felt really good. I loved having Allicia, Darren, and Harper cheering me on, and I'm thankful that I am slowly returning to a more active lifestyle. </li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNmvjpwDKNWmFBuqbEBj0jK_OI9fPJTcjSgS4WUeoZK7nF31sTHuIkJRDOihB8YMLA7LP7VxxAFhbINbha5hCs1KBP0Ep2-3lA1AMnEFVOqfSsHjs0FSLyB_Mhyqovekg-i5Jzm31qq335hqMzs9dUGYbza6E4mrG2Z7RIYP4Kuzp2tbQcqVy24AR_ti58/s1024/371514021_1023895562384156_3116818995821670293_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNmvjpwDKNWmFBuqbEBj0jK_OI9fPJTcjSgS4WUeoZK7nF31sTHuIkJRDOihB8YMLA7LP7VxxAFhbINbha5hCs1KBP0Ep2-3lA1AMnEFVOqfSsHjs0FSLyB_Mhyqovekg-i5Jzm31qq335hqMzs9dUGYbza6E4mrG2Z7RIYP4Kuzp2tbQcqVy24AR_ti58/s320/371514021_1023895562384156_3116818995821670293_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Sitting quietly by the fire with Ev, and decompressing after a full day of friends</li><li>Reuniting our OG high school group in Saskatoon, and participating in Carly's undying love for Michael Bolton ("We can work it out!"🎵)</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQ9BUgSl_y75FfOTUSFVVk6EVvY31EKBR5CQ79I7_NH4nMYYuoF7Q6Md09_rVBdWTSTMbXpkwoY-SYRpTMDbOA0G4CsUUTB1khHWqOvTq9eYz1orOqe7mI_qBQphuD3MOIFxjQc1jLQOTqdpKHmJRje0mRoo8Q_lqFM_6HpRp3fV5CmIU_EI5AaZT6t29/s1080/368512600_2281199608747374_7714597299828648766_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="947" data-original-width="1080" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQ9BUgSl_y75FfOTUSFVVk6EVvY31EKBR5CQ79I7_NH4nMYYuoF7Q6Md09_rVBdWTSTMbXpkwoY-SYRpTMDbOA0G4CsUUTB1khHWqOvTq9eYz1orOqe7mI_qBQphuD3MOIFxjQc1jLQOTqdpKHmJRje0mRoo8Q_lqFM_6HpRp3fV5CmIU_EI5AaZT6t29/s320/368512600_2281199608747374_7714597299828648766_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Drinking my Timmies tea in the hot tub, and watching the family of geese float by on the lake. </li><li>Moments of just "being" with people. My mom, sister, and friends would often stop in and we would just watch TV or sit on the deck and chat. It was easy and comfortable. I think this is what I miss most. </li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5adbC1QjRX03-GpLfhEMJ0YFEXHeassTKkGqWZC1ME15Xniw9pojf7YsZyLddCeH7w7_8GnuSJ3XNFfyncRscEbYS0ctcr2FbU1S1xgMVIhVLVdgW1UqmZ491lmSljD44uTzbCAPQOx0O4gnruje6GKaE7dl7BZVcqFprr72DdMt2TtFMfqCULMe7lWa/s1024/368511986_1393147397928259_7322398615266672812_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5adbC1QjRX03-GpLfhEMJ0YFEXHeassTKkGqWZC1ME15Xniw9pojf7YsZyLddCeH7w7_8GnuSJ3XNFfyncRscEbYS0ctcr2FbU1S1xgMVIhVLVdgW1UqmZ491lmSljD44uTzbCAPQOx0O4gnruje6GKaE7dl7BZVcqFprr72DdMt2TtFMfqCULMe7lWa/s320/368511986_1393147397928259_7322398615266672812_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Seeing Dilbert and Stevie shine in their new environment!</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJVcFNUuE2l0HYvyVk5yIMVhW8Gl4OjyiztwbBVvEFET4H0JlZ69tImGy36c9BkLAqVLOUQ2CASiEjJOaRggvtDbG4FQ6Dge4_RZr1KrZTEmsOHYMmBU-Wnoq1wJ0Ugp8Bsir05ePSMq4g_jS0yoERgZqo9ogZ8ailkuTzViKTJ_BGwq_Q_IgU2qVgfef6/s2016/371503268_317179730818585_3818788727707184954_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJVcFNUuE2l0HYvyVk5yIMVhW8Gl4OjyiztwbBVvEFET4H0JlZ69tImGy36c9BkLAqVLOUQ2CASiEjJOaRggvtDbG4FQ6Dge4_RZr1KrZTEmsOHYMmBU-Wnoq1wJ0Ugp8Bsir05ePSMq4g_jS0yoERgZqo9ogZ8ailkuTzViKTJ_BGwq_Q_IgU2qVgfef6/s320/371503268_317179730818585_3818788727707184954_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Laughing so hard that I cried...but in a good way, not in an airport security line kinda way. </li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlT3tH1knRbG2ZzqW40KW0Hp3RnQ6bQ6XlKYaPmND-VnL498kkG-zYU37BULgwkG-0Et5GxiMx1Wjo_vAITRejWwCF7PsiY4326KGN88VdRkIJhQb9kJDyaEDFncJlmYoAqvklsB3dIQ2n1C4Z4nEBHX32iEBZswVXHrctlf4HS4Y_bIcjaA8eGXcZK_x/s553/368515091_683190140337792_3916206676161906420_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="411" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlT3tH1knRbG2ZzqW40KW0Hp3RnQ6bQ6XlKYaPmND-VnL498kkG-zYU37BULgwkG-0Et5GxiMx1Wjo_vAITRejWwCF7PsiY4326KGN88VdRkIJhQb9kJDyaEDFncJlmYoAqvklsB3dIQ2n1C4Z4nEBHX32iEBZswVXHrctlf4HS4Y_bIcjaA8eGXcZK_x/s320/368515091_683190140337792_3916206676161906420_n.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>That's just a few, and there are so many more. Although I was still in pain, I felt so much joy and contentedness. After falling off the rails a bit this year after my surgeries, I finally felt like my old self again - happy and fun. That's exactly how one should feel after a holiday! I'm trying to hold onto that feeling and remain revived and optimistic as I enter my 9th school year in Cayman, and get back to addressing this uncooperative Britknee. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cheers friends!</div><p></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-82031185183072242612023-06-17T08:11:00.000-07:002023-06-17T08:11:02.497-07:00This is my blind cat, emotionally traumatized dog, and disabled wife. Please allow us back into Canada<p> Hi Friends</p><p>The countdown is on! In 14 days we'll be packing up our blind cat, emotionally traumatized dog, my deformed Britknee, and making the trek back to Candle Lake for the summer. What could go wrong? Haha (nervous laugh).</p><p>I am slightly worried (AKA lay awake for hours with heart racing) about how this trip home will go. Neither of our Paw Patrolers (Stevie and Dilbert) have ever traveled any further than about 20 miles, and Dilbert has puked and/or pooped on about 75% of his treks out of West Bay. Thankfully both pets can travel as carry-on; however, given that we have 2 flights and approximately 12 hours of traveling, I'm leaning towards sedation....for all of us. Say your prayers for us on July 1. </p><p>Despite the mobilization "therapy" (This is TORTURE, people, not "therapy") three times per week, this f'n knee will not straighten. Britknee toys with the therapists, looking straight-ish after it's been yanked repeatedly out of joint for an hour straight, but then immediately bends back at this weird and awkward angle as soon as I exit the Physio clinic. I've had second and third opinions. The physios are saying that we might just have to call this, as the scar tissue and joint stiffness just does not seem to be responding after 4 months and AGGRESSIVE therapy. This could very well be a situation where I need to be anesthetized while each and every professional in the OR takes turns jumping on Britknee (this is how I picture a manipulation under anesthetic) Haha! (nervous laugh). My surgeon is on holidays, and I am not able to see him until the end of August. In the meantime, I'm to carry on, continuing to attempt extension and see if we can combat this without another surgery. At this point though, what's another f'n surgery? </p><p>I've been back at work now for 2 weeks. It's been....rough. I do really enjoy waking up with a purpose, doing my hair, wearing something that does not contain lycra, catching up with my fabulous colleagues, and hanging out with the kiddos. That has been very good for my emotional and mental health. I feel like after 12 years of surgeries, I'm now a professional faker, and have the ability to plaster is big smile on my face, joke my way through pain, and generally look like I'm fine. And sometimes faking it can genuinely make you feel better! However, the truth is that I'm wandering around in this bizarre fog. I'm struggling to problem solve. When something goes awry (which is a very common occurrence in our workplace), I just don't know what to do, nor do I really care. I could sit for hours with a blank stare, not a thought circulating through my brain. That sucks! I blame the medication - Gabapentin is known for putting people in alternate universes. I blame the pain - it's really difficult to sustain 8/10 pain for an hour in physio and then limp back to the office. I also found out this week that I'm severely anemic, so I'm sure that hasn't been helping. Apparently iron is important. Do you remember the video games where your character starts blinking repeatedly when it's down to its last life force? That's me. I'm on my last life force. Thankfully we have a 3-day weekend ahead (God save the King!), so I can retrieve a few more lives with some BBQ'd red meat (GOOOO IRON!) on the beach. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZXGLX1-H5jPA3JNk69svTgop5BlBUlJRPPQjAcqDf-13RDohYLWMdIWWrChjLUl6oblbisc-9FJ-tvPc7QfDjf22rkhRy3NCaIlLHJHKcms1pl1O5Mn-dMdAvlefbKXX4PcUimbMJYyQja3SFGMj07IKuxB8yICettnzjTMKwlkz72xr0JCN8Fbccg/s206/351697334_912585816501276_666411828626133703_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="198" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZXGLX1-H5jPA3JNk69svTgop5BlBUlJRPPQjAcqDf-13RDohYLWMdIWWrChjLUl6oblbisc-9FJ-tvPc7QfDjf22rkhRy3NCaIlLHJHKcms1pl1O5Mn-dMdAvlefbKXX4PcUimbMJYyQja3SFGMj07IKuxB8yICettnzjTMKwlkz72xr0JCN8Fbccg/s1600/351697334_912585816501276_666411828626133703_n.jpg" width="198" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Britknee watching the physios try to straighten her</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyXl3QVC5IxOhcef__GffJYo9cKmM7AQ4F4lNgKMecU9pbavPbQqMsU0viTDLeaWl_IZlCoZt-gubGuXPk6-yJ6m-QpPrXmJoZL-9QxVs724OMNtbNSt8qJCiS00MQi6XgDBGHtEQJnU8Q2V5ZCTKwnMUqOgPmI7j5PVFwiyabivT9TykBj6zUduIN7Q/s206/352075775_1622268721593956_430291708126710116_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyXl3QVC5IxOhcef__GffJYo9cKmM7AQ4F4lNgKMecU9pbavPbQqMsU0viTDLeaWl_IZlCoZt-gubGuXPk6-yJ6m-QpPrXmJoZL-9QxVs724OMNtbNSt8qJCiS00MQi6XgDBGHtEQJnU8Q2V5ZCTKwnMUqOgPmI7j5PVFwiyabivT9TykBj6zUduIN7Q/s1600/352075775_1622268721593956_430291708126710116_n.jpg" width="155" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at me! Dressed and vertical! </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>So...although I'm excited to go home and see my Canadian peeps, I'm heading back in a much different position (literally) than I had expected. I'm still on ALL the pain meds. My gait is atrocious and causing my muscles to shorten, resulting in overall pain. Britknee is nowhere near where Courtknee was at this time, and frankly, I want a refund. This knee is stupid. I hate it. I had visions of golfing, wakesurfing, and just plain old WALKING (is this too much to ask?). I also was really looking forward to getting drunk. Really stupidly drunk. Unfortunately, after 2 drinks, I feel like crap and the thought of adding headache and dry mouth to my long list of symptoms does not appeal to me. I'm pissed off. I'm so tired of hearing about the billions of successful knee replacements that typically occur on people over 60, when Britknee is far from a success story at this point, despite the fact that I'm young -ish, fit-ish, and have been so committed to my therapy. Why can't I catch a damn break?!</p><p>OK. RANT OVER. </p><p>Thanks for feeling sorry for me. </p><p>Now here's the fun update...</p><p>You all know that we adopted Dilbert from the Humane Society (AKA "Dilly," "Dill Pickle," "Dilly Bar"). Although Dilly's history wasn't clear, he was found abandoned, wandering the streets of West Bay in rough shape, and it's quite obvious by his submissiveness and fear of feet that he was kicked or abused in some way. Dilbert was heart worm positive and had to endure 2 months of treatments, which requires the dog to remain very calm and inactive. Thankfully, we've passed the 2 month mark, and Dilbert is ready to learn how to be an active and happy dog. </p><p>Dilbert is now attending school on Tuesdays and Thursdays! His little school bus comes and picks him up at 8:30 AM, he typically pukes and/or poops on the way to school, and then he learns commands, socializing with other dogs and people, and generally just gains confidence. </p><p>He's doing really well! It's so cool to see this passive, scared little animal become so full of life and joy. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5YYcwqkKN52OfoVs2fb7giTZtOrtTxdYWCxy-9juhO5X0X5M29bzXKIeWTq-l-asMIcmfv9Kq29Xmlex8gfxygzboDx54KhahK7Hc6atbg0LHSD0GpCQGw6-QXsKbUGg-StBa97V1h9czxIfI2H7Khs2Hl4PD_8wkojrXkzY-Z3v67AbbetzQb9rJw/s206/352239729_245749858163414_1278779755424632076_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5YYcwqkKN52OfoVs2fb7giTZtOrtTxdYWCxy-9juhO5X0X5M29bzXKIeWTq-l-asMIcmfv9Kq29Xmlex8gfxygzboDx54KhahK7Hc6atbg0LHSD0GpCQGw6-QXsKbUGg-StBa97V1h9czxIfI2H7Khs2Hl4PD_8wkojrXkzY-Z3v67AbbetzQb9rJw/s1600/352239729_245749858163414_1278779755424632076_n.jpg" width="155" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So proud!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUPq9mu18C-07b8g74FWlpt-t5lsyO8R9qYTt32FgzZ0CnNwQYa4xXhISkU9eeaJ-6FFsRqmzmTWQv79rZo-AyBvk5Rl65tFa1ndImJrzO8km6muJo4pz8aXWeJKi64Cf0FBQSt2qYynmHF230ZbFNQ4xbrviWQY155nirVEpe0kJQs4cWDC8wMfEaA/s206/339745486_191692577189214_7128177217882576996_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUPq9mu18C-07b8g74FWlpt-t5lsyO8R9qYTt32FgzZ0CnNwQYa4xXhISkU9eeaJ-6FFsRqmzmTWQv79rZo-AyBvk5Rl65tFa1ndImJrzO8km6muJo4pz8aXWeJKi64Cf0FBQSt2qYynmHF230ZbFNQ4xbrviWQY155nirVEpe0kJQs4cWDC8wMfEaA/s1600/339745486_191692577189214_7128177217882576996_n.jpg" width="155" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blind Cats hare NOT allowed at doggie school :(</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq5GF1e6Z00l9MKAfXTc7tZaS_Is-GvCq6I9FJ3gLdl3t_uMA5HUP-ojz-khFcBHqBDlRTBghH-fBY6rtXt7pnCbeOlu9Ra5XlezCji5HXeadftyxw6rnwpB4VTimX1sLqwySp3u_avEWgoect6whYDJWUAAvqyYMioOGFwcLtH6FWOr6o_zz8kp_FeQ/s206/351487358_935964807638619_5321761601743299995_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq5GF1e6Z00l9MKAfXTc7tZaS_Is-GvCq6I9FJ3gLdl3t_uMA5HUP-ojz-khFcBHqBDlRTBghH-fBY6rtXt7pnCbeOlu9Ra5XlezCji5HXeadftyxw6rnwpB4VTimX1sLqwySp3u_avEWgoect6whYDJWUAAvqyYMioOGFwcLtH6FWOr6o_zz8kp_FeQ/s1600/351487358_935964807638619_5321761601743299995_n.jpg" width="155" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dilbert's a little clingy with his new emotional support dog </td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><br /></p>Every morning Dilbert positions himself near the bed and patiently waits for me to wake up. As soon as my eyes open, he lets out this joyous "howl!!!" and that's the kind of enthusiasm and energy that I need right now! How can you wake up grumpy to that? He gets me out of bed in the morning, and instead of dreading the day ahead, I spend my mornings laughing as I watch Dilbert and Stevie awkwardly play together. Dilbert also has developed a keen interest in my bras. He waits until we're sleeping and then steals them out of laundry baskets and drawers and does zoomies around the house, euphorically flinging the bra around in the air. I swear he's a reincarnated teenage boy (or maybe a creepy old guy?) haha (nervous laugh). <p></p><p>I think it's incredible how these two animals came into my life at such an opportune time. This has been one of the hardest years for me in terms of pain and rehab, yet I've experienced so much joy and happiness with these little furry friends. I'm so thankful for them. I didn't think that I'd be able to love an animal as much as I loved Biloxi and Dundee, and although Dilbert and Stevie have completely different personalities, they make my heart happy. This sounds cheezy, and a bit dramatic - but these little furballs are keeping me going right now. Animals are amazing. </p><p>Well...that's all for now. Just imagine Evan on July 1 explaining to the customs agent, "Hi. This is my blind cat, emotionally traumatized dog, and disabled wife. Please let us in to Canada." (oh dear...)</p><p>Wish us luck!</p><br />Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-50540598746891625702023-05-27T06:48:00.000-07:002023-05-27T06:48:00.269-07:00Terrible things I have said and done to my physio<p>Hi Friends,</p><p>Last we spoke, Britknee wasn't into being straight. Unfortunately, despite being straightened into submission by my PhysioTerrorist three times a week and performing prone "torture hangs" from my bed while my dog licks my heels, my fricken knee is happily stuck around the 5-7 degree mark. Ideally, you want the knee to extend to zero - straight. Five to seven degrees might not sound like much, but having the knee stuck in this awkward bendy position is painful, affects my ability to sleep, and causes me to walk like I'm dragging a drunk and disorderly Britknee behind me. </p><p>I briefly saw my surgeon for the first time since my surgery. He looked me up and down, declared me a success and instructed me to push harder for extension. He explained that there is likely scar tissue impeding my knee from straightening all the way, and encouraged me to "break down the scar tissue," until my knee let up and straightened. </p><p>Easy peasy. Break through scar tissue. I mean, how hard can that be? </p><p>The last time I had scar tissue that needed to broken through, I had a quick surgery where they cut the tissue and released the knee. I was under anesthetic. It was fine. Apparently we just need to do the same thing, but you know...without the anesthetic. </p><p>Cue my physio, the superhero who is tasked with breaking down said scar tissue.</p><p>I've known my physio friend now for over a year. I would say that we have a solid relationship. We have good-natured banter. I think that we appreciate each other's sense of humor - although when he requested a reminder to bring ice to our sessions and I messaged, "If there was a problem yo I'll solve it, check out the hook while my DJ revolves it..." he responded, "Huh? You have a DJ?" (That was the day I fully realized our age gap - Hello? Vanilla ICE). Yes, he hurts me, but it's with a purpose, he apologizes, and we carry on. I'm convinced that he's good at his job. He doesn't coddle me. He pushes me, and that's exactly what I need and want right now. You know why? Because I need to break this f'n scar tissue and get discharged from my 12 year relationship with physiotherapy! Anyone ever been a 12-year relationship that you desperately need to break out of? At this point I can genuinely say, "It's not you, it's me."</p><p>Once the surgeon gave the go-ahead, physio started a new therapy called "joint mobilization." I'm not sure exactly how to describe it, other than to say that he grips my knee/leg in different positions, forcefully pushing and pulling it, then repeats those motions over the course of the one hour session. Now...one of my pet peeves is an over-exaggeration of the pain rating scale. Nothing annoys me more than when a patient walks in with a coffee and exclaims, "It's a 10/10 pain today- or even worse...It's a 12." That drives me nuts because we need to respect the rating scale and the people who literally are experiencing 10/10 pain. If you stopped for a coffee and drove yourself here, you are NOT experiencing 10/10 pain. Sit your ass down, take a sip of your coffee and maybe consider a 5. </p><p>I digress. This "mobilization" therapy is a legit 8-9 out of 10...temporary pain. I sweat profusely. I grind my teeth. I scrunch up my face so hard that any botox I've ever received is slowly released out of my pores. It takes my breath away. I also laugh-cry - like a laugh that unexpectedly turns into a cry. It's like my brain can't process what is happening and is unable to control my emotions. </p><p>But worst of all, once the he releases the position, I take a breath, and then I utter terrible things to my physiotherapist. It's brutal. The therapy is brutal and the things that I say to my very nice physio friend are brutal. </p><p>I've comprised a short list:</p><p>"I hate your face"</p><p>"You're ruining my life."</p><p>"I hate your stupid accent." (He's British, and there's nothing I hate more right now than hearing that British accent count down: "3-2-1")</p><p>"You Motherf-er"</p><p>"You're such an asshole"'</p><p>"You are the worst."</p><p>"You psychopath!"</p><p>There's more, but you get the gist. </p><p>It's awful, I feel awful, and no human should be exposed to such a toxic work environment. I've apologized. I've brought cookies. It doesn't seem to hurt his feelings. But this is where we are right now. I can see that this is also frustrating for him. He visibly winces when I sit down with my legs out in front of me and Britknee outright refuses to touch the physio bed, "Hello! I'm up here!"</p><p>To add to this mess, I'm begun experiencing what I can only deduce to be a vasovagal syncope. A vasovagal syncope occurs when your nervous system freaks out in response to a trigger. It's like a flight or fight response. Your body thinks that you're in terrible danger and slows everything down, including your blood pressure, causing you to pass out, or experience the symptoms one faces just before fainting. This has happened to me in the past when I've received cortisone injections. I'm not afraid of needles, or see it as a threat in any way, but I think my body experiences the pain of the injection, and just freaks the hell out for no great reason at all. It's not really dangerous (unless you hurt yourself passing out), but it's embarrassing, and I've found myself suddenly on a few cold doctor office floors, apologizing for my melodramatic body. Falling dramatically to the ground should be reserved for legit emergencies like heart attacks. Like, c'mon, nervous system - be better.</p><p>During Friday's physiotherapy session, I had what only can be described as a dramatically tragic vasovagal syncope - like a terrible scene out of middle school play. I was sitting on the edge of the bed getting ready to leave and did not feel "right." When I went to sit up, I fell over forwards, blacking out for a few seconds and hitting the floor. My physio bud was at the computer and I heard him run over and say, "Shit, I should have caught her." (funny in retrospect). He quickly elevated my legs and I laid on the floor, shaking uncontrollably for a solid 25-minutes. I was shaking so hard that my teeth chatter was preventing me from talking. We both knew it was my vagus nerve and I continuously reminded myself that I was fine, but as I convulsed frantically on the floor, "fine" was a tough case to make to my body.</p><p>There were only two of us in the office and I could hear my poor physio pal talk through the situation, "I should get you food. Safety first. I can't leave you alone." Ugh. This poor guy. He quickly brought me a juice box, stuck the straw in, and spilled it all over my hair. I lay shaking, drowning in Jessica Alba's Honest Organic Fruit Punch. I could see the humor in this, and kinda laughed, but my fricken body would just not stop acting as if I had been shot...the performance of a lifetime.</p><p>In the end, another physio arrived, and we all assisted in moving my body out of the way, behind the curtain, as to not upset the new patient coming in (How's that for terrible advertising!) Eventually everything settled down, my superstar bud, Anna, came and got me (and also assisted me to the bathroom - good friends help you pee!) I went home and slept for 6 hours. What a fricken DAY. </p><p>Anyway, now I shall focus on controlling my breathing and convincing my nervous system that this 8/10 pain is temporary and I'm not going to die. I'm also avoiding driving for at least 15-minutes after my sessions. So, you know, at least have a responsible vasovagal syncope. </p><p>So that's the update. I do this three times a week. My poor physio gets to do this with me three times a week. I am so over this shit. It feels like it's never going to end. Go hug a physiotherapist. They deserve more love. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAfEhyzPPbiJ_LV2K1yvZa0JFG5dPRKMDkq8C-TaPK_CQ3VnNimmfBh5B7pqI0xslTqolbYPmzJMn0vUpwkn1KCcrrN9UvymMbmHminsJw6I449wvg3YX3cl76FqIIupbFORpm5fGonderkFYZBgP18EmooRMK2zC6dxEd9mpZys6hbfDg2LvXaC1Ig/s546/8afbdb655654946b893cd90553a355b7bc55f6a00513db4ece906e8664eebbe4_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="546" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAfEhyzPPbiJ_LV2K1yvZa0JFG5dPRKMDkq8C-TaPK_CQ3VnNimmfBh5B7pqI0xslTqolbYPmzJMn0vUpwkn1KCcrrN9UvymMbmHminsJw6I449wvg3YX3cl76FqIIupbFORpm5fGonderkFYZBgP18EmooRMK2zC6dxEd9mpZys6hbfDg2LvXaC1Ig/s320/8afbdb655654946b893cd90553a355b7bc55f6a00513db4ece906e8664eebbe4_1.jpg" width="308" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased !important; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #080808; font-family: mayo-sans, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: "kern"; font-kerning: normal; font-size: clamp(20px, 18.6667px + 0.37037vw, 24px); line-height: clamp(28px, 26.6667px + 0.37037vw, 32px); margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px;"><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-6809653511747427892023-04-30T08:15:00.000-07:002023-04-30T08:15:54.174-07:00A birthday visit from my sis, battling a toxic relationship with Britknee, and attempting to belong to a country<p> Hey Friends!</p><p>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!</p><p>I have a few updates since my last blog. </p><p>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. </p><p>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!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQEh3oe2YeCU5hlHny4z5CNhEnIaarwn2IsLkzogCyEN8pmZ3bg_QafMYmPZW7RKFEw6MS-IcU9tcXNdnysfiYh9-AwXCHA8bL8j_9j0rxPqu6z5ox4VwdH-MMEDSUTTnqJU7prNrXp8Stm7wi52ondxg63fp30zenU4KucCXBejbO2dw8wpEEsT0EsQ/s1008/thumbnail_20230421_163337_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="756" data-original-width="1008" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQEh3oe2YeCU5hlHny4z5CNhEnIaarwn2IsLkzogCyEN8pmZ3bg_QafMYmPZW7RKFEw6MS-IcU9tcXNdnysfiYh9-AwXCHA8bL8j_9j0rxPqu6z5ox4VwdH-MMEDSUTTnqJU7prNrXp8Stm7wi52ondxg63fp30zenU4KucCXBejbO2dw8wpEEsT0EsQ/s320/thumbnail_20230421_163337_resized.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">physio with the fam!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>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?) </p><p>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. </p><p>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." </p><p>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 😐)</p><p>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. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhTxdfBEKqxohw4ri2szAwLFAjqo1ioJm2YhW_M3Acmss1ay5tpS3VZCUpvui9tC8B8w6FfAfUthVAkBC_Gpny2LPigNxFgU8dOe8gDmez04-ZRPxHCbEKwYjHqmJNaTs-8jHk3FIou2oSOgAA4sMJZpEq7uVrKZq62UDaQWZ_KWe_zu__wiaCq-rfQ/s1008/thumbnail_20230426_085545_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="756" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhTxdfBEKqxohw4ri2szAwLFAjqo1ioJm2YhW_M3Acmss1ay5tpS3VZCUpvui9tC8B8w6FfAfUthVAkBC_Gpny2LPigNxFgU8dOe8gDmez04-ZRPxHCbEKwYjHqmJNaTs-8jHk3FIou2oSOgAA4sMJZpEq7uVrKZq62UDaQWZ_KWe_zu__wiaCq-rfQ/s320/thumbnail_20230426_085545_resized.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fu#$ing straighten up Brit-Brit!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>On to happier things...</p><p>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. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3m4vMt_IaKh2Qyh5ty6YBObcWCP9ST4iLH-bfSqYLCE3zJUWqC03rPOQCnSkbEaxKqEShB6z60H_X0kQr8-X_inzCnThKzKHw5416PaWiKsJ9VZXC0T4vtHvxht6oQHG7PGzKHMAI82CWc6MLelxwzm3gVyrzv-5ncqgFumiRhBmI2N1Rz4g9nt4S2Q/s1024/IMG-20230424-WA0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3m4vMt_IaKh2Qyh5ty6YBObcWCP9ST4iLH-bfSqYLCE3zJUWqC03rPOQCnSkbEaxKqEShB6z60H_X0kQr8-X_inzCnThKzKHw5416PaWiKsJ9VZXC0T4vtHvxht6oQHG7PGzKHMAI82CWc6MLelxwzm3gVyrzv-5ncqgFumiRhBmI2N1Rz4g9nt4S2Q/s320/IMG-20230424-WA0010.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicuiaGPL15syDIhwyueToYVh1SFNdKP5eEJHjpdeINjSsgN4mN6tiYvkH9ZQ_u0b0BEMvQTFCqI6x99rPazRJlwiUhZaKl95aQ1Nj5bj2HGLv6aIQZesoVghHR-sCS97nWQdSUMS6zNIBWDD04O3lgVm6CUWzSfsIfyX8Y7Sd7e_qFi_hovVoqUGVbog/s1024/thumbnail_IMG-20230423-WA0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicuiaGPL15syDIhwyueToYVh1SFNdKP5eEJHjpdeINjSsgN4mN6tiYvkH9ZQ_u0b0BEMvQTFCqI6x99rPazRJlwiUhZaKl95aQ1Nj5bj2HGLv6aIQZesoVghHR-sCS97nWQdSUMS6zNIBWDD04O3lgVm6CUWzSfsIfyX8Y7Sd7e_qFi_hovVoqUGVbog/s320/thumbnail_IMG-20230423-WA0002.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBL0Bx2V4j94vJWD-93ZXKJh30sQPdWAt__0lMQGrXUKnygQRjg3Kd0eulV0UqDSKyP2_EugngtdKzNQk9i3UwJMgHIBb6TeRgB1fqPdkF09iXf7M-WfBkDwduksUOvove5Ew81usSew2K4Mg6-43jlM_Zk6-tanEIdWu6bdoH2Isw666cvUevLdeEQ/s1008/thumbnail_20230426_152152_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="756" data-original-width="1008" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBL0Bx2V4j94vJWD-93ZXKJh30sQPdWAt__0lMQGrXUKnygQRjg3Kd0eulV0UqDSKyP2_EugngtdKzNQk9i3UwJMgHIBb6TeRgB1fqPdkF09iXf7M-WfBkDwduksUOvove5Ew81usSew2K4Mg6-43jlM_Zk6-tanEIdWu6bdoH2Isw666cvUevLdeEQ/s320/thumbnail_20230426_152152_resized.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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 😏</span></div><p>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."</p><p>Cheers!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-36011893918908843512023-04-07T09:50:00.001-07:002023-04-07T09:50:33.558-07:00New additions to the family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RHc2wtX_75k9ah5UKh8l_CC_tHijgBCazsQFFTM6q0WzC3KpMBvQ7Q_MHram67hKJyi4MwGYstna-KKB7FUYTGwTdm6sV5-BdtnhPozDjcN82bmy01nZ11xjs_gAMB4FXky_4z9MHzH2slsh0bPnawJqxfmg40WiNIjheO9IzcBWCY7V8cymTSDcBw/s4032/20230329_173051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RHc2wtX_75k9ah5UKh8l_CC_tHijgBCazsQFFTM6q0WzC3KpMBvQ7Q_MHram67hKJyi4MwGYstna-KKB7FUYTGwTdm6sV5-BdtnhPozDjcN82bmy01nZ11xjs_gAMB4FXky_4z9MHzH2slsh0bPnawJqxfmg40WiNIjheO9IzcBWCY7V8cymTSDcBw/s320/20230329_173051.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Hey friends,</p><p>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!)</p><p>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. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL7QVjpG9o1mg2RTak_xZ2DyhDcSoehKJ8ztH_fl1deHKbdkwuutcUlR2Q2hGVBJ4qKGYheVZ_OIS9B8PZFbz5mtzDdhDKW1r3sbVOPZC468vHNO-ckdBApWOnJMk7EuzHNYcGsxru9R338M6_s65SJO2JYb-D9GiiDEw5vdQR4i1vhxeUrPY27elXxQ/s1024/IMG-20230308-WA0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="576" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL7QVjpG9o1mg2RTak_xZ2DyhDcSoehKJ8ztH_fl1deHKbdkwuutcUlR2Q2hGVBJ4qKGYheVZ_OIS9B8PZFbz5mtzDdhDKW1r3sbVOPZC468vHNO-ckdBApWOnJMk7EuzHNYcGsxru9R338M6_s65SJO2JYb-D9GiiDEw5vdQR4i1vhxeUrPY27elXxQ/s320/IMG-20230308-WA0004.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Come and see how awesome I am!!!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhbp_lwHxv1Awi9t_uTvu9ulkoLHZjTrMfwzHwUcDjYzlFlfZq8MzL8g9otAdAh-gD2tJNNfOO-bEoCBQl86a3TzElxwNbfF9f2OJAwgEOIFkj4xyTRpUr5PABEa21GLbrydpKTealLowkKLOkjGNej0jeW8-6ucAhanRWkPAybF1dCf1YST_NdTu4w/s2048/IMG-20230308-WA0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhbp_lwHxv1Awi9t_uTvu9ulkoLHZjTrMfwzHwUcDjYzlFlfZq8MzL8g9otAdAh-gD2tJNNfOO-bEoCBQl86a3TzElxwNbfF9f2OJAwgEOIFkj4xyTRpUr5PABEa21GLbrydpKTealLowkKLOkjGNej0jeW8-6ucAhanRWkPAybF1dCf1YST_NdTu4w/s320/IMG-20230308-WA0014.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wanna see a squat? Maybe a bunny hop?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>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). </p><p>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. </p><p>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.</p><p>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? </p><p>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." </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilTXfqwCY86yiipUkPY88CwU8BbJ6ljgak-rz6lbkNZzXvLgIO_9PnH5U59ta8yYiUYyZvF_SHE8qmkaP9UjGwW6MOYae12sILbF12BgOOJGzuhMgbr7gAP-8uzR9QEjXn253XJug7tZLFzGecKVX-_Jgc71VSj6Vr2uLz1pbigSpPEnqorDmO0-6fA/s4032/20230406_084240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilTXfqwCY86yiipUkPY88CwU8BbJ6ljgak-rz6lbkNZzXvLgIO_9PnH5U59ta8yYiUYyZvF_SHE8qmkaP9UjGwW6MOYae12sILbF12BgOOJGzuhMgbr7gAP-8uzR9QEjXn253XJug7tZLFzGecKVX-_Jgc71VSj6Vr2uLz1pbigSpPEnqorDmO0-6fA/s320/20230406_084240.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"torture hang" (I named it)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV82tyrCl4fNsTikeWhJunEwNRutZ5wxJHY0Orngag6_QvPoKVL3mb7M4X_vU0iAfFYZwsmIyUQGTEnQwo2Ywzi3JyaveYdxeHO-Dd0QTW1EhWsuXrd-tc-7oDUQ3W8e7q5GKApATQvTHV7Yak5DpYEovXaZG1m0CJY54JfLGSSBMm4yZkqNqXXaXkJw/s2280/Screenshot_20230404-065654_Instagram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2280" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV82tyrCl4fNsTikeWhJunEwNRutZ5wxJHY0Orngag6_QvPoKVL3mb7M4X_vU0iAfFYZwsmIyUQGTEnQwo2Ywzi3JyaveYdxeHO-Dd0QTW1EhWsuXrd-tc-7oDUQ3W8e7q5GKApATQvTHV7Yak5DpYEovXaZG1m0CJY54JfLGSSBMm4yZkqNqXXaXkJw/w190-h400/Screenshot_20230404-065654_Instagram.jpg" width="190" /></a></div><p></p><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2f6UkmsmvSOdAhyfTa5fyA-Oq9tiRfpmVonHTYgRHn7U7GuVi8769OE6ncCHAplrTe-KBdUvTqDQfXlCCJILNQbOiwrjYfQo0wtS1F52feb32hCdfHWD6a7Kf2J7HWRV19M-lpxTCuIXLWfURqi0CGLGGnFTPQjyYCyw_BlJWWTidRwPZE4Z2azssAg/s4032/20230314_120700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2f6UkmsmvSOdAhyfTa5fyA-Oq9tiRfpmVonHTYgRHn7U7GuVi8769OE6ncCHAplrTe-KBdUvTqDQfXlCCJILNQbOiwrjYfQo0wtS1F52feb32hCdfHWD6a7Kf2J7HWRV19M-lpxTCuIXLWfURqi0CGLGGnFTPQjyYCyw_BlJWWTidRwPZE4Z2azssAg/s320/20230314_120700.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet little Stevie - a rare moment of cuddles</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>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...</p><p>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. </p><p>Dilbert ran for 3 days. Like Forrest Gump, he just ran. And ran. And ran. </p><p>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!</p><p>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). </p><p>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. </p><p>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!" </p><p>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!</p><p>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. </p><p>Then something magical happened. Dilbert and I became buds. </p><p>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. </p><p>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!</p><p>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?</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitCaccQOlmoiww0SUYKGbXAZjk8Mp_ht_saIvOURM0oNDJG_24wuJB0txGIjw4NMLXMqRCVqbb_BFHzYofR9HmU-tPBRi7qNQjZoptsX_nZV3X--dZ5iXQ4UN_QXKVsSOHf7rK2ujcho6GjCH_cmIaBnb7-eD6xiWC8YegTaN39qjmrAby_sNjPnXPPg/s4032/20230329_173051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitCaccQOlmoiww0SUYKGbXAZjk8Mp_ht_saIvOURM0oNDJG_24wuJB0txGIjw4NMLXMqRCVqbb_BFHzYofR9HmU-tPBRi7qNQjZoptsX_nZV3X--dZ5iXQ4UN_QXKVsSOHf7rK2ujcho6GjCH_cmIaBnb7-eD6xiWC8YegTaN39qjmrAby_sNjPnXPPg/s320/20230329_173051.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paw Patrol to the rescue!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA3BfrOsb874mlZ3XUaqZmyxY4tTq9CnBA-zHmlXbDWIk2EHc3-6910JMz3_iGU4EecNSXjl8dgYlm_53KO8Dujw7gDJJuz8MH3CpJ8NgIPDrL99N0fogA5cEQOmuK0lXVuILhjxj0_4Mhg5H_5WwRWY3DGWBh7dgQ3b5y-Q5QgkSUYC2E9TnV8aBcJQ/s4032/20230402_132353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA3BfrOsb874mlZ3XUaqZmyxY4tTq9CnBA-zHmlXbDWIk2EHc3-6910JMz3_iGU4EecNSXjl8dgYlm_53KO8Dujw7gDJJuz8MH3CpJ8NgIPDrL99N0fogA5cEQOmuK0lXVuILhjxj0_4Mhg5H_5WwRWY3DGWBh7dgQ3b5y-Q5QgkSUYC2E9TnV8aBcJQ/s320/20230402_132353.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dilly with his favorite toy, "Sharky"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8jveR_RoGDZbgs41vkaniPLQVFejXUKwlsj3-hKUtJQYSJIZrH2GDpl9Duyat5Jtrr0OnBJlVB5a-ZyE2ROA5eNWVQRcqbt_BU2pIYPFie7qsbGpT4O7jeuGs-AnK5bqUbL0yxtJPvJ_MxL4O_7syaJxmJejXkdFloItXEMh9EMulhHufeOwm0SsGFw/s1440/IMG_20230325_115647_692.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8jveR_RoGDZbgs41vkaniPLQVFejXUKwlsj3-hKUtJQYSJIZrH2GDpl9Duyat5Jtrr0OnBJlVB5a-ZyE2ROA5eNWVQRcqbt_BU2pIYPFie7qsbGpT4O7jeuGs-AnK5bqUbL0yxtJPvJ_MxL4O_7syaJxmJejXkdFloItXEMh9EMulhHufeOwm0SsGFw/s320/IMG_20230325_115647_692.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poor mom was on the "chase Dilbert around West Bay" rescue team. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>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. </p><p>Happy Easter!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-9927470805782772502023-03-04T06:56:00.001-08:002023-03-04T06:57:16.057-08:00Goodbyes<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjFXb6lAz-gQVmhYHY6VEKePQy55M25Uck0cs4xh4fWveccT8zEEVn4gleAPsKuFYNL4Gkv8yZh36I2cVtYf0hXFpWN_vh8RKua788yUyRlPvrsab0I_2tox3s7IZtaayXB3Dteuiuyhpb4EEtCQJ_-4nF2YyQXtjGdv_G3zJWh0a6yx-pgDpA5vZDg/s275/330941656_3311731592381629_5668842087628757857_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="275" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjFXb6lAz-gQVmhYHY6VEKePQy55M25Uck0cs4xh4fWveccT8zEEVn4gleAPsKuFYNL4Gkv8yZh36I2cVtYf0hXFpWN_vh8RKua788yUyRlPvrsab0I_2tox3s7IZtaayXB3Dteuiuyhpb4EEtCQJ_-4nF2YyQXtjGdv_G3zJWh0a6yx-pgDpA5vZDg/s1600/330941656_3311731592381629_5668842087628757857_n.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Hi Friends,</p><p>As most of you now know, we lost our dear Baba a few weeks ago. It was a bit of a shock to our family - I know that many of you are questioning, "How could the death of a 95-year old woman be a shock?" But Baba was doing really quite well just days before she passed. In fact, her family Doctor contacted our family when she died, saying that he really couldn't believe it. He had just seen her, and overall, she was doing quite well. Her Doctor explained that they had a conversation about death and Baba told him, "Mike (my Gido) is pulling me up, but my family is pulling me down." He told us that he'd rarely worked with someone of that age who had the ability to so eloquently communicate her thoughts and feelings. Baba had just turned 95 and my hope is that she could still smell the beautiful birthday bouquets in her room when she was reunited with my Gido. I will miss my Baba very much. I always felt like we had a special relationship - although perhaps everyone felt like they had a special relationship with Baba? I loved her candid, humorous advice. She was direct, but always kind. There have been many instances in which I say something short and blunt, and Evan replies, "Ok, Baba." I laugh, but I feel proud because I should be so lucky to be likened to such an incredible woman. Over the past 10 years I've felt like giving up...well more than a few times. Sometimes the pain or the obstacles just seem to be too much - but I always remember that I possess Baba's DNA. It's the good stuff! That DNA is packed full of resilience, commitment, and strength. And so I keep going. Baba will always be a part of who I am. </p><p>My family asked me to write the obituary, which I really enjoyed doing. Part of the process is collecting memories and stories from aunts, uncles, and cousins. Although I didn't make the trip home for the funeral, I felt like I was able to reminisce with family as I put our memories into words. Writing has always been cathartic for me, and it made me feel closer to Baba - my way of saying goodbye. The day after I completed the obituary, I had a very vivid dream. Baba walked past me nonchalantly. She was wearing an outfit that was familiar to me - it seemed very real. She shuffled by with her walker, then suddenly tossed her walker to the side, gave me a little smile, and carried on. I choose to believe that she paid me a visit that night. I woke up feeling so happy! It felt like a proper goodbye. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTchFASbG5daAu7qZVKHKmZ2jGE94vY8gXi1zOgx14X0H3Gz8giZx7Cn3-FRVJojiVqH-z3yuAn9E53Obu4XR_HSAeVD8cwbSCEBivpBw6CHIPhOWDK_FPf7ofRpM_jSyE8az52MazdxVJO7vkey3Ru6KMvc36wyc6rFWzOzCZErzpnucZZRBWIxdOZg/s206/332139674_122733947248316_3865404318497756949_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTchFASbG5daAu7qZVKHKmZ2jGE94vY8gXi1zOgx14X0H3Gz8giZx7Cn3-FRVJojiVqH-z3yuAn9E53Obu4XR_HSAeVD8cwbSCEBivpBw6CHIPhOWDK_FPf7ofRpM_jSyE8az52MazdxVJO7vkey3Ru6KMvc36wyc6rFWzOzCZErzpnucZZRBWIxdOZg/w241-h320/332139674_122733947248316_3865404318497756949_n.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><p>During my break, I tagged along with Evan on a business trip to California. Cayman Airways is now offering a direct flight from Cayman to LA, which is super convenient. In 5.5 hours and 2 complementary rum punches later, you arrive at LAX, where us islanders are immediately overstimulated by traffic, people, and noise! We quickly exited LA, I removed my N95 (I'm very paranoid at the moment), and we settled in a small community called Oceanside, about halfway between LA and San Diego. As Ev ran an event for his west coast gyms, I rented a bike and cruised the beach, watching surfers do their thing. I indulged in a spa day and took myself for oceanfront lunch. It was nice! We had a beautiful spot on the beach, where I would join Ev's crew by the fire every evening for a cocktail. Once Ev's event was over, we took a quick trip to the Temecula wine valley, where we participated in a wine tour. We visited 4 wineries, where each provided about 5 tastings. You do the math! By the end, I had no idea what I was even drinking anymore, but we had a great time and my body was feeling very warm and fuzzy...which was vital, given the fact that it was snowing in southern California. Yes...snowing. Now you may recall that Ev and I had the great fortune of experiencing the coldest Christmas in Florida in 15 years, just a mere few months ago. Obviously we promote unprecedented weather. So...let us know - is your area expecting record lows? We'll do our best to hop and flight and experience that with you! haha. By the end of the trip I was desperately layering each and every piece of clothing in my suitcase over my hypothermic body. Although I enjoyed a change of scenery, I was pretty pumped to step out of the plane and immediately be hit with that humid Caribbean air. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga87krG-2KZbv3sNPA3arJC8A6n3jWPMjVDNQoujUraR9Bu8XVSpk5-ewgAPEbSx6r_o2ASoZSXglQF1zNkHCpep6l6bnaEXdTX1GAjTo_2u0f7FYs_nkxB67O76HyG6thJDm5Bt2kJtIWxeS5qSkubgeze-UdjaRQyKhKFm6k-aXgNWFzQCRtPtKZzA/s206/332323520_1153158355359513_6220425049536956044_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga87krG-2KZbv3sNPA3arJC8A6n3jWPMjVDNQoujUraR9Bu8XVSpk5-ewgAPEbSx6r_o2ASoZSXglQF1zNkHCpep6l6bnaEXdTX1GAjTo_2u0f7FYs_nkxB67O76HyG6thJDm5Bt2kJtIWxeS5qSkubgeze-UdjaRQyKhKFm6k-aXgNWFzQCRtPtKZzA/w241-h320/332323520_1153158355359513_6220425049536956044_n.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigdUXkVLe01Md87IER96SvPQJjbe_OYkM3PI4TcUtpV8R6t9exx5raGK-K8LA164TpoLsO2-je7N5pAd4wse2b63aYO1XEGXMRJHN5kCdFxypZQwTv5bV5nBxAYjPp_1IlGQlWyettqN7E0K6V-Zn4RZfY5lqKMjm9KlXD4ABZAUGJb4cvg7lFVJ_10Q/s206/332612241_209373498416756_6260153552003049622_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigdUXkVLe01Md87IER96SvPQJjbe_OYkM3PI4TcUtpV8R6t9exx5raGK-K8LA164TpoLsO2-je7N5pAd4wse2b63aYO1XEGXMRJHN5kCdFxypZQwTv5bV5nBxAYjPp_1IlGQlWyettqN7E0K6V-Zn4RZfY5lqKMjm9KlXD4ABZAUGJb4cvg7lFVJ_10Q/w241-h320/332612241_209373498416756_6260153552003049622_n.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXqjdqnXkZgKoPSdH3oPCkdEh1txhya6LwcBZM1Kc6k_VozUgvJOXCPa3YVE6WSd4t3CCzczMeUbHYMbaQ7TTBuS1hAXfNRRb18GTZLkkYjDan1n6AvHWNC8LScZSSy5_Xdiy4KZE39jp_SeK1j9skyXEq_-30auwPJm0-4hGo3gnSmVRPlDj6Hdd48g/s275/330809332_736109564896359_8647803415603689452_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="275" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXqjdqnXkZgKoPSdH3oPCkdEh1txhya6LwcBZM1Kc6k_VozUgvJOXCPa3YVE6WSd4t3CCzczMeUbHYMbaQ7TTBuS1hAXfNRRb18GTZLkkYjDan1n6AvHWNC8LScZSSy5_Xdiy4KZE39jp_SeK1j9skyXEq_-30auwPJm0-4hGo3gnSmVRPlDj6Hdd48g/s1600/330809332_736109564896359_8647803415603689452_n.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><br />It looks like my 3-month Covid sentence is almost up! As you may recall, my Nov 29 surgery was cancelled suddenly when my pre-op Covid PCR came back positive. As long as I'm Covid negative on Monday (please please please please), I should be receiving my new right knee on Tuesday! And let me tell you, I am so ready.<p></p><p>Courtknee turned a corner at the 4-month mark. She is strong, stable, and mostly pain-free. I've never experienced this with my knees over the past 12 years. Physiotherapy is no longer this tortuous event that causes me to swear profusely. I am so proud of the progress that I've made! When I go to the gym I feel like a regular person again. I lift weights, I squat, I stair climb - I feel strong. In addition, the activities I was told would be painful like kneeling and some yoga poses aren't painful at all. Courtknee has been willing to try new things, and doesn't seem to be limited by the hardware. This is awesome! The right knee, on the other hand, is seriously cramping my style, locking up regularly and causing embarrassing falls. The falls have resulted in a smashed cell phone screen and a cracked Fitbit! It's starting to get expensive. I'm over it. I can't wait to replace it with metal and move on. </p><p>Mom is scheduled to arrive Sunday - although this massive Toronto snowstorm is keeping us on our toes (please don't cancel the flight, please don't cancel the flight). I'm totally ready to move through the post-op shitty- ness as quickly and as gracefully as possible (please don't pee the bed, please don't pee the bed), and begin introducing this knee to my body. I feel so hopeful. I haven't felt hope in a very long time. I am still nervous that something will derail this surgery on Tuesday (please don't test positive, please don't test positive), so I don't think that I will take a breath until I've been awakened from my anesthetic and see the Frankenstein scar on the my right knee. Aside: Do I gently ask the surgeon to try a little harder to make a straighter cut...or will this seriously piss him off? (please don't screw up my surgery, please don't screw up my surgery). Haha!<br /></p><p>Thanks for the all the messages of support. I really appreciate them!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-46112246090917280662023-01-14T10:11:00.001-08:002023-01-14T10:11:42.598-08:00Our Florida/Georgia RV Adventure!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXY6buA0SUIoyuN37rxCQ8uwhrOLyhZfIcFRDYAcsWdyRHcAChxW9LAaVGGyHRJ34jO-iwKq7bA-TEvDADGwGDKlb4AMoQocvpzLVAWu4koLN1ThYSocBsVGTg-Q0oQvgJs8JmGkLyB8w2CsqfaGnPZIUCnV0f8TRXQYT7EY_metJHUbL_ZhHHJNb9HA/s1024/thumbnail_IMG-20221229-WA0014_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXY6buA0SUIoyuN37rxCQ8uwhrOLyhZfIcFRDYAcsWdyRHcAChxW9LAaVGGyHRJ34jO-iwKq7bA-TEvDADGwGDKlb4AMoQocvpzLVAWu4koLN1ThYSocBsVGTg-Q0oQvgJs8JmGkLyB8w2CsqfaGnPZIUCnV0f8TRXQYT7EY_metJHUbL_ZhHHJNb9HA/s320/thumbnail_IMG-20221229-WA0014_resized.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Hey Friends!</p><p>How's '23 treating you so far?</p><p>Last we chatted, my second knee replacement had been postponed due to a late Covid flex 3 weeks post illness, I wallowed in the depths of despair for a bit, and mom and I enjoyed some Xmas-y island activities before she left to spend her winter in California. </p><p>Ev and I flew out Christmas day for our RV Southeast coast adventure. We managed to experience Florida's "coldest Christmas in 15 years!" Lucky us! I know my fellow Canadians would look at the temps and think, "+6 is like a beautiful spring day here. What could they possibly be complaining about?" I was not prepared for was the lack of heating inside Florida businesses. The airport was freezing. The train was freezing. The restaurants were freezing. People in Florida don't use heaters on a regular basis, so when faced with suddenly switching from air conditioning to heat, many homes and businesses had huge issues. Luckily our sweet little RV had a kickin' furnace, which ran full blast the first 4 days of our vacation!</p><p>We picked up our RV rental in Jupiter, Florida. It's a beautiful little town in Palm Beach County (North of Ft. Lauderdale). Ev's newly acquired gym, MADabolic Jupiter, is located here and we were able to stop by and meet up with his partner, Zac, and his wife, Bonnie, and daughter, Mackenzie. It was great to finally meet up after hearing so much about them. We ate brunch, donning toques, mittens, and scarves! haha. Poor Mackenzie, aged 3, had never been so cold before!</p><p>We jumped in our 30 ft "tenement on wheels" and began our drive up the east coast of Florida. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXX_sbRc6HJbYVMsch6y8jhcr-mgxTWEXjTVBXG_e56z5ZYJIItXvqZBu0gSxvFRbLJ_io-x9o-fBTT-wrNz6zkk9ngr4yZWi3CkqX5r678klPJndbW3Z1y6u-5lNaHKPy80lYmi4Q-l35CvK0Z1SxJJU2hCnqmnKsrx0R-kIr5GZ1KSf9IYodQEqLFQ/s1280/thumbnail_20221227_153839_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXX_sbRc6HJbYVMsch6y8jhcr-mgxTWEXjTVBXG_e56z5ZYJIItXvqZBu0gSxvFRbLJ_io-x9o-fBTT-wrNz6zkk9ngr4yZWi3CkqX5r678klPJndbW3Z1y6u-5lNaHKPy80lYmi4Q-l35CvK0Z1SxJJU2hCnqmnKsrx0R-kIr5GZ1KSf9IYodQEqLFQ/s320/thumbnail_20221227_153839_resized.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeH9XQXW4BNeEjbNlwUe0nVZh_OKM7AFCRbzVh3CvRiQWL92M93T-h3WrFAw4SA5Ifktxr6MsmVay562JWcjilxgbIEKQzLS4Gz0rP8RfvT0a_NS-YYI1wWhNxvqDLqpkgfqfEtw18nEve1W4Y4BGbapLgh9v-ys4Uf9bgrugofers8d7ene14TgJ6Q/s1280/thumbnail_20221229_180313_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeH9XQXW4BNeEjbNlwUe0nVZh_OKM7AFCRbzVh3CvRiQWL92M93T-h3WrFAw4SA5Ifktxr6MsmVay562JWcjilxgbIEKQzLS4Gz0rP8RfvT0a_NS-YYI1wWhNxvqDLqpkgfqfEtw18nEve1W4Y4BGbapLgh9v-ys4Uf9bgrugofers8d7ene14TgJ6Q/s320/thumbnail_20221229_180313_resized.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Here's the thing. I was not feeling well. I sustained a hamstring injury doing my second 20 lb hamstring curl at the gym - yes, for real. That's how 43 year old knee replacement recipients injure themselves these days (at least I wasn't tying my shoe!). Although my physio assured me that my prosthesis was fine, Courtknee, who is obviously a team player, felt such terrible sympathy pain for my hamstring that she freaked out. To say that she put on some Christmas weight is an understatement! She was so hot, swollen, and painful that I was just kinda...bitchy. So you know, I wasn't at my best. The first thing I noticed about our new abode was that the bathroom was TIGHT - like the door wouldn't quite close unless my knee was bent at a solid 90 degrees whilst sitting on the toilet. This was upsetting, as Courtknee was not into bending...at all. So, whatever, we had an open-door bathroom policy for a few days. It was fine. Everything is FINE. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEyMeFCtLbRHHYLgFs9SDjK9XDsH_AjN3sxRj-HVs_CQ_ikAzSeSdFRZ2CWe0xaGME6T9E3PrJEAqUns8YuCR1fJsN6NH--dxs0Iw064BRlwY-993CsxOVKlKCFBi3qOLLUor_6x9bx7v2tVAmkeqlDsfhQQiFf8ixp7KWtAw5rYOLfqIgAN3JStcFAA/s1280/thumbnail_20221231_092127_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEyMeFCtLbRHHYLgFs9SDjK9XDsH_AjN3sxRj-HVs_CQ_ikAzSeSdFRZ2CWe0xaGME6T9E3PrJEAqUns8YuCR1fJsN6NH--dxs0Iw064BRlwY-993CsxOVKlKCFBi3qOLLUor_6x9bx7v2tVAmkeqlDsfhQQiFf8ixp7KWtAw5rYOLfqIgAN3JStcFAA/s320/thumbnail_20221231_092127_resized.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Side note: Courtknee sets off the airport metal detectors! When I explained to security that I had knee replacement, he looked at me in disbelief and patted me down like I was packing heat.</i></div></span></div><p></p><p>We drove north to St. Augustine, a historical city on the northeast Florida coast, claiming to be the oldest city in the United States! Who knew? We did a modified tour of the downtown area - which was really cute cobblestone streets and quaint little shops. We then drove north to Georgia and spent two days in Savannah. I've been to Savannah before, and always thought that it was a cool place. In Savannah, we found a beautiful state park campground filled with massive oak trees donning the ghostly gray hanging Spanish moss. Although it was freezing (literally, it was below zero), we enjoyed a campfire outside in our layers of clothing and Courtknee remained as hot as an iron, keeping me warm and toasty. Thank God for Courtknee (dripping with sarcasm). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUyhSm9-xpsC3sBX1BYKG_a3bWZLfsEDHsYqxvhqzFCmEXWm9JRFpLHhbqbdP-FeP60SZZs7uVCxRaolA1bIhRn2R0SgJCX43T9y_MXgnLxgi_D15wK5uTkvSIGK06AcB-cVjTQxw2LF-7pCcppWrhdUGmnpV75oS2GRVG6lkfUU4nKL1nAx1YVidUQ/s1024/thumbnail_IMG-20221229-WA0015_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUyhSm9-xpsC3sBX1BYKG_a3bWZLfsEDHsYqxvhqzFCmEXWm9JRFpLHhbqbdP-FeP60SZZs7uVCxRaolA1bIhRn2R0SgJCX43T9y_MXgnLxgi_D15wK5uTkvSIGK06AcB-cVjTQxw2LF-7pCcppWrhdUGmnpV75oS2GRVG6lkfUU4nKL1nAx1YVidUQ/s320/thumbnail_IMG-20221229-WA0015_resized.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Although our RV had 2 large slide out smart TV's, we were either without wifi or did not have a strong enough connection to stream shows. But...get this - we had a DVD player. Remember those? Magically, Redbox DVD rentals STILL EXIST. For real. So, we pretended it was 2001 and rented DVD's on a regular (begging them not to skip). Very nostalgic. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6bxYxcqhYMlPuZs6Gu-_MDOqOXCRip1TzmZD66vHI1SfhOenAdSlNovQVT8LOBJgZMWP2q_0rBCTRMimddaNhdOHyhbuISN6CJb7Ct1kaBjmVbl-4bjQj1IjJxkeXGKZFpnVIsUPpOAuJDjsECQRfJyuB3ggdNyUhdCK5mcKzoXdQbFdsaMeAp3C60w/s1024/thumbnail_IMG-20230101-WA0011_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6bxYxcqhYMlPuZs6Gu-_MDOqOXCRip1TzmZD66vHI1SfhOenAdSlNovQVT8LOBJgZMWP2q_0rBCTRMimddaNhdOHyhbuISN6CJb7Ct1kaBjmVbl-4bjQj1IjJxkeXGKZFpnVIsUPpOAuJDjsECQRfJyuB3ggdNyUhdCK5mcKzoXdQbFdsaMeAp3C60w/s320/thumbnail_IMG-20230101-WA0011_resized.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>We caught the hop-on, hop-off tour in Savannah. If you ever visit, I highly recommend the tour, as the city is very spread out. Our guide was really interesting, and you can sip a little wobbly pop whilst enjoying the history of Savannah. Ev and I eventually found a section of hotels on the river that had roof-top bars and created our own rooftop bar hopping event. Thankfully, all of the rooftops had heaters and it was great location to check out Savannah views. I LOVE a good cocktail on a rooftop bar!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_5KqvAHRjgAGZ14ZOMqKsNWU8I9jyuCn7P934I3aV0mdF7BDBAEwZhWZTxzh7FzoY42xRwPCWUS1wK74WEfSWkyJxMFzLpMYcj3BzuKyVfYWHnZtjl_6WPx_IFrw_wDOaK_dYJx_ZuLcs6V2iUsW5Xu0thuCIt89qzV_UGTsHOEO4nmjL6QZEbJI-A/s1024/thumbnail_IMG-20221229-WA0021_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_5KqvAHRjgAGZ14ZOMqKsNWU8I9jyuCn7P934I3aV0mdF7BDBAEwZhWZTxzh7FzoY42xRwPCWUS1wK74WEfSWkyJxMFzLpMYcj3BzuKyVfYWHnZtjl_6WPx_IFrw_wDOaK_dYJx_ZuLcs6V2iUsW5Xu0thuCIt89qzV_UGTsHOEO4nmjL6QZEbJI-A/s320/thumbnail_IMG-20221229-WA0021_resized.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Our plan was to continue north to Charleston, North Carolina, but I looked at the forecast and could see that it was warming up in Florida. We forego the Charleston adventure and decided to head back towards warmer weather. </p><p>I really enjoyed driving along the A1A ("BEACHFRONT AVENUE"🎵). We meandered through coastal towns, hugging the Atlantic Ocean the entire way. We stopped when we wanted to stop. We didn't have to use public washrooms, and I may have snuck some wine in my travel Yeti while enjoying the view. It was a good solution, given that I wasn't very mobile. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmeEii2PgHteZmWjgm03kfDEhU2cg37cqDHw9TtesuvIBdgws8UpqabCD45BtRZgoydFP7LxuCavmZY9W9llG1tz8dSiQWR5CEMpY7SsS-FiFv_kO3gBQzllQn9UM31DTnEAUfjv9KnskifY9sQjoIodD8re66jPrJlQxlb-eEwVXdLEUexZaiWf0Fw/s1280/thumbnail_20221230_125831_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmeEii2PgHteZmWjgm03kfDEhU2cg37cqDHw9TtesuvIBdgws8UpqabCD45BtRZgoydFP7LxuCavmZY9W9llG1tz8dSiQWR5CEMpY7SsS-FiFv_kO3gBQzllQn9UM31DTnEAUfjv9KnskifY9sQjoIodD8re66jPrJlQxlb-eEwVXdLEUexZaiWf0Fw/s320/thumbnail_20221230_125831_resized.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLbXoe4HITfxesKpxazYLDy1TY7ryyFiWupZ0Glnp9W-SVRHvXZ5heZ9jILukbHZnrMWQmmEqziO-uXlW1KEPC5bh8EmTXKVoBjwytKxXpI3YGDMoadWuIqDylg-5Hf2BDLchULRQRoU2rUi5cwjCw5ywgpzTNtajPqEfDir5W8OpV7BzQKakXJoHLGg/s1280/thumbnail_20221230_092110_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLbXoe4HITfxesKpxazYLDy1TY7ryyFiWupZ0Glnp9W-SVRHvXZ5heZ9jILukbHZnrMWQmmEqziO-uXlW1KEPC5bh8EmTXKVoBjwytKxXpI3YGDMoadWuIqDylg-5Hf2BDLchULRQRoU2rUi5cwjCw5ywgpzTNtajPqEfDir5W8OpV7BzQKakXJoHLGg/s320/thumbnail_20221230_092110_resized.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>There were a few hiccups along the way. Our slide-outs (you push a button and the RV expands), stopped working and Ev had to manually push our RV back together. I pushed the button while Ev alternated between leg pressing the wall and yelling "Stop! Go! Stop!" That was fun. Also, the one day Ev left me alone to work at his gym, I locked myself out and had to climb through a window, while the seniors at the RV park speculated that I was a hoodlum. Other than those incidences (which are funny now), it was a great little trip. </p><p>My favorite part of the trip, however, was the hockey game. Can you believe it?</p><p>I've watched my fair share of hockey games over the years. I remember thinking, "When Ev retires, I will NEVER go to another hockey game ever again."</p><p>So, you know, I took like 20 years off, and now I'm ready to throw myself back in the game. Cue the Kirstie comeback tour!</p><p>We saw the Panthers play the Rangers in Sunrise, Florida (near Ft. Lauderdale). We attended with Zac, Bonnie, and their friends. It was so much fun!</p><p>To be fair, I spent most of Evan's games locked in the bathroom, as I couldn't bear to watch Ev get scored on. It was a huge problem. Although awesome, Ev often did get scored on at least once in a game. Those were very stressful days, as losing a game could mean a trade, a loss of a job, or a loss of a contract. Games were not "fun," my friends. This time, however, with nothing on the line, I stayed in my seat the entire time and thoroughly enjoyed the entertainment! Cheer dancers! Live interviews! Incredible 90's jock jams! Strobe lights! This place was lit! </p><p>I immediately recognized the name of the Rangers goalie - Halak. Ev reminded me that Jaroslav Halak attended training camp with him back in the day. "Wait a minute? This guy is still playing? He's pretty old to be butterflying about with 37-year old hips!" </p><p>And then it happened. My irrational hatred of the opposing goaltender reared its ugly head. </p><p>You see, when Ev played, I HATED every single opposing goaltender. In my mind, regardless of who he was, I envisioned him as a puppy-kicking, wife-slapping, tax-evading jerk. When the opposing goaltender so much as touched the puck, my internal filter failed miserably and I vomited horrible things out of my mouth. </p><p>"Garand - You're full of holes you f#$king sieve!"</p><p>"You're a F#$ing loser, Murphy!"</p><p>"You are a piece of S#$T on the bottom of my shoe, Bronsard!"</p><p>I know, I know. Embarrassing. I couldn't help myself. I don't consider myself an angry person, but those goaltenders made me see red. Watching another goaltender make a save caused a volcano of emotions to erupt in the form of horrible insults (In retrospect, I probably need therapy for this). </p><p>So, you know, I did what I do, and I began sputtering insults at Halak. </p><p>"Shoot low! He's too old to go down!"</p><p>"Don't hurt yourself, Halak!"</p><p>Evan looked over at me in shock.</p><p>"Kirstie. What are you doing?"</p><p>"I don't know. I can't help it!" I replied, covering my hand over my mouth while realizing that I might be embarrassing myself in front of my new friends. </p><p>I managed to tone it down a bit and, despite the Panthers loss (Old man Halak is still pretty good!), I really enjoyed myself! I will definitely be attending more hockey games in the future (Ev may not agree?) Haha. </p><p>So, overall, it was a nice little trip. I needed a change of scenery, and I got that daily on my vacation by simply looking out my window while Ev toured us around in the RV. </p><p>I'm now back at work until the rescheduled knee replacement on March 7. Although my endurance is not what it used to be - it's challenging to navigate pain, decreased mobility, and a demanding cognitive load - I feel like being back at work is really good for my mental health. I forgot how fun the kiddos are. I'm enjoying being reunited with my fellow Specialists, and it's a good distraction from the knees. I'm sure you are all SOOOO sick of hearing about my knees, and trust me, I'm sick of thinking about them! </p><p>Cheers, friends!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkU-l1l1al5QeBZWP-wweong_DR3Y5qcndrIEXN3yVcdUh-1R0SEnnFRXR-CQiEMBZH2uIzof_s8LE4-YQhQ_-0XB-1T2g30GkKPDufnRkFxYiWsNmyS6iBinJE5MYOTYWUZmhIM7AVOpqKs8piwNAwJZLSdnjWqZWMl4OPBd-cITrX74Npz8zwih0kQ/s1024/thumbnail_IMG-20230101-WA0010_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkU-l1l1al5QeBZWP-wweong_DR3Y5qcndrIEXN3yVcdUh-1R0SEnnFRXR-CQiEMBZH2uIzof_s8LE4-YQhQ_-0XB-1T2g30GkKPDufnRkFxYiWsNmyS6iBinJE5MYOTYWUZmhIM7AVOpqKs8piwNAwJZLSdnjWqZWMl4OPBd-cITrX74Npz8zwih0kQ/s320/thumbnail_IMG-20230101-WA0010_resized.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_u09j1nC3J7h72IGCJyApLbbVfLdpK3DkRfpi7LEdsRj6x2SXWptJP_QKVf8XjIWp2PJ56mp6VnEYQhyj42HqWiI160_BorCL3jZL3MRRyHN9raWnOxFFudondr_kzXv2kW2FwHallEg2ljylYf--JWmsxqWxH5a7OtDldBx-o3eadEtf_6UOfpbgDQ/s1024/thumbnail_IMG-20230101-WA0017_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_u09j1nC3J7h72IGCJyApLbbVfLdpK3DkRfpi7LEdsRj6x2SXWptJP_QKVf8XjIWp2PJ56mp6VnEYQhyj42HqWiI160_BorCL3jZL3MRRyHN9raWnOxFFudondr_kzXv2kW2FwHallEg2ljylYf--JWmsxqWxH5a7OtDldBx-o3eadEtf_6UOfpbgDQ/s320/thumbnail_IMG-20230101-WA0017_resized.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-56396831821160865262022-12-17T05:41:00.000-08:002022-12-17T05:41:06.266-08:00Knee Purgatory<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXa-UpvuTHLUXQQ7yvl7JwQ9OhvW69oe4Xlb-gZH9-lG4_BCu8R_OHAKL4y6eHqFmrX7r9AGBhZYGUB4rnnvxXwA5MR9zDJwTllk-ZFBGpC_1e6ZFbJEQpQPcB2hYb4yVfadDXv0_g22xApK2pDAJtz0iDNH-GmJarhLIYdtuUE0owTjyyLuhJflJNw/s260/download-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="260" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXa-UpvuTHLUXQQ7yvl7JwQ9OhvW69oe4Xlb-gZH9-lG4_BCu8R_OHAKL4y6eHqFmrX7r9AGBhZYGUB4rnnvxXwA5MR9zDJwTllk-ZFBGpC_1e6ZFbJEQpQPcB2hYb4yVfadDXv0_g22xApK2pDAJtz0iDNH-GmJarhLIYdtuUE0owTjyyLuhJflJNw/s1600/download-1.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Hey friends,</p><p>Last we spoke I was on the "final countdown" to my 15th and last-ish knee surgery for ever-ish. I was dreaming about a life with two solid knees - booking an Easter vacation in Europe, looking to adopt a dog in the spring, and considering an online University course in February. For the first time in a long time, I began making plans. </p><p>Aside: When my Grandma used to tell stories that began jubilantly, we anticipated that the story would often end in tragedy: "They were such a nice little family in a nice little house and they had just a beautiful new baby...and then Bob was suddenly run over and killed by his combine."</p><p>(Can you sense the foreshadowing?)</p><p>Well...</p><p>Things didn't quite go the way that I had hoped. AT ALL. </p><p>Despite having Covid in early November, the Anesthesiologist cleared me for surgery a week prior, and I was healthy, and ready to go. Unfortunately my pre-op Covid PCR came back positive the day before my surgery and the new knee was canceled...about 12 hours before my surgery.</p><p>Our PCR tests on island provide us with specific numbers - cycle thresholds that indicate how much virus is actually in your system. The higher the number, the less "sick" you are. You need a number of 35 to be considered Covid-free. My number was 32.5. I was not contagious; however, the virus was still detectable in my body - nearly 3 weeks after I had been sick. </p><p>I pleaded with the Unit Clerk over the phone, "Please! I'm not even contagious. My mom flew in from Canada to look after me, I have no symptoms and anesthesiology cleared me! I just really Kneed this knee!"</p><p>No dice. </p><p>Oh my God, to say I was disappointed is an understatement. </p><p>I can't express just how upsetting it is to be completely and totally mentally, physically, and emotionally prepared for something only for it to dissipate with 2.5 Fu#$ing Covid threshold units. I had been "training" for this surgery for months. I was so ready to move on. I was so excited to start my new life. </p><p>There were tears - the kind of tears that make you choke because you can't really inhale anymore without sucking up your snot. You know those ones? Ugh. It was ugly.</p><p>Thank God my mom was here. She just held me while I cried and poor Ev looked on in disbelief (trying to figure out how to "fix" the problem, I'm sure). </p><p>Two days later I camped myself outside of my surgeon's office and waited patiently to plead my case. </p><p>My Ortho was also disappointed that my surgery was canceled, and explained that it was simply a checkbox item - I had failed to meet the pre-op requirements. No exceptions made. He offered to place me on cancelation list for a week, but warned that the OR schedule was very busy, and that after a week he was heading on holidays over the Christmas break. </p><p>I held out a tiny bit of hope that perhaps I could still get in for surgery prior to Christmas, which would only delay all my hopes and dreams by a week. </p><p>Like 16 year old Kirstie waiting for Jason Issel to call her back (he did.. eventually, and broke up with me), I waited on pins and needles, glued to my phone. Finally 5 days later, I received a call from a hospital number.</p><p>My hands shook with excitement as I frantically answered the phone (imagine being excited to get your knee chopped off?) </p><p>"Hello. This is the Cayman Islands Hospital calling with a short survey about your surgery experience last week."</p><p>FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU## right off. </p><p>Like salt in my massive gaping wound. </p><p>Spoiler alert...I did not get my Christmas miracle, I am obviously on the naughty list because Courtknee now has to wait until MARCH to get a new friend. That's THREE months away. </p><p>UGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH. It's all just so unbelievably disappointing. </p><p>In a fit of defiance, Courtknee blew up with this news (I had promised her a friend that she was no longer getting), and for the first time since my knee replacement, I began struggling with swelling, and stay puft marshmallow Courtknee could barely bend (she's a bit of a drama queen). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPmuknvy1_FCzhBA01r1QWwqpDqw2r99VrM9AjCgga7uih9asZ-gmsBS0Bzk6VH9IuaMhjJHLyi4SLKXS5RfF8Wv52beMLoL2zqUl8HKj2NfIANyG54TbAhjglOI_7oZEWle8wfWxMUjOdyKh1y3JJu7BQdULpK5i2IdV0O-EJAB5dhzoT5fZuWcDOpA/s206/318892117_525134309669469_5923498928372106981_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="155" data-original-width="206" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPmuknvy1_FCzhBA01r1QWwqpDqw2r99VrM9AjCgga7uih9asZ-gmsBS0Bzk6VH9IuaMhjJHLyi4SLKXS5RfF8Wv52beMLoL2zqUl8HKj2NfIANyG54TbAhjglOI_7oZEWle8wfWxMUjOdyKh1y3JJu7BQdULpK5i2IdV0O-EJAB5dhzoT5fZuWcDOpA/s1600/318892117_525134309669469_5923498928372106981_n.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSC6ntnxy1bCXrnBeJvFuRhaczLrNzPMUlcVUVH3850PolYLuZhZ43qZYcNXpmbUqyiMOg4OBTvlIVFYlU6oWdgPVuxq99EEsR-p34PcMiG2VPqKrAOe2wlIsseFspYgVXyaGClyUUVuXpgU6_MQhreFj19qUmIm3aLO8ZrBO9_-MoiaEv7EYop-aFqw/s206/309703519_449136527329926_4494533289832499457_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSC6ntnxy1bCXrnBeJvFuRhaczLrNzPMUlcVUVH3850PolYLuZhZ43qZYcNXpmbUqyiMOg4OBTvlIVFYlU6oWdgPVuxq99EEsR-p34PcMiG2VPqKrAOe2wlIsseFspYgVXyaGClyUUVuXpgU6_MQhreFj19qUmIm3aLO8ZrBO9_-MoiaEv7EYop-aFqw/s1600/309703519_449136527329926_4494533289832499457_n.jpg" width="155" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You see it? You see it?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>So I was sad, swollen, and defeated. </p><p>My wonderful Mom let me be miserable for a few days, encouraging me to help her decorate the Christmas tree, bake some cookies, and watch Christmas movies. It was so comforting to have her here. </p><p>Once I processed the news and "accepted" my new reality, I tried to focus on just enjoying the time with mom during a really nice time of year on island. The Christmas breeze is blowing strong, the roundabouts are all decked out in blinking lights, and tropical holiday music plays in every store. Cayman is a beautiful place during the holidays, and it was really nice experiencing this with my mom (We also snuck in a decadent night at the Kimpton). </p><p>But...I find myself back in a place where I had hoped to never be in again. </p><p>I will be returning to work after the holidays with one good-ish knee and one knee that randomly locks and gives out on me. I will need to begin everyday with a strategy. How do I limit my number of steps? When can I take a pain-killer to ensure that I'm alert to see my students? How will I carry all my supplies to four different schools? What will I do if my knee locks up and I am unable to unlock it? In addition, I'm navigating physiotherapy challenges as progress with Courtknee is now limited by my broken knee. The right knee was ready and poised for retirement, so it's really not fair to her either. This was not the plan, dammit!</p><p>My dreams of touring Europe at Easter are over. The dog will have to wait. I will not be well enough to take write a university final exam in March. Everything has been pushed back and placed on hold - like the last 10 years of my life. I am well aware that this is really minor compared to what so many are going through right now. I will be fine. I know this. But I'm just so tired of being resilient. I feel so tired, and I think I'm going to feel sorry for myself for just a bit longer while I sit here wallowing in knee purgatory (currently with a pulled hamstring to add insult to injury...or injury to injury or whatever). </p><p>Mom left this week and I miss her already. She and Lenny put their plans to travel down to California on hold so that she could help with the surgery that never happened. She will do the same for me in March. She is such a good mom. I am very grateful. </p><p>Evan has wisely decided that a change of scenery will do me good, so he's booked us a flight to Miami on the 25th. Typically I plan all of our travels, but I just didn't have it in me, so he's in charge this time. I know that we are visiting his new Florida gym, I know that there is an RV involved (yes..an RV!), an NHL hockey game, and a stop in Savannah (Georgia, not Cayman). I'm not exactly sure what's happening, but I'm looking forward to getting a break from the island. I think it's really thoughtful of him to recognize that I need this right now. It's pretty great that people still love me even when I'm miserable and difficult to love these days. </p><p>Cheers, friends. Wishing you all a Merry Christmas!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaml43lpG8KnjDFfIb25F_8qo5dllRrTMYMuibOAeoLrpCUcV8KKgSMiP4gSu6Hw9oT9u_QbVdYjM42AgZbXe-A2uf-9HYJg2sRa-5hhDiAuaBsbG5I6nYNq7Bj2HcHfdnsUWgm63LlPuhRF1_rOTsz5_FjVaVYFCNvMnshU3G05oGes91QZUsf14Few/s206/318887624_918020675805196_8366259313487873572_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="159" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaml43lpG8KnjDFfIb25F_8qo5dllRrTMYMuibOAeoLrpCUcV8KKgSMiP4gSu6Hw9oT9u_QbVdYjM42AgZbXe-A2uf-9HYJg2sRa-5hhDiAuaBsbG5I6nYNq7Bj2HcHfdnsUWgm63LlPuhRF1_rOTsz5_FjVaVYFCNvMnshU3G05oGes91QZUsf14Few/w247-h320/318887624_918020675805196_8366259313487873572_n.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU0FozUYQ0_rC8O3EsJ7DjrZ3ZwZkba3l3YdR6Os7pVuNYDJu7V9KfXMY_cDrwqDKX6s3n1u7dHwXx6vUM4sYa2yagXOkRgB6sHmQzJbgwhLW-GKJActZLcuEBx8tj2Anc2OwooMJI2Y9Cg0M8NLbV2FWaIuMv_mSmLcb54AJQSKqReG70hMmDVIwPNw/s206/319192290_697083092032181_3008703338429995344_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU0FozUYQ0_rC8O3EsJ7DjrZ3ZwZkba3l3YdR6Os7pVuNYDJu7V9KfXMY_cDrwqDKX6s3n1u7dHwXx6vUM4sYa2yagXOkRgB6sHmQzJbgwhLW-GKJActZLcuEBx8tj2Anc2OwooMJI2Y9Cg0M8NLbV2FWaIuMv_mSmLcb54AJQSKqReG70hMmDVIwPNw/w241-h320/319192290_697083092032181_3008703338429995344_n.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4efzsMuf9Mz5_-MqQaIoWBgoVYZnqfYk0hAFeBvxLg6ihpX-UvfbcxqH732MeVEdOiYW_QhBp5A6di62KOdQUzpzuao4m_VvaO6rSdn1vNTueBywxavDam8dRV6_mz9aUNYDovd_jOUmfgv4C-C7gDelCzJT-6tHVIsTt9lENMbWcS2GUwUUpUuLdrw/s206/319199255_687686892813008_3051547730459845808_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4efzsMuf9Mz5_-MqQaIoWBgoVYZnqfYk0hAFeBvxLg6ihpX-UvfbcxqH732MeVEdOiYW_QhBp5A6di62KOdQUzpzuao4m_VvaO6rSdn1vNTueBywxavDam8dRV6_mz9aUNYDovd_jOUmfgv4C-C7gDelCzJT-6tHVIsTt9lENMbWcS2GUwUUpUuLdrw/w241-h320/319199255_687686892813008_3051547730459845808_n.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBT0ophatlWIq8NfO_5N1fxgwQ5uAkzFa0Myvq47agrvzt_qy5u5AaNyveSlrWVgHMFmYFA3EI1RSM8kkBgzslp77QGmDK7g1MP11FxXTFfFCA_9cmP4O49Th0Gg8E3OyqFPKMWuAJu1GjkB2D5Skc7lpW5hntoRz9YRFOJ24WzIxvrimwA2f5K9-lg/s275/319459906_479499800887574_6559872042703754342_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="275" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBT0ophatlWIq8NfO_5N1fxgwQ5uAkzFa0Myvq47agrvzt_qy5u5AaNyveSlrWVgHMFmYFA3EI1RSM8kkBgzslp77QGmDK7g1MP11FxXTFfFCA_9cmP4O49Th0Gg8E3OyqFPKMWuAJu1GjkB2D5Skc7lpW5hntoRz9YRFOJ24WzIxvrimwA2f5K9-lg/w320-h240/319459906_479499800887574_6559872042703754342_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzqpbDtKMUAEy0MRSg6TtOocV7NqDWB2qLXvPd2EzStJsywQ0lLdJHkoCGYcIaQyzw8LvcvlGKhGmmEtOPwpIZxMMivjLMGMoldTUzGEP_wbyxL6fTXztEEcFQXFDdN5AX1hneCVKaGdv-CmmlhJK3UjkLuufVKpMI70tthGK7Bc8s2Ylm9xcJ5fHU5Q/s206/320338145_730766977969335_3575277225638642743_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzqpbDtKMUAEy0MRSg6TtOocV7NqDWB2qLXvPd2EzStJsywQ0lLdJHkoCGYcIaQyzw8LvcvlGKhGmmEtOPwpIZxMMivjLMGMoldTUzGEP_wbyxL6fTXztEEcFQXFDdN5AX1hneCVKaGdv-CmmlhJK3UjkLuufVKpMI70tthGK7Bc8s2Ylm9xcJ5fHU5Q/s1600/320338145_730766977969335_3575277225638642743_n.jpg" width="155" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIaVbsRTy1PqOUhtXSwGdL8mCKlwmrPwHITvWzJ6aSUbDt5B2wxPYfQOtR4wvigcA2INQfqwkW5Ni4tMt5vw1M6jKpvsIgbyFuc2k2KfUU-GQOk2aAb4IUHOqbr_tgLfGK1et9V5dLdaTOK8fSSFgnwK3nAC4f969TcCX7ELtjjL9-FnxY5gW-BOLjpw/s275/320512291_632422975322136_3945489048379756139_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="275" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIaVbsRTy1PqOUhtXSwGdL8mCKlwmrPwHITvWzJ6aSUbDt5B2wxPYfQOtR4wvigcA2INQfqwkW5Ni4tMt5vw1M6jKpvsIgbyFuc2k2KfUU-GQOk2aAb4IUHOqbr_tgLfGK1et9V5dLdaTOK8fSSFgnwK3nAC4f969TcCX7ELtjjL9-FnxY5gW-BOLjpw/s1600/320512291_632422975322136_3945489048379756139_n.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-18138852419903604672022-11-26T06:02:00.000-08:002022-11-26T06:02:51.115-08:00The "final" countdown...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipeNJqiaDOvI3x_JJy6_Ap6-JwMkbvh_Cuzy8ACwPmHsFuUxohyx5rggCub7gEML4F9FPBXONHpWyikXwuqSwTk3v-cI3oVVtFzxhLRnGcczlLf-JdlrlY3uD2NVCfjWHf90kq-4W1RIkZBRwVwC6W5vxLVl3_sZOe3HivjPVZ6wohIKZUEezDlbiDAQ/s2048/316732037_1080767375951609_1254976429441747009_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipeNJqiaDOvI3x_JJy6_Ap6-JwMkbvh_Cuzy8ACwPmHsFuUxohyx5rggCub7gEML4F9FPBXONHpWyikXwuqSwTk3v-cI3oVVtFzxhLRnGcczlLf-JdlrlY3uD2NVCfjWHf90kq-4W1RIkZBRwVwC6W5vxLVl3_sZOe3HivjPVZ6wohIKZUEezDlbiDAQ/s320/316732037_1080767375951609_1254976429441747009_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>"Where does your tongue need to be when you make your snake sound, Zachary?"</p><p>"In the front."</p><p>"That's right! And where are you blowing your air?"</p><p>"Out the middle of my mouth."</p><p>"Awesome! Let's give it a try. Smiley face. Tongue behind your teeth. Blow straight out the front!"</p><p>"SSSSSSHSHSHSHSHSHSSSSSSSSHSHSHSHSHSH"</p><p>I cringed as Zachary's lateral lisp hijacked his perfect /s/ positioning. Just as I was about to correct it with a verbal cue, I watched in horror as a giant wad of iridescent saliva exited the sides of Zachary's mouth, soared directly towards me, and entered my open mouth.</p><p>That's right. I swallowed Zachary's lateral lisp saliva. </p><p>Occupational hazard of the speech-language pathologist. </p><p>The next day, I received an email from Zachary's teacher, informing me that Zachary had tested positive for Covid and would be out for the next week. </p><p>I mentally prepared myself for the fact that I would soon contract Covid. I mean...I had swallowed saliva infected with the virus! Certainly it was inevitable. It was halfway through a very long spring term. Half of my co-workers were in covid isolation. I was exhausted. A small part of me was secretly anticipating a little time at home for a week. However, the positive test never came. Day after day, I tested negative. I had (somehow!) outran the 'vid. </p><p>I had to assume that I was immune?</p><p>Fast forward ahead nine months. I'm home on medical leave, rehabbing Courtknee. I rarely leave my house, except to be tortured by my physiotherapist. I say "tortured" with respect, of course. I have many physiotherapy friends, and they truly are a helping profession, but a part of me suspects they were the kids who pulled wings off of insects at recess. I digress. I wake up one morning with a sore throat, fever, and severe aches. I call to cancel my physiotherapy session and am informed by the receptionist that my physio tested positive for covid. I swab my nose and 2 bright menacing lines immediately appear on my covid test. I had caught the 'vid! And in an ironic twist of fate, it wasn't from the hundreds of infected children I had been exposed to for 2.5 years, but in fact, it was contracted from my physiotherapist, the person who makes sick people cry for a living.</p><p><i>Disclaimer: My physio is a good guy. He's been immensely helpful in this recovery, and I appreciate him very much, Covid and all. </i></p><p>Thankfully, it was quite mild and short-lived. I spent a few days shivering/sweating in bed, lamenting about how unfair the universe was, while Evan passed me food with a stick. Miraculously, he did not catch it!</p><p>There was speculation that my upcoming surgery would be postponed, but luckily the Anesthesiologist deemed me healthy and fit for surgery - so all systems go.</p><p>My right knee will be replaced on Tuesday. I am waiting to assess her personality before I commit to a name - but I do have a long list of very creative pu-knee names, as supplied by you guys! Thank you. I'm also going to to gently request that my surgeon at least attempt to make her look a little more attractive and composed (can we try for a straighter cut?) We'll see how that goes over, as surgeons are generally very open to feedback ;) </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNRDn9x3uSwhqGdVCgmZZrbUMJ99Sj6yuSGgFskOJkp3S3HaRbfwMnx9LpZwg7ug8ytm4LdAI3O9XyjMhUB39avxKls5VbpGtyFSEInl4QqSydLZHhRLFYlUqqVt6kDXbb8az9nqnELmR_gH79zZje6Ez1c8zN2RXKd7RTKmJ__z_wcbOqQAvysmfAg/s2048/316508100_663814878802981_3618029117103523589_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNRDn9x3uSwhqGdVCgmZZrbUMJ99Sj6yuSGgFskOJkp3S3HaRbfwMnx9LpZwg7ug8ytm4LdAI3O9XyjMhUB39avxKls5VbpGtyFSEInl4QqSydLZHhRLFYlUqqVt6kDXbb8az9nqnELmR_gH79zZje6Ez1c8zN2RXKd7RTKmJ__z_wcbOqQAvysmfAg/s320/316508100_663814878802981_3618029117103523589_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Stevie," our blind foster, enjoys tripping Courtknee. We call it "agility training."</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Overall, I am moderately satisfied with Courtknee at the 2-month post surgery mark. I think the 'vid might have been good for her. After lying in bed for 3 days straight, I walked to the kitchen for some water and my gait was miraculously corrected! I stopped analyzing my hip hitch and just utilized Courtknee to get from point A to point B, which is what she was technically designed to do. Perhaps I was over-thinking things? NOOOOOOT MEEEEE ;) </p><p>I'm in the gym daily, riding the bike, ellipticalling on the elliptical (what does one "do" on an elliptical?), rowing, and am even squatting and lifting weight again. I have been eating, breathing, and sleeping physiotherapy - man, I've worked my ass off the last two months - literally. Due to weight loss and muscle wasting, my ass has been reduced to a few bony bits connected by muscle knots. Courtknee still aches, and feels quite stiff, but she is stable. I've never had a stable knee before, so this is good. At least one of us is stable. I woke up a few days after the 'vid and couldn't remember if I was 42 or 43 years old. Evan informed me that I'm 43 and I cried. So...you know...I'm fragile.</p><p>This will be my 15th knee surgery. This will be the last knee surgery I will undergo in (hopefully) about 20 years. I will be closing a massive and challenging 10+ years chapter in my life, and starting a brand new chapter! Although it's dim, I can see a faint light at the end of this dark tunnel and am beginning to allow myself to fantasize about what lies ahead. I dream about taking a vacation where I can tour - like actually walk around a city. I dream about getting another dog and taking him for walks on the beach. I dream about taking pilates classes, maybe swinging a golf club again, and wakesurfing Candle in the summer. It's close. I can taste it (I didn't lose my sense of taste, thank God). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDxnnCA7KwnVZjk6bMMfsVIBnyw4g-VWKy3yOesfMtC0OUY5yOMGWpl1TnRLeO0m1GJOVTyrwU0fzdXnUVmJq3jD9Ut1uLvVqZn6DiereH0RCpBp81Fv2ZV5N9orkVv-43SSWObAJE7yZFlWYela0xYiR4tnET98qSXmmim7wFyiHjXiAwTVthOU0K8g/s2048/316435477_1477994855939441_4836259754442982152_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDxnnCA7KwnVZjk6bMMfsVIBnyw4g-VWKy3yOesfMtC0OUY5yOMGWpl1TnRLeO0m1GJOVTyrwU0fzdXnUVmJq3jD9Ut1uLvVqZn6DiereH0RCpBp81Fv2ZV5N9orkVv-43SSWObAJE7yZFlWYela0xYiR4tnET98qSXmmim7wFyiHjXiAwTVthOU0K8g/s320/316435477_1477994855939441_4836259754442982152_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This guy has been coming around lately - I feel like it's a good sign!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>But first, I need to get through the whole chopping off of the knee bit. I'm mentally prepared for the bed pans, the puke, the tears, the broken CPM, the horrible hospital roommate, the barbaric first few physio sessions - even the blood transfusion if needed. I can do this. Right? Yes! I CAN DO THIS.</p><p>Mom arrives on Sunday - what would I do without my mom??? I am so so so grateful for her! I'm sure she LOVES spending her time on a tropical island in the coldest, dankest, noisiest hospital on Earth. Yikes. That being said, I'm looking forward to watching Christmas movies together and maybe enjoying a modified pre-Christmas celebration together, once the dust settles after surgery. </p><p>Cheers Friends - see you on the flip side!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSN0EHjQ5yzt4soX-yLCewxWEHCGa1kJMKFuaQPvg_GDR1V_IPKjPFZEPsMoeNEzIptd2m2ly9iTuYBhxZkbe5V84re3P2Y_B2-7xmlekZEgw4qy1mIybUj86agwfTA8UZcyqcUWVNNm2tn2WVFIojzpfG9_t4RYBn9QGqimoIjm1CK1hvZcqzKk2-w/s2048/316194139_1101061720604283_4172880357772805139_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSN0EHjQ5yzt4soX-yLCewxWEHCGa1kJMKFuaQPvg_GDR1V_IPKjPFZEPsMoeNEzIptd2m2ly9iTuYBhxZkbe5V84re3P2Y_B2-7xmlekZEgw4qy1mIybUj86agwfTA8UZcyqcUWVNNm2tn2WVFIojzpfG9_t4RYBn9QGqimoIjm1CK1hvZcqzKk2-w/s320/316194139_1101061720604283_4172880357772805139_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thankful for Mom </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-84665632926626006332022-11-05T07:44:00.000-07:002022-11-05T07:44:24.892-07:00Out on good behavior<p><b>Warning: I've just re-read this and realized that I've inserted a few f-bombs. I think they serve a purpose in this particular post, so I'm opting to leave them. You've been warned. </b></p><p>Hey friends,</p><p>Well it's been an eventful month. I had my first knee replaced a month ago. Overall, it was Ok-ish. I dunno, it was my 14th knee surgery (hopefully the last on the left knee for 20 years), and I just had to get through it. </p><p>My last 8 surgeries have been in Philadelphia, so this was my first experience having surgery in Cayman. As expected, it wasn't quite as...um..."refined" as my Penn Med experiences. When I was told that I would remain in hospital for at least 5 days post surgery, I already began dreading the experience. No one actually wants to be in the hospital, but the thought of 5 whole days in our island hospital definitely filled me with anxiety. </p><p>I don't remember any of my surgery. As I was being wheeled into the OR, I asked the anesthesiologist to give me Propofol (it makes you forget). </p><p>He responded, "Now?"</p><p>"Sure, why not?" Who wants to remember any of this shit? And with one push into my IV line... poof...I was out for the count. </p><p>My first night in hospital sucked as I was not allowed to ambulate until an x-ray had been taken. Read: bed pans! Ugh. It wasn't great. However, the pain was not nearly as bad as my cartilage transplants had been. I took 2 hits of morphine and quickly decided that I didn't need the narcotics, which was a relief. </p><p>I woke up at 7:30am to find five men standing at my feet, staring at me expectantly. </p><p>"Oh hey.... I wasn't expecting company!"</p><p>I took a quick inventory of my appearance. I was a mess. I sheepishly tucked my boob back into my hospital gown, hoped that they couldn't smell the pee (there was a bed pan incident), and attempted to sort myself as best as I could. </p><p>Once I put my glasses on and focused on the entourage standing at my bed, I realized that It was the whole HSA Orthopedic team. Wow. Good morning! How can I help you gentlemen today?</p><p>"How are you feeling?" asked the surgeon who sawed off my knee, as he roughly removed the blanket, revealing a gory blood-soaked bandage. </p><p>"A little pain," I responded, now attempting to sit up and simultaneously cover my hoo-ha which was greeting the five surgeons at the foot of my bed. </p><p>"Yes. You will feel pain now for 3 months!" he responded cheerfully, "She's had lots of surgery. Like 10 or something," he explained to the rest of the team.</p><p>"14!" I interjected. "I've had 14 surgeries." Don't freakin' underestimate what I've been through!</p><p>After efficiently changing my dressings he stated, "Ok. You do the physio. It will hurt. You rest. You have very soft bones. We'll see you tomorrow."</p><p>Good talk. </p><p>By the way, "soft bones" is not great news. </p><p>I soon began the excruciating task of physiotherapy. I've never participated in physio so soon after an operation, and my God, did it hurt. I'm not going to lie, I cried. But I powered through. I did everything she told me to do, tears streaming down my face the entire time, jaw shaking as I gulped back the tears. It F#CKING hurt. It blows my mind how you just suddenly can't do simple tasks like lift your freaking leg. I tried showing the left leg how easy it was by demonstrating with the right. "Look! It's not that hard!"</p><p>It soon became apparent that I needed to get out of that hospital as quickly as possible.</p><p>I had the roommate from hell (doesn't everyone end up with the roommate from hell in hospital? Wait, was I a roommate from hell too?" Ugh).</p><p>This woman was loud. Her TV was loud. Her visitors watched Tik Toks/IG stories on the loudest volume possible. All I could hear was constant streaming of Tik Toks (from 3 different phones!) and Judge Judy shows on full blast....not to mention religious sermons at an unacceptable volume when her mother came to visit. Mom and I tried to distract ourselves, but things just got worse. A maintenance man then entered my room and began drilling holes in the wall - like with an actual drill. To top it all off my IV ended and began to beep. Despite calling the nurses multiple times, no one came to replace or turn off the beeping IV.</p><p>Finally I snapped. "Mom!!! I can't take it. Do something!!!" I was so completely overstimulated that I had resorted to placing a pillow over my head, with intent to suffocate myself. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0tU3ifYeV3lu0zkKLwEVD2fmtFZ1iMJ0ZgRy5RYhMXGdOyq3E9wQDrTDVYmG-QcqFQdmVjP2IAtbKrOreASMqVTBuMWzjYUU7Hi89RFKOxJmFeJ5KhgnxeOFEddeP1EFh1u9of6fy6EA1375t1VLFY_uQtE3_frAk-j-RPes7wNaVeHGOlva68L4E-A/s1024/thumbnail_IMG-20221008-WA0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0tU3ifYeV3lu0zkKLwEVD2fmtFZ1iMJ0ZgRy5RYhMXGdOyq3E9wQDrTDVYmG-QcqFQdmVjP2IAtbKrOreASMqVTBuMWzjYUU7Hi89RFKOxJmFeJ5KhgnxeOFEddeP1EFh1u9of6fy6EA1375t1VLFY_uQtE3_frAk-j-RPes7wNaVeHGOlva68L4E-A/s320/thumbnail_IMG-20221008-WA0001.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please kill me now.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Poor mom. "What should I do?" she asked. </p><p>I unhooked the IV pole from my IV site and shoved it away from the bed.</p><p>"Just put this pole outside!" I demanded.</p><p>Mom obediently pushed my beeping IV pole (past the man drilling my wall) into the hall.</p><p>A few minutes later, a nurse exclaimed, "You can't just put this here!"</p><p>Ya ya. Ok. </p><p>Ugh. It was the most disturbing few days of my life....and not at all conducive to healing. </p><p>I began to concoct a plan. A prison-break of sorts. </p><p>The next morning when my entourage of bone-splitters stood at my bedside, I was a little more prepared. My boob and hoo-ha were safely put away, my hair was brushed, and my teeth were clean. </p><p>"When can I go home?" I implored my surgeon.</p><p>"How much are you bending the knee?" he asked.</p><p>"I'm at about 45 degrees," I responded.</p><p>"If you can get it to 90, you can leave tomorrow. But our patients typically stay 5-7 days."</p><p>Ya ya. Ok. </p><p>When my physio arrived a few hours later, I pleaded with her to help me get to 90 degrees and break out of this place as quickly as possible. </p><p>She had one solution. But it was risky. </p><p>"Have you ever heard of the CPM?" she questioned.</p><p>Have I? Have I? Oh man, visions of sitting on the knee bending torture device for months after my cartilage transplant flooded back to me. Anyone remember the #neverbendingstory of 2017? I spent 6 hours a day on this machine for 3 months straight. LAWD JESUS.</p><p>"Let's do it!" This was my hail Mary.</p><p>My lovely Physio, who makes sick people cry for a living, soon wheeled in the Continuous Passive Motion (CPM) device. This thing was ancient. Like from 1984. </p><p>"Sometimes it doesn't work. It's old," she warned.</p><p>We strapped my knee in it, turned it on and began the arduous task of bending the knee.</p><p>Mom and I soon realized the glitch of this ancient machine. Imagine trying to play Smurfs on Calecovision circa 1982. Every 10 minutes or so, the machine would stop, but only when the knee was at its most uncomfortable point at peak bend. I would scream and mom would unplug it as quickly as possible, and then re-plug it in, hoping that the knee would then begin it's journey out of the tortuous bend. Sometimes she would have to re-plug it multiple times. Good F#cking times. I sat on the CPM for about 3 hours, stopping and starting every 10-20 minutes when it glitched. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsC67GLzAJTq1L5RhgoBFwVeDh3pJ7E1gDDboq3aXT1l5Os7C9CtkRKMYPXz8_dkT9XG7Rt6WIoVgL48HNZazPqP66I6uVnIqrgsFvqSurBJDZHgqJT8cPEexLJrmpkhyOc6BpzB8XfBVp5e4nIRgOIj9-pjOk0Cysf_Xj6uiEXxrjy9gk0QwF3EDhw/s1280/thumbnail_20221005_161838.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsC67GLzAJTq1L5RhgoBFwVeDh3pJ7E1gDDboq3aXT1l5Os7C9CtkRKMYPXz8_dkT9XG7Rt6WIoVgL48HNZazPqP66I6uVnIqrgsFvqSurBJDZHgqJT8cPEexLJrmpkhyOc6BpzB8XfBVp5e4nIRgOIj9-pjOk0Cysf_Xj6uiEXxrjy9gk0QwF3EDhw/s320/thumbnail_20221005_161838.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The good 'ol CPM circa 1985</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>That night, I hatched my ultimate plan to spring loose. I got Mom to lay out some respectable clothing, and place my makeup and toothbrush by my side. I set my alarm for 7am and then laid in bed all night listening to my roommates TV blaring at 80 decibels. </p><p>The next morning I carefully dressed myself (even donned a bra!), and dragged my wretched body to the chair beside my bed. I applied some lip gloss, brushed my hair and eagerly awaited my ortho entourage.</p><p>By the time the surgeons arrived, I was seated in my chair, hair neatly placed in a not-so-messy bun, eating eggs, and performing heel slides which displayed my incredible range that I had acquired on the CPM the night before. It was the performance of a lifetime. </p><p>My surgeon took one look at me and stopped suddenly in his tracks. I saw his eyebrows raise in surprise, and in that moment I felt completely vindicated (Side note: I am fully aware that I have created an imaginary war between me and my ortho, to which he knows nothing about). </p><p>"Oh, you're up. Any pain?"</p><p>"I've had worse. Can I please go home?"</p><p>"Did you hit 90 degrees?"</p><p>"F#ck ya!" (Okay, I didn't say the "f" word, but you can imagine that I said "yes" with as much gusto as a patient who recently had a knee chopped off and hasn't slept for 2 days could possibly say it with). I gritted my teeth and forced my knee to a perfect right angle, hoping that he didn't see the tear slip down my cheek. TA-DA!</p><p>"Well, Ok. I guess you can go home," he replied, "Most knee replacement patients don't go home this early. It must be because you have such a great surgeon," he continued cheekily. </p><p>ya ya, ok, buddy. It's all you. I know this game. </p><p>I silently high-fived myself. My plan had worked! I was soooo awesome and confidence was high. </p><p>Just as they were discussing my discharge, the nurse entered with my latest blood work results.</p><p>"Her hemoglobin is very low. She needs a blood transfusion."</p><p>SHIT.</p><p>There was no way that I could fake high hemoglobin. I begged and pleaded with the hospital staff to let me go after the transfusion. They agreed.</p><p>I didn't foresee it taking 7 hours to get the transfusion. But I finally got some fresh blood. And I went home...4 days post surgery. So, you know, not that it's a competition, but it is ... and I won. </p><p>I have never been so relieved to be back in my own house. </p><p>It's now been a month. My life revolves around physio, naps, and visits. In an ironic twist of fate, my knee is bending beautifully but cannot fully straighten. Who saw this plot twist? I'm stuck around 3-4 degrees, and it's definitely affecting my comfort - especially with sleeping. I have various tortuous exercises that I faithfully perform multiple times a day to straighten the knee. I lay in the "torture hang" (I named it), and cry, hoping this will all pay off and I'll get closer to 0 degrees. Other than the straightening, my knee is doing well. She's walking quite nicely, and even had her first legit jump yesterday! I've named her "Courtknee," in hopes that it'll feel less like a corpse attached to my body and more like a real knee. Unfortunately, the surgeon was unable to save my patella (it was too diseased), so none of my original knee remains. This can make proprioception (knowing where my knee is in space) a little more tricky. It feels strange. It's hard work, but it's currently my full-time job. I've had little control over this rotten disease the past 10 years, but I do have control over how hard I work to rehabilitate this new one. I have no other option. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIn5Az7-ev44c1_T9LmdZAOLxrmY9fp34lMV1ZXbSwwjBoJA1WDCL0y6wpyhze-saN_AtiJPK7GY4pTv87PTLr2kKNl-TEvVtTKoSGFmTk-27i8b9wQqBvc0v7P2RfQF6KWXbmynFqjtn2Ae7L9j1CldwDjlpwK5WzNsvVBxpdYWBRhfU3Jm6dH0Jh0A/s1280/thumbnail_IMG-20221020-WA0012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIn5Az7-ev44c1_T9LmdZAOLxrmY9fp34lMV1ZXbSwwjBoJA1WDCL0y6wpyhze-saN_AtiJPK7GY4pTv87PTLr2kKNl-TEvVtTKoSGFmTk-27i8b9wQqBvc0v7P2RfQF6KWXbmynFqjtn2Ae7L9j1CldwDjlpwK5WzNsvVBxpdYWBRhfU3Jm6dH0Jh0A/s320/thumbnail_IMG-20221020-WA0012.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing to see here - just a torture hang</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPdvEBy7_zBHq3x9UNiGr0k40jfQIcV71b_EJgZ12ZFY8meZ3MTLcghsjXPd7Yzjiu2erD965jCduugnjXBwAxmjqfEAwD9-xDAn264dDG9zesIYuTwhN-ynBnm24La3gulbYx0ObOktTdPbld3mv5mxIN0Zyq17hqyWeUMTiX33EfiSBzFUZZ9q0Bw/s1280/thumbnail_received_651866106389560.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPdvEBy7_zBHq3x9UNiGr0k40jfQIcV71b_EJgZ12ZFY8meZ3MTLcghsjXPd7Yzjiu2erD965jCduugnjXBwAxmjqfEAwD9-xDAn264dDG9zesIYuTwhN-ynBnm24La3gulbYx0ObOktTdPbld3mv5mxIN0Zyq17hqyWeUMTiX33EfiSBzFUZZ9q0Bw/s320/thumbnail_received_651866106389560.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Straightening Courtknee into submission</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Recovery is lonely. I've been here so many times before. I am dedicating my entire life right now to getting Courtknee as close to normal as possible before they chop off my right knee at the end of November. It's physically, mentally and emotionally exhausting. I am so thankful for visits from friends, texts, lunches, etc. Thank you friends! I was also very fortunate to have my mom here for 2 weeks post surgery as well. My mom knows exactly what I need and how to make me feel better. In addition, I've got my Ev, who knows the drill, and does his best to keep me comfy and entertained while working long days. Unfortunately Ev gets to experience the worst side of me during these times. It's not easy. I'd also like to give a special shout out to my island fam who showed up to my blood transfusion with wine in hand ("I'll take a bag of B positive, please!"). They knew that I was at the end of my rope, it was Friday, and it was happy hour. Thank you. I am a lucky girl. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89AE6mRATEUv6_DlIpQ2b0LbwInFHsl10ub6tPU0aLXx_8gvCULs9XEVLDzk_RhpWDrggb1u0jRa2meysOx2DR-qadIbTtih08rsSFBpoYf0dLJvBN8kHWRyV_bIeJVz-lKxaNYmkoXJjGA2Ry7792U44RO0aYQoVxxBm2xWCTy6X8eOY59Uqeo0NyA/s1024/IMG-20221016-WA0000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89AE6mRATEUv6_DlIpQ2b0LbwInFHsl10ub6tPU0aLXx_8gvCULs9XEVLDzk_RhpWDrggb1u0jRa2meysOx2DR-qadIbTtih08rsSFBpoYf0dLJvBN8kHWRyV_bIeJVz-lKxaNYmkoXJjGA2Ry7792U44RO0aYQoVxxBm2xWCTy6X8eOY59Uqeo0NyA/s320/IMG-20221016-WA0000.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>I'm also currently surrounding myself with random cats. That's right...cats. I'm desperately missing Biloxi. He was always such a comfort to me during recovery, and I find myself inadvertently looking for him multiple times a day. After my super bud, Stacey, watched me pathetically try and entice feral cats into my house, he began kindly lending cats for me to "petsit" during my recovery. Unfortunately I am fragile and vulnerable, and I keep breaking the cardinal rule of petsitting by developing deep feelings for each and every one of them. We currently have "Stevie," a sweet little blind kitty who is winning over my heart. When I lay awake from 3-5am, she nuzzles her face into mine and I profess my undying love for her in the darkness. I'm beginning to think that I may be too needy for her. Thank god I'm not single right now. I'd be a dating disaster. If a boy so much as touched my hand, I would be wedding dress shopping. Love me!!!!</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZq09QLg8AXb-SgkEcSYTL1_7CaQZ8VQxwRVxMfZngsgTcgGU4pl4bNCwS3KcTfWfgB_o-VoNLB1ezMNm6Bjk17LpDHU-7vWvvRqGT3lYDIWfSY3BJnOALmMxImDapcus2mJn8ZiwAR9G8r3aGoKm1ZyFVX4NyREsaYUVZWatMYKfZHBJWNimiGm56pw/s1280/thumbnail_20221101_094325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZq09QLg8AXb-SgkEcSYTL1_7CaQZ8VQxwRVxMfZngsgTcgGU4pl4bNCwS3KcTfWfgB_o-VoNLB1ezMNm6Bjk17LpDHU-7vWvvRqGT3lYDIWfSY3BJnOALmMxImDapcus2mJn8ZiwAR9G8r3aGoKm1ZyFVX4NyREsaYUVZWatMYKfZHBJWNimiGm56pw/s320/thumbnail_20221101_094325.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This woman is soooo needy</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Thanks for all of the support. I appreciate each and every message and kind word. It really helps. </p><p>I go in for the other knee on November 29. I am currently accepting applications for knee names...Haha! I am hopeful that this will be my last knee surgery for 20 years. Can you imagine? I can't. Man, I hope hope hope that number 15 is the last...for a very long time. </p><p>Cheers friends!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oNkIkzDK_8Y1Y3Pcr5YW-UYHAEeMefQMjwGcjl59VSTD6fdm5vHFNhYd8pGQqWzF-sUq7LllAABqmSIrtKJbXbAnkLTlc2NniDlxloEiG_3pUkP1YzqcP3IuYhV-QQfI3Y_rH_dnue0DAK6abQRf8zfDrRLr0s-zxOEAxEbuitww5J4jcpxN49f5fA/s1200/thumbnail_IMG_20221026_180930_110.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oNkIkzDK_8Y1Y3Pcr5YW-UYHAEeMefQMjwGcjl59VSTD6fdm5vHFNhYd8pGQqWzF-sUq7LllAABqmSIrtKJbXbAnkLTlc2NniDlxloEiG_3pUkP1YzqcP3IuYhV-QQfI3Y_rH_dnue0DAK6abQRf8zfDrRLr0s-zxOEAxEbuitww5J4jcpxN49f5fA/s320/thumbnail_IMG_20221026_180930_110.webp" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most crooked scar ever. Was my surgeon like, "time me!"??</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-53747507794419249282022-10-01T07:19:00.000-07:002022-10-01T07:19:57.587-07:00Tough Times<p> Hey friends,</p><p>It's been awhile! I have a lot to share, so grab yourself a coffee, wine, whatever, and prepare to stay awhile. </p><p>I actually composed a blog a few weeks ago, but before I had time to hit "publish," everything in our world seemed to change drastically. So, I sat on it for a while. </p><p>The Lindsay house has had a rough month. </p><p>We lost our best bud, the Most Interesting Cat in the World, Biloxi. </p><p>Evan went to the States for a couple of weeks, so it was just me and Bilox. Everything was status quo, except for this strange thing Biloxi began doing when Evan left. Every evening, when I laid on the couch to watch TV, Biloxi would sit beside me, place his paw on my chest, and gaze into my eyes. This daily occurrence would last about 2-3 minutes. It was kind of unnerving, and given that I've read how animals can sense illness, naturally in typical "Kirstie fashion," I began to worry that perhaps he was trying communicate a health issue - like an irregular heart rhythm or maybe even breast cancer. It just seemed really strange that this 21-year old cat initiated a new ritual when Evan left. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirVaLiVh0T8p8Xkn_OzN6H9kXGzHmWBBl11Ij18Ny3HfrzscToiKU0kOVKXwM1eM5HrlX26NF5NjnItkWfHX3oM_QatNdRpMoZf14F2LdTkHDFLHd1dIW5UhgaxFF6etu5GaIQxB5AvvVZgKEKeBM6o979Jo5K60cpivClQiHTZXMmWeo2m0HWwhba6A/s3264/20220914_192439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirVaLiVh0T8p8Xkn_OzN6H9kXGzHmWBBl11Ij18Ny3HfrzscToiKU0kOVKXwM1eM5HrlX26NF5NjnItkWfHX3oM_QatNdRpMoZf14F2LdTkHDFLHd1dIW5UhgaxFF6etu5GaIQxB5AvvVZgKEKeBM6o979Jo5K60cpivClQiHTZXMmWeo2m0HWwhba6A/s320/20220914_192439.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ZOTCT_s62RDgJKQSv1tGsqkerUyPnJxAvTc4CyyLrQ5-PaNaxiuEeumTsH0SPbOeT0K94lumgHjs1DRrxObUI96uEOc1A4zD-_-_myH4gX69h7lH9itCP58KARIM7ECbhZxGJX_84DpTZauKs8Sz-YfzZD4gWowK_C2C5oSwg4Pf928t81U7hn2Pqw/s3264/20220912_125447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ZOTCT_s62RDgJKQSv1tGsqkerUyPnJxAvTc4CyyLrQ5-PaNaxiuEeumTsH0SPbOeT0K94lumgHjs1DRrxObUI96uEOc1A4zD-_-_myH4gX69h7lH9itCP58KARIM7ECbhZxGJX_84DpTZauKs8Sz-YfzZD4gWowK_C2C5oSwg4Pf928t81U7hn2Pqw/s320/20220912_125447.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8HD1LdsS_Tniyj44uhHcsYg78bzzq6sWzlgqNl8b4EPqCgAetUSvnrO_Im9b6GQwfR8yVv5viBtjGLN0Evi7BipwooamXyP46nanvNEGpDEHX6FSpivvB2MwK8xztgSxt7vo1uwJLaWRAHtSgv7nJLcB4L0PZSzIj42sucqrJ5KEPnb-YgUYa0OJMQ/s3264/20220911_141854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8HD1LdsS_Tniyj44uhHcsYg78bzzq6sWzlgqNl8b4EPqCgAetUSvnrO_Im9b6GQwfR8yVv5viBtjGLN0Evi7BipwooamXyP46nanvNEGpDEHX6FSpivvB2MwK8xztgSxt7vo1uwJLaWRAHtSgv7nJLcB4L0PZSzIj42sucqrJ5KEPnb-YgUYa0OJMQ/s320/20220911_141854.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>The day after Ev returned, Biloxi suddenly lost control of his back leg. We took him to the vet, who wasn't sure what was going on, but prescribed potassium for overall weakness. Less than 24-hours later, Biloxi was unable to move his hind end, it appeared as though he threw a blot clot, and we made the heartbreaking decision to euthanize him. </p><p>The last 24-hours with Biloxi was bittersweet. Because he was unable to hold himself up, Evan and I took turns holding him in our arms. His little orange head was soaked with our tears, as we looked through photo albums and talked to him about all of our favorite memories together.</p><p>We talked about how he pooped on Evan's hand in the pet store - that's how he knew he was choosing us!</p><p>We talked about all the hockey road trips he endured. We laughed about the time that Evan and Biloxi drove all the way to Tulsa, Oklahoma (Biloxi in Evan's lap, with his paws on the steering wheel), only to turn around after the first (bad bad) hockey game and drive all the way back to Canada.</p><p>We talked about that tumultuous period in our relationship when we considered breaking up, and how Biloxi always seemed to have a way of bringing us back together.</p><p>We talked about the day Evan proposed - how Biloxi jumped on his lap mid-proposal, desperately wanting to be a part of the action.</p><p>We talked about our wedding day. Biloxi greeted us at the door and rubbed his face on my veil.</p><p>We talked about all the moves, flights, trains, pet passports and journeys that Biloxi endured like a trooper. </p><p>We talked about the time Biloxi chased a fox out of our yard - he was fearless. </p><p>We talked about all the surgeries that Biloxi nursed me through, licking the tears off my face, and placing his paw on my arm for comfort. I've always felt like Biloxi is my Guardian Angel. I still do. </p><p>We talked about all the successes and losses that Biloxi had experienced with us through 21 years of our lives. </p><p>We talked about how Biloxi reacted when Dundee died - he seemed to be relieved to be the only animal in our house again. His last 2 years were probably his happiest. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfOvKGxXq5R2AWZoYUl-Efz84c18j1FIBDBEynWNAemsFYLJ7ynJBywNqQWOKbBZIFiYOyd7SaR9-yzYJLqA-XrEC2v-4QTlOAtUiwSOdDXOZQ1B10dFC3-QV71cv5fcd4TANnW2rUShGT2dTTZPXI3MzAEvqS_r2hdpX-QISkHvrFogSszQCB5hAfTQ/s1046/Screenshot_20220921-175303_Gallery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="812" data-original-width="1046" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfOvKGxXq5R2AWZoYUl-Efz84c18j1FIBDBEynWNAemsFYLJ7ynJBywNqQWOKbBZIFiYOyd7SaR9-yzYJLqA-XrEC2v-4QTlOAtUiwSOdDXOZQ1B10dFC3-QV71cv5fcd4TANnW2rUShGT2dTTZPXI3MzAEvqS_r2hdpX-QISkHvrFogSszQCB5hAfTQ/s320/Screenshot_20220921-175303_Gallery.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjew6gDfeb2_56lLSGLknuAO28ghK-s5S4XVX5-5Y4lZ_IKmnUpXbvI7NUVjdemeyOWt99Yg87Hy8bl6s4u35KwU6Rl_pjQgKti3CWniGvB_wXiHvY1JXA9GShtZRbrz_dgL1Keja52EMtc60RYjZGDQYwnGTKheo5M4XXNupUFEbEPDmhOpRYDyYQ5Jw/s4000/20220921_170213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjew6gDfeb2_56lLSGLknuAO28ghK-s5S4XVX5-5Y4lZ_IKmnUpXbvI7NUVjdemeyOWt99Yg87Hy8bl6s4u35KwU6Rl_pjQgKti3CWniGvB_wXiHvY1JXA9GShtZRbrz_dgL1Keja52EMtc60RYjZGDQYwnGTKheo5M4XXNupUFEbEPDmhOpRYDyYQ5Jw/s320/20220921_170213.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJjVeQmdwPci3pk0J58QJdGTMPwSMXZ_1p62ZH256eDryJiNLX4ja16E0fv8yo3MNfMDoW4YpngPie60ofxQD48LbTReVVwTBUiRK19crFIdFwNTD_pM_ROTPYtgZ-whov-ZtqJRDVu1mLWw9cwXqSC4zOEw8pBDYnSscLev3caS-Z47aH9llOSHnqQ/s1032/Screenshot_20220921-175705_Gallery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1013" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJjVeQmdwPci3pk0J58QJdGTMPwSMXZ_1p62ZH256eDryJiNLX4ja16E0fv8yo3MNfMDoW4YpngPie60ofxQD48LbTReVVwTBUiRK19crFIdFwNTD_pM_ROTPYtgZ-whov-ZtqJRDVu1mLWw9cwXqSC4zOEw8pBDYnSscLev3caS-Z47aH9llOSHnqQ/s320/Screenshot_20220921-175705_Gallery.jpg" width="314" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRsO1KJwHlpoXh5W0D2AmxO4dyftQI7AGcGnc22HkQQj6kdqphoEQzprxroRcEcPMvFrlDkTafXs4-vIbM3n-fpJQidxEH0YBtEUe0ExkCym_9ffNgvWF3NbMk6R0lR57hvPAX0vb1CeTA4AvLuE8TVsJVW5QwLArrHc58DaUTiTjgGP5QSSbOGdAeMw/s1456/Screenshot_20220921-173630_Facebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1456" data-original-width="1052" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRsO1KJwHlpoXh5W0D2AmxO4dyftQI7AGcGnc22HkQQj6kdqphoEQzprxroRcEcPMvFrlDkTafXs4-vIbM3n-fpJQidxEH0YBtEUe0ExkCym_9ffNgvWF3NbMk6R0lR57hvPAX0vb1CeTA4AvLuE8TVsJVW5QwLArrHc58DaUTiTjgGP5QSSbOGdAeMw/s320/Screenshot_20220921-173630_Facebook.jpg" width="231" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFZO0r9PJtX9P5lYWvDke1tp6pQrFvo3m2kBHDhnyY38EW8lUjNG_xsB4RdscMT1UjI4oy-9Oi_kWiYW-9UZvQgPMFEGCBeKd-neVFrgbyIgZdwWN-1W3_p2XR-0rn7e8Zee2wgkbCtCXxBCcm_6eemFsEWMZmtMXlMb24lw-LzoJxAYJHnai6h1SYw/s1063/Screenshot_20220921-174501_Instagram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1014" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFZO0r9PJtX9P5lYWvDke1tp6pQrFvo3m2kBHDhnyY38EW8lUjNG_xsB4RdscMT1UjI4oy-9Oi_kWiYW-9UZvQgPMFEGCBeKd-neVFrgbyIgZdwWN-1W3_p2XR-0rn7e8Zee2wgkbCtCXxBCcm_6eemFsEWMZmtMXlMb24lw-LzoJxAYJHnai6h1SYw/s320/Screenshot_20220921-174501_Instagram.jpg" width="305" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSnh2aW3S1u8IJrRiaWqauKaoJ9BAUpmAFcVNlvga0ohQDSH_w60FkVA-nY65QQrT1oeR7m6ul1Mwqfb04lZRC53IiLmPNDWZ0vELyfTuU2G_KSzj7jX8zxPgpo2Kt7_5U22Hjlo863ophC4wa6U1PokwdTz-OThw_UFGmkcCNzP6NKl7gLQvySdiR0w/s1073/Screenshot_20220921-174752_Gallery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1073" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSnh2aW3S1u8IJrRiaWqauKaoJ9BAUpmAFcVNlvga0ohQDSH_w60FkVA-nY65QQrT1oeR7m6ul1Mwqfb04lZRC53IiLmPNDWZ0vELyfTuU2G_KSzj7jX8zxPgpo2Kt7_5U22Hjlo863ophC4wa6U1PokwdTz-OThw_UFGmkcCNzP6NKl7gLQvySdiR0w/s320/Screenshot_20220921-174752_Gallery.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Biloxi really was an important part of our family, and as we held him in our arms and watched him drift peacefully to sleep for the last time, we both felt absolutely devastated.</p><p>Maybe that sounds dramatic to you - I can't think of any other word to describe how I felt. </p><p>Evan, Biloxi, Dundee, and I were a family. When we lost Dundee, our family felt fractured. When we lost Biloxi, our family felt decimated. </p><p>So...it's a huge loss for us. We are so so saddened to have lost such an important part of our lives. </p><p>In retrospect, I think that Biloxi knew. I think that he was preparing me for this, perhaps placing his paw on my chest to comfort me - to communicate that he'll always be in my heart. I'd like to think this is why. </p><p>We didn't have much time to grieve, as we were suddenly faced with Hurricane Ian. </p><p>Let me tell you, waiting for a hurricane is one of the most confusing and stressful experiences that I have endured. You have days to prepare; however, the spaghetti models, indicating the path of the storm, changes every 2-3 hours. One hour, you're preparing for a direct hit from category 2 hurricane, and the next you're celebrating a near miss. It's just so difficult to prepare for something that changes so quickly. The vibe on the island is pure chaos. Everyone loses their damn minds, running into each other in parking lots and hoarding batteries and toilet paper. Just the atmosphere of pure mayhem is enough to give you a heart attack. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjQlaxpTUc1b2KFSq3VEWrzhlIXk6mZRrS60d51ehHR0_2zGcFm53Al_X3eAXHrynNuU764gPQdFxes0US5tzS4ThdVLGHhg06qzoVcJTLGAK4fAzLIHqemKFFz2lteMrcAzWzxB9S4RVosnnBXRxfbWp2LW6lroBSdL-33epJgby47zzpW9K1bK98yg/s256/310271100_3379199325698107_8804136998869769902_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="256" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjQlaxpTUc1b2KFSq3VEWrzhlIXk6mZRrS60d51ehHR0_2zGcFm53Al_X3eAXHrynNuU764gPQdFxes0US5tzS4ThdVLGHhg06qzoVcJTLGAK4fAzLIHqemKFFz2lteMrcAzWzxB9S4RVosnnBXRxfbWp2LW6lroBSdL-33epJgby47zzpW9K1bK98yg/s1600/310271100_3379199325698107_8804136998869769902_n.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><br /><p>We shuttered up our windows, and awaited the storm. In the end, it wasn't too bad on our end of the island. Although places in the south experienced flooding due to storm surge, our little island lucked out as Hurricane Ian side-swept us, cruising 60 miles west of Grand. Florida, on the other hand, took a vicious beating. It really hurts my heart to see my island bestie's hometown, Sanibel, completely destroyed. Those poor people have lost everything!</p><p>And, finally...</p><p>My last piece of news is that I'm getting both of my knees replaced. </p><p>I will have my left knee replaced on Tuesday, and my right knee 8 weeks later. The surgeries will be taking place in Cayman. </p><p>When I met with the Orthopedic surgeon, he initially attempted to dissuade me from total knee replacements, citing I was too young, I wouldn't be happy with them, and that there were too many risk factors. I agreed but then implored, "What am I supposed to do?" </p><p>I explained that I have had 13 knee surgeries in 10 years - due to the progression of this disease, no doctor will touch me anymore. I explained that I'm reliant on Opioids for pain relief. I explained that I can't even work a full day anymore. I explained that I just want to walk on the beach again. I explained that I am in constant pain. </p><p>He listened, nodded, and asked, "Do you want them both done at once or one at a time?</p><p>Whoa, buddy, slow down here!</p><p>So I've decided to do the worst knee first, and the right knee 8 weeks later. </p><p>To be 100% honest, I don't feel great about this. </p><p>I've spent the last 3 weeks trying to change my mindset, listing the positives, attempting to shift my mood and build enthusiasm. But I just feel kinda sad, scared, and disappointed. I feel like I've failed. This has always been the end of the road, and I've hit it. I'm typically pretty confident going into surgery, and I've been worrying that this feeling I have is a gut reaction - that perhaps I should cancel this surgery. </p><p>I spoke to my wise bud, Colleen, an Occupational Therapist in Canada, with whom I worked at the hospital in PA. She was with me the day that I was diagnosed, and has seen me struggle for 10 years. She always provides sound, rational advice. </p><p>She said, "It's totally natural that you feel this way. You've spent the last 10 years of your life fighting to avoid this surgery. And now it's here. You don't have to go into surgery like a rockstar, confident and energized - it's okay to just feel how you feel." </p><p>Thank you, Colleen. You put words to my feelings.</p><p>I also enlisted the expertise of my good bud, Lisa, a Physiotherapist, who also worked with me in PA. Lisa was one of my biggest supporters when I was diagnosed and struggling 10 years ago. She got me through many difficult work days. She works with total knee replacements on a daily. She reiterated that this isn't a failure. Because I worked so hard, I was able to give my knees an extra 10 years. Lisa explained that I've done all that I could and it's time. In fact, she encouraged me to channel Lizzo - "It's about damn time."</p><p>Both friends painted a picture of pain-free days and mobility - walks on the beach, trips and tours - I can't even imagine being able to move freely without pain. It all sounds pretty good. </p><p>So...it's time. I will be saying bon voyage to the first knee on Tuesday. It tried. It really did. But it's tired. </p><p>I am so thankful for everyone who is supporting us right now. Although my heart has felt so empty with the loss of Biloxi, it's filling fast with cards, messages, plants, flowers, treats, "friend"cations, and words of encouragement from people who love and care about us. I don't have the energy right now to do these surgeries alone, but it's been apparent to me in the last week that I won't be alone. I'm going to lean into the help. I'm going to just feel how I feel and be okay with it. </p><p>Mom comes tomorrow for back-up...or maybe "front-up" - I hope she realizes we're not staycationing at a 4-star resort this time! 😑 ha!</p><p>Thanks to everyone who has reached out. When I'm feeling sad/scared/upset, I often re-read messages of support. It helps. It really helps. Thank you. You make me feel loved and supported. </p><p>Take it nice and knee-sy and feel free to reach out any-knee-time (Sorry, I couldn't resist). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Tdk3xBOF8RLBPJkMyG43TW2rHaCu_jlqQLnHR6EBCLzIgtxJk1UgJfSLnMZe6S0Pn4sQMeFmi6VIoZoExzgA9r4i32alCmdEEsTjdUuEJoYO1SWHGgUCUXnfwMKWoEOfyyR1x38GDag9LoOcEpl_J_0WEI-LbLv4fNn0w4aGw_REYMo24ldLMiKelQ/s224/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="224" data-original-width="224" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Tdk3xBOF8RLBPJkMyG43TW2rHaCu_jlqQLnHR6EBCLzIgtxJk1UgJfSLnMZe6S0Pn4sQMeFmi6VIoZoExzgA9r4i32alCmdEEsTjdUuEJoYO1SWHGgUCUXnfwMKWoEOfyyR1x38GDag9LoOcEpl_J_0WEI-LbLv4fNn0w4aGw_REYMo24ldLMiKelQ/s1600/images.jpg" width="224" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-18282917515952875212022-07-24T09:10:00.000-07:002022-07-24T09:10:13.030-07:00The tragic tale of the Hollywood Ribs <p> "They" say that when a man enters his 40's, he will develop a keen interest in one of three things: world history, younger women, or smoked meats. Luckily for me, Ev has gone with the latter. </p><p>As creatures of routine, every weekend, Ev purchases a plethora of random meats, seasons and marinates them, we head to the beach, and Ev cooks all the food for the week on his little charcoal grill. I one hundred percent support this hobby, and happily drink wine and encourage the meat grilling while enjoying an island sunset. We usually sample a bit of everything from our beach chair and then pack up the rest of the meat, which typically feeds us until Wednesday. It's our weekend tradition and makes us pretty happy...and it's not lost on me that this statement supports the fact that we are getting oooooold.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVVUZFu4zlruXcPopRll-pbpH6ezQz3_5fPNQH3FKJzSna1xC-ELMe2JYXsHaKtuLmevLbU6moKJ8l9IO4JrU3nSOgmasI13qHwrbhAP9CcPmsz0F4wkvb_xjX7uQHUfn0F-sKiZEK17oesLT0cKqUngy3lj95KvGDU59qS7U9b_VSTDMnvM54XMoOA/s206/293337630_376931371247885_5205078213626316672_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVVUZFu4zlruXcPopRll-pbpH6ezQz3_5fPNQH3FKJzSna1xC-ELMe2JYXsHaKtuLmevLbU6moKJ8l9IO4JrU3nSOgmasI13qHwrbhAP9CcPmsz0F4wkvb_xjX7uQHUfn0F-sKiZEK17oesLT0cKqUngy3lj95KvGDU59qS7U9b_VSTDMnvM54XMoOA/s1600/293337630_376931371247885_5205078213626316672_n.jpg" width="155" /></a></div><br /><p>On our last weekend on island before our trip back, Ev returned from the grocery story excited about his latest find. "Look! the Hollywood ribs are back!" he cried. Ev loves Hollywood ribs and immediately got to work marinating them in garlic, lemon, seasonings, and parmesan cheese. The smell of the marinade made my mouth water. We packed up the meats, grill, beer, and wine, and headed to the beach.</p><p>Barbequing on a charcoal grill is not for the faint of heart. A few years ago, when Ev began his charcoal adventures, he quickly learned that charcoal grilling is not as simple as just starting it up and throwing the meat on the grill. This thing takes time! After years of patience and practice, and evenings where we hungrily starved until 10pm, Ev has finally perfected the charcoal experience. </p><p>Ev begins by surveying his space. He checks the wind direction and ensures that the grill won't be blowing smoke directly at us or at sunbathers in our vicinity. He throws his special hickory-scented charcoal on the grill, uses his fancy fire starter blocks, and adds bourbon-soaked wood chips for extra flavor. And...get this...he sets up 3 solar powered fans around the grill to ensure the most consistent burning of the coals. This is serious business, people. It's a process. It's a JOB. Ev receives a great amount of pleasure from creating the perfect charcoal grill and frankly if I must choose between world history, younger women, and smoked meats, I will happily support this hobby. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_FmySdujw3xI2XzJQ2bgwhZFhOIPS1Yai-j2TlEAVLB9nK8ngKqtB-7MYzbhm1ZJ8Q-QSsXRguTk7mlYuiTIuMHMGB9D7UkUvmuvCuC27oN235NqVW98rSmpoAKc283csnA_vbdlFnwwI3KWJ-28_ZxxC7W907u6Uatd83yB94SvYGQuDw2t6gXvXgw/s206/293641908_738561504083665_472392446563423685_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_FmySdujw3xI2XzJQ2bgwhZFhOIPS1Yai-j2TlEAVLB9nK8ngKqtB-7MYzbhm1ZJ8Q-QSsXRguTk7mlYuiTIuMHMGB9D7UkUvmuvCuC27oN235NqVW98rSmpoAKc283csnA_vbdlFnwwI3KWJ-28_ZxxC7W907u6Uatd83yB94SvYGQuDw2t6gXvXgw/s1600/293641908_738561504083665_472392446563423685_n.jpg" width="155" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOoai-Jo0kDCd3yDIuXAdQP33qc4eERtTaqSbzO3MnXY2g2FNfl5M__w_RtPQTJYQcx1Wffl96vczgG7hYSXwxLkSTRWLgNsAovmM3i0_nqJ3zRKLQVMdGT-comtuVfO2bd2dDmWProc2KPwc3O2oedAVt0chJPLyVSzhsoLoC75coGxJjWvm-_7ftA/s206/294622721_798968118141173_8594879661556767562_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="153" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOoai-Jo0kDCd3yDIuXAdQP33qc4eERtTaqSbzO3MnXY2g2FNfl5M__w_RtPQTJYQcx1Wffl96vczgG7hYSXwxLkSTRWLgNsAovmM3i0_nqJ3zRKLQVMdGT-comtuVfO2bd2dDmWProc2KPwc3O2oedAVt0chJPLyVSzhsoLoC75coGxJjWvm-_7ftA/s1600/294622721_798968118141173_8594879661556767562_n.jpg" width="153" /></a></div><br /><p>This particular weekend was the same as any other. Ev set up his grill, the fans, and the chairs, and began the grilling process. He cooked his famous prosciutto cheesy bites (like a grilled cheese appie), a porterhouse steak, and the grand finale - the Hollywood ribs. By the time the ribs were fully smoked, the sun had set, the mosquitos were buzzing, and we were pretty full from consuming our meat sampler. "We should have enough food to feed us all week," he stated proudly as we packed the meat up in a giant Tupperware container. We disposed of the hot coals, gathered all our items off the beach, and headed towards the Jeep. </p><p>Given the fact that I'm pretty useless on my crutches, Ev has to do most of the packing on his own, and as quickly as possible in order to escape the blood thirsty mosquitos. I waited patiently in the vehicle, listening to Bob Marley (Monty's CD - the ONLY music allowed in the jeep!). Ev hopped in the jeep, slapping the mozzies away, and we were off, wind blowing in our hair (well, my hair, anyway ;)</p><p>Just as our vehicle turned onto the main road, we heard a terrible noise. </p><p>"What was that?" I said, turning around quickly in my seat. </p><p>My heart sank as my eyes surveyed the carnage.</p><p>There, lying on the road behind us, was the giant Tupperware full of meat. Ev had forgot it on the roof of the Jeep!</p><p>I watched Ev quickly pull the vehicle over and cycle through the 5 stages of grief in about 15 seconds flat. </p><p><b>Denial "That can't be our meat! I can still save it!" (he actually opened the door with intent to save).</b></p><p><b>Anger: "I can't believe I left it on the roof!"</b></p><p><b>Bargaining: "This jeep needs a roof rack. I need to get one! This shouldn't have happened. Next time we need stronger Tupperware!"</b></p><p><b>Depression: "Not the Hollywood ribs. Anything but the Hollywood ribs."</b></p><p><b>Acceptance: "I hope the chickens and stray dogs enjoy it for dinner."</b></p><p>It was sad. Very very sad. We sat in silence, listening to vehicle after vehicle pummel the already-destroyed Tupperware. Sprays of seasonings and lemon garlic ribs flew through the air. Not even Bob's "Every little thing's gonna be all right" could save this one. </p><p>And just like that I got the giggles. I couldn't help myself. I just began laughing until tears were streaming down my face. This was so tragic. Yet so epic. It was TREPIC.</p><p>Ev stoically continued to drive while my body heaved with the laughter. He stopped the vehicle suddenly at Foster's grocery store. He returned a few minutes later with a tub of ice cream. Like a scorned lover, he drowned his sorrows in monster cookie ice cream. </p><p>Once the shock wore off and the laughter tears subsided, Ev went through our Tupperware drawer and returned with an air tight container. Flinging it across the room, he cried, "See! This would have survived that crash!" (back to denial). I nodded, again, tears streaming down my face as I convulsed with giggles. Would this ever stop?</p><p>Suddenly, Ev experienced a revelation and stopped throwing the Tupperware. </p><p>"So...I just realized that your crutch was also on the roof of the Jeep."</p><p>Dammit. </p><p>Luckily I had backup crutches. You never know when you will need crutches, so multiples exist in my vehicle, closets, etc.</p><p>The crutch can be replaced. The Hollywood ribs, however, cannot. </p><p><b>Luckily, Ev ordered a new charcoal grill (and very fancy fan that LIGHTS up!) for Candle Lake, so the meat-cooking can continue all summer long, no transfers required! In fact, our cabin at the lake constantly smells of hickory smoked barbeque, which brings all the 40-something men to our yard. </b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-YL16az2rTvGo_5gDcPjrnmM_Hte5PifSjifVxxOiIs_RQggcphKskuHDcPVBK4IyQSzpSGoMWTJSeMEnf6r_JPFSLMYO7xxHg-S9GoHu505yEq0SWnSxuTeB1rf4fXKLJfDgVn-z8Vtn7-WC_N4ixeOgdizd8xxgroiGmCWWB2ZWdgz0c7kB8wGkWA/s275/293973130_415107203970746_5043566429927740369_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="275" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-YL16az2rTvGo_5gDcPjrnmM_Hte5PifSjifVxxOiIs_RQggcphKskuHDcPVBK4IyQSzpSGoMWTJSeMEnf6r_JPFSLMYO7xxHg-S9GoHu505yEq0SWnSxuTeB1rf4fXKLJfDgVn-z8Vtn7-WC_N4ixeOgdizd8xxgroiGmCWWB2ZWdgz0c7kB8wGkWA/s1600/293973130_415107203970746_5043566429927740369_n.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-25870612991248941242022-07-06T10:51:00.000-07:002022-07-06T10:51:35.686-07:00Sprinkle pudding, vaginas, and warm hugs: Saying goodbye to dear Grandma MacDonald<p> When people question the downside of living on a tropical island, I always respond, "being so far away from friends and family." </p><p>My sweet and loving Grandma MacDonald passed away on June 19, 2022. She had been ill for only about a week, so despite the fact that she was 91 years old, her passing was quite unexpected. When I envisioned my summer at home, I had pictured afternoon tea visits with my Grandma in her new home at Good Shepherd Villas. Once I had processed the news, I went to work trying to find a flight home. Panic immediately set in as flights were obviously sparse, with trips to Saskatoon taking 65 + hours or more. In the last eight years on island, we have missed so many functions and events, and I knew that I couldn't miss a proper goodbye to my very special Grandma. </p><p>Luckily I was able to find a route that got me home in two days with an overnight in Houston. Other than the wheelchair assistance forgetting about me (oops!), resulting in barely making a connection, the trip was quite smooth and I was hugging my dad at the Saskatoon airport within 48 hours of leaving Cayman. This is a huge "win" in today's day of horrific airline travel!</p><p>My Grandma's service was really lovely. It took place at the church my Grandma attended for years, by the Minister who was a close friend of Grandmas. The music, flowers, and words spoken were heartfelt and very personal. When it sunk in that I wouldn't be visiting with my Grandma again, I felt so incredibly sad and empty; however, as the service continued, my heart also felt full - it truly was a celebration of an incredible woman. When I hugged Nora, the Minister who delivered the eulogy, I said, "Grandma would have really loved this!" and I meant it. She would have been so touched to see all her family and friends together, celebrating her. I feel comforted knowing that she's been reunited with the love of her life, my Grandpa Ken. </p><p>I was able to catch up with cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends whom I haven't seen for years - some I had only met on Facebook (shout out to Harriett!) It felt so good to be among everyone, sharing Grandma stories, and remembering the good times. We laughed, we cried - I know this sounds cheesy, but it was really good for my soul. I needed to be there. </p><p>Many stories were told about Grandma that day, but one of most memorable is the story that the family refer to as the "vagina project." My cousin, Donovan, lived with my Grandma for a year while he attended grade 12. This was the year after my Grandpa had passed, and I'm sure having Donovan there with her during that difficult time was a game changer for Grandma. Donovan was assigned a biology project in which he had to create a model of a human body system. Donovan chose the female reproductive system, and Grandma got to work helping him with a system she was very much familiar with! </p><p>They made play dough together to shape the ovaries, fallopian tubes, and formed the uterus and vagina. Donovan went to bed after working all evening, and Grandma decided to stay up and spice up the model. She collected her ceramic paints and decided to make the model more life-like by applying various shades of pink. The next morning Donovan looked at his new and improved anatomically correct model and thought, "I'm going to ace this project!" Grandma modestly covered the model with a tea towel and sent Donovan on his way to school. As the Minister retold this story during the service, she admitted, "This is the first time I've said the word, 'vagina' in church!" Haha. What a Grandma! Ironically, cousin Donovan is now Dr. Donovan. He's an ER Doc, however, not a Gynecologist, which would have made this story even more amusing! </p><p>I was lucky enough to spend almost everyday of my childhood at my Grandma and Grandpa's house. They lived close to my elementary school, and they looked after me during my lunch and after-school time. I can still remember the feeling of walking into that warm, cozy house. Grandpa would enthusiastically shout, "Kirstie!" and Grandma would peek her head around the kitchen, and say, "Lunch is almost ready!" Grandma made me a grilled cheese sandwich and pudding with cream and sprinkles for dessert every day. I washed this all down with a big glass of whole milk. Needless to say, I turned into a little chunky monkey for a few years! To this day, when I feel sad or lonely, I crave grandma's pudding with cream and sprinkles. That house was the epitome of comfort and love. To me, that's what Grandma was - comfort and love - like a big warm hug! She made all of us feel so loved so special. I hope she felt the same way. </p><p>Evan and Biloxi arrived a week after I did, and we are settling in to our house at the lake. We purchased a cabin across the street from our house, and Evan's mom and aunty will be spending a few weeks there this summer. I'm looking forward to a summer surrounded by friends and family, and some warm-ish weather would be an added bonus!</p><p>It feels so good to be home. I am a true believer that you can fool your brain and reduce your pain, and although my knees are not good, overall, I feel more comfortable and calm being at the lake right now. Sometimes you just need a change of scenery to alter your mindset. </p><p>Happy Summer, Friends!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsluHPsWLYceJJS2L1Oqk4qOAFQWGXELWBmUIS-v7DF8C4vbJU8K_3WgSdhwcTBCBcdqNWLtzx34ytkA6Bb54783qXCCni9vB_9igvN4PP15eZO01st8fgy7nnDdVhMRV6OrWQ-A67M1pN6FWZPnvwgNqzKE4PcOdog59x1ouoiIqHuXYKmTRlNM9ew/s206/14045788_10157249416085403_6184442028745410136_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsluHPsWLYceJJS2L1Oqk4qOAFQWGXELWBmUIS-v7DF8C4vbJU8K_3WgSdhwcTBCBcdqNWLtzx34ytkA6Bb54783qXCCni9vB_9igvN4PP15eZO01st8fgy7nnDdVhMRV6OrWQ-A67M1pN6FWZPnvwgNqzKE4PcOdog59x1ouoiIqHuXYKmTRlNM9ew/s1600/14045788_10157249416085403_6184442028745410136_n.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3-fBmt1sBv9ngv5vee0vaR9-Fge90I5BB_CHh6n0uf3E1ifcwS-dss9l9YeSaIJE9PzhHB_fNd1F4_kJ1y1nOo0mtwgxV4Kgnh_8PklTPSB-DJPu9T2ejmG4jJ3pNDpNt_R4ovTvsCoo0OdvSP_79Xuxb1czwDNW6IZH3_8eZYXJtt_5v3KkYlXOVg/s206/13939405_10208848563123663_433416560709565811_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3-fBmt1sBv9ngv5vee0vaR9-Fge90I5BB_CHh6n0uf3E1ifcwS-dss9l9YeSaIJE9PzhHB_fNd1F4_kJ1y1nOo0mtwgxV4Kgnh_8PklTPSB-DJPu9T2ejmG4jJ3pNDpNt_R4ovTvsCoo0OdvSP_79Xuxb1czwDNW6IZH3_8eZYXJtt_5v3KkYlXOVg/s1600/13939405_10208848563123663_433416560709565811_n.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCn3hs8Hki2HeFoOAp1EECgdWCq0FARnYkj77DNzGINpBWehreLSRWBX8wbgIIGxF3xFBr8GeRgLGjozAXsJI4x-J2WvK0PWh8ElekYQ2WRJtmOl4zt84-913WboB0KGLKyP2SIToQrF1OM4GX1yb8Phu6gJH3cMiaXIWT_0PsxZlHhSMmOzvfvQAXJA/s206/15740887_10154799917094400_521386556615969009_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCn3hs8Hki2HeFoOAp1EECgdWCq0FARnYkj77DNzGINpBWehreLSRWBX8wbgIIGxF3xFBr8GeRgLGjozAXsJI4x-J2WvK0PWh8ElekYQ2WRJtmOl4zt84-913WboB0KGLKyP2SIToQrF1OM4GX1yb8Phu6gJH3cMiaXIWT_0PsxZlHhSMmOzvfvQAXJA/s1600/15740887_10154799917094400_521386556615969009_n.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQ8qVjrhxftIQhLVhhGNm-jFuNDCyfpWQQu03wyyT47CShlL8yt3mQiuP4xlduYESMJ0jcsbzHRoGi5AHLY81pmR3M5XnatL5wzGQ1lwTq9_5xmBkvaMEvADaX3nxRPvTtCEGMO-YYvtiz7MjpfYjP0sws2StR0NHiK4LnUVY-2pD66oWl5Nal9GuQg/s206/47571641_10156895407644400_2454185398591553536_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQ8qVjrhxftIQhLVhhGNm-jFuNDCyfpWQQu03wyyT47CShlL8yt3mQiuP4xlduYESMJ0jcsbzHRoGi5AHLY81pmR3M5XnatL5wzGQ1lwTq9_5xmBkvaMEvADaX3nxRPvTtCEGMO-YYvtiz7MjpfYjP0sws2StR0NHiK4LnUVY-2pD66oWl5Nal9GuQg/s1600/47571641_10156895407644400_2454185398591553536_n.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXMuA373EEmUMLt1RpyVVSopIBOUC85AHO8I3YMd9czHT7-AWaIDtXN8EGl_DxHvAw9E14iOG_F3PtcDWsSpIHuXNfouuh63nCueGsNfSXG0FpIuJ72beREihhzWj_CpYjLoDCdAuFjkTGYar5_ZbzmDr1XBcRD3NpHEhFDhz8FJzTrnC5lasYydOqQ/s206/173585558_10165250565545403_4180678537961794669_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXMuA373EEmUMLt1RpyVVSopIBOUC85AHO8I3YMd9czHT7-AWaIDtXN8EGl_DxHvAw9E14iOG_F3PtcDWsSpIHuXNfouuh63nCueGsNfSXG0FpIuJ72beREihhzWj_CpYjLoDCdAuFjkTGYar5_ZbzmDr1XBcRD3NpHEhFDhz8FJzTrnC5lasYydOqQ/s1600/173585558_10165250565545403_4180678537961794669_n.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgUrxVnOmXCU0F8FSGcHKvsTm7PQ8AdYI-d7Z1Ot1Ps2fN3QVpLTS0tzFI0HPWcTuBTSzIe77fHuJEOFtPpV5hO2eqqnG6RLIwGLpZlWOmYvHfCbm29Jv-v8cAm--7y70MpPFzpk3HDX52Kit6Mx7MJHwhlZ_BhM94W4HYSSTFzRYv90fw0GZonAZAw/s206/290212346_10166255270675403_5328583670356718520_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgUrxVnOmXCU0F8FSGcHKvsTm7PQ8AdYI-d7Z1Ot1Ps2fN3QVpLTS0tzFI0HPWcTuBTSzIe77fHuJEOFtPpV5hO2eqqnG6RLIwGLpZlWOmYvHfCbm29Jv-v8cAm--7y70MpPFzpk3HDX52Kit6Mx7MJHwhlZ_BhM94W4HYSSTFzRYv90fw0GZonAZAw/s1600/290212346_10166255270675403_5328583670356718520_n.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-31134038207521497882022-06-03T14:05:00.000-07:002022-06-03T14:05:42.495-07:00Don't Worry Be Happy?<p>When I was around 10 years old, I recall rushing home from school to announce that I had achieved the highest mark in my class. This was nothing new for me, as I typically scored within the the top 3 throughout my elementary school "career." But, nevertheless, I was excited and pretty proud of my accomplishment. My dad made a comment that smacked me right in my chubby little 10 year old cheeks. He said, "You know, someday when you go to University, you won't be the smartest person in the class anymore. But it will be okay." To be fair, my dad is a realist, and I don't think that he was trying to rain on my parade, but merely preparing me for the real world. </p><p>This startling revelation threw me for a loop! It kept me up at night. I studied harder, hoping that this surely would never transpire. It really upset me! I pictured myself at the University of Nova Scotia (that's where I intended to go, despite the fact that that particular University does not exist. I found out my later that it was called Dalhousie), sitting at my desk, defeated, as students all around me raised their hand, responding to questions that I could not answer. This worry consumed my little brain for years. </p><p>You will not be shocked to learn that I developed an ulcer at age 12! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpFvcqWQWNj5W-nY_Y_ALlzWGUCfdXoL_2G7FAavdYXaQXuuEv9gsq2cNHdBjirfHlAoDq_2AEr02M7Xxa0dMK-NBSb-hRzwKfHXIDaYWSbYCC85yR1IftyCCEWOKYThVbzLpimdckIsUHHw9iPZIcFvuWUzPTp-FbDYCXuSA3-vG8rj3mowCtpozaTA/s414/11149473_10153222279319400_8921256925782515441_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="414" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpFvcqWQWNj5W-nY_Y_ALlzWGUCfdXoL_2G7FAavdYXaQXuuEv9gsq2cNHdBjirfHlAoDq_2AEr02M7Xxa0dMK-NBSb-hRzwKfHXIDaYWSbYCC85yR1IftyCCEWOKYThVbzLpimdckIsUHHw9iPZIcFvuWUzPTp-FbDYCXuSA3-vG8rj3mowCtpozaTA/s320/11149473_10153222279319400_8921256925782515441_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why are they dressing me like this? Have I been enrolled in the Navy?? </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I was, and still am, a worrier. My worries have always been wound into a tight little ball, knotted, and frayed, sitting stagnant in the pit of my stomach. </p><p>Last we spoke, I explained that my Osteochondritis Dessicans is no longer treatable. As incredible as my cartilage specialist has been over the past 8 years, I basically received a "Dear John" email, wishing me luck on my "journey." Although I've been fortunate enough to suffer through very few hurtful break-ups throughout my life, this one stung a little....like could we at least say proper goodbyes over zoom and coffee? I then met with the Orthopaedic Team in Cayman to discuss the next step, and they shrugged their shoulders and immediately passed me on to the best knee replacement guy on island. Here's the plot twist...are you ready for it? The island's knee replacement extraordinaire is the same guy who referred to me as a "lost cause" eight years ago. Ugh. I'm currently on his very long waitlist, brainstorming ways to repair our relationship before he chops my knees apart. </p><p>So, you know, I got some worries. Don't we all?</p><p>But I'm an overachieving proactive kind of person, so I decided to "science" the worries out of me. </p><p>I follow a well-balanced diet, although I don't deprive myself. </p><p>I continue to remain dedicated to physiotherapy and exercise. We are now calling therapy "prehab." Sure. Let's will go with that....sounds sporty, and Yes, I am STILL on the crutch. It's been 8 consecutive months for anyone who is counting. </p><p>I meditate regularly. Often on a beach as waves gently lap on the shore. Like how much better can meditating get???</p><p>I am very conservative with the pain meds and follow a pain plan created by my Pain Specialist.</p><p>I attend every acupuncture, massage, and chiro appointment that I can possibly fit into my schedule.</p><p>I spend time laughing and joking with colleagues and friends, and continue to attend social events when the pain is under control. </p><p>I religiously follow all of the recommendations from my pain psychologist. </p><p>I spend hours watching cute puppy and kitten videos on You Tube. </p><p>Dude. I get an "A" for effort in this "don't worry be happy" course that I've contrived! I'm the Valedictorian!</p><p>I may be able to hide the worry by pushing it down below the surface, but my body knows, and is seriously revolting against my efforts. </p><p>In the last month, I developed an "immune response" in my eye that resulted in an angry pink eyeball. The Optometrist informed me that it could be a result of increased cortisol (stress hormones) in my body. My worries are literally seeping from my eyeballs. Yep, sounds about right. My blood pressure is equivalent to that of a 85 year old obese diabetic alcoholic smoker (note: telling an anxious patient to take deep breaths and calm down to lower blood pressure is not helpful!), and I've been experiencing terrible nightmares that awaken me in the throes of a panic attack. What the actual hell? </p><p>All the books tell you to create a safe and comforting environment to sleep in. You guys!!!! I spray my luxurious satin pillow with a soothing lavender scent, turn on my sound machine to calming white noise, and gently cover myself with a fluffy white cover comprised of the softest bamboo leaves and baby hair (jokes)...I even have a freaking cooling system that maintains a comfortable 68 degree mattress to prevent overheating! I'm more invested in this safe and comforting sleep environment than you all were in the Amber Heard/Johnny Depp trial!!! I calmly drop my CBD oil under my tongue, curl up next to my purring cat, read a neutral novel without too much suspense or drama, and fall into a cozy slumber...only to awaken 4 hours later, dripping in sweat, struggling to breathe, and attempting to climb under my bed because, in my dream, an intruder has broken into my house with intent to kill me. </p><p>So now I'm stressed out that I can't seem to prevent the stress in my subconscious during sleep, despite the fact that I've actioned every freaking stress-relieving activity on my list. Yes, I am 100% aware of how ridiculous this sounds. </p><p>So...that's where I'm currently at. I've totally come to terms with the fact that I am most definitely NOT the smartest anymore. In fact, don't tell Ev, but I'm pretty sure that he has surpassed me in the "smarts" department. That's cool. Now if I could only convince my body that I do not need to be in fight or flight mode at 4am, that would be perfect. </p><p>We are heading home July 3 and I am soooo ready. Perhaps a change of environment will do me good? I miss my family and friends so much that it hurts almost as bad as my shitty knees. I can't wait to get back to Candle Lake. </p><p>Cheers friends!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-22002667598347490522022-04-13T16:08:00.000-07:002022-04-13T16:08:46.679-07:00Pity party, party of one....<p> <i>You've been cordially invited to Kirstie's pity party. Party of one. </i></p><p>I totally understand if you'd like to decline. It's not much of a party. You've been fully warned. </p><p>If you're a little curious, please proceed...but feel free to vacate the premises at any time. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJ-ijYzyTf-ZTWClX3kAJY-DRk2ItgdfIOL1B7CGflgGmfn8BBdKFhV9TYVzIPqHCj2PBaRvxc1ZuGIaJ67cgmU23YW9LQNdvuslbkI7a4ekeRtqPa1axcFWQ7y0v9mp5xeuQW7sRMkaeVDPpHnFCBpi8ITHsynjcPt_rufI28wB2jsvYJWBl2SYPhQ/s300/download-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJ-ijYzyTf-ZTWClX3kAJY-DRk2ItgdfIOL1B7CGflgGmfn8BBdKFhV9TYVzIPqHCj2PBaRvxc1ZuGIaJ67cgmU23YW9LQNdvuslbkI7a4ekeRtqPa1axcFWQ7y0v9mp5xeuQW7sRMkaeVDPpHnFCBpi8ITHsynjcPt_rufI28wB2jsvYJWBl2SYPhQ/s1600/download-1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>My 43rd birthday is next week. Birthdays are a good time for reflection - a marker to evaluate the past year, and if you want to get really deep - your entire life thus far. </p><p>I did the math. In the last 12 months, I have been on a crutch/crutches for 9 months. That's 3/4 of the year for those of you who enjoy fractions. In the last 10 years I have had 13 surgeries. I can't even begin to count how may of those years I've spent on crutches, but I would imagine that I've spent more time on crutches than off of them. </p><p>Despite my diligence to water walking, light weight lifting, stretching, stationary bike riding, and performing every single freaking exercise and stretch assigned to me, I was never able to fully recover from surgery #13 in December. A myriad of complications interfered with recovery including suspected bursitis, a back sprain (who the hell sprains their back?) and a nice little bout of Norovirus for good measure. My rehab team expanded to include a Physiotherapist, Chiropractor, Massage Therapist, Acupuncturist, as well as my Doctor, Pain Specialist, Cartilage Specialist, and Pain Psychologist. My team is stacked! Like I have the Wayne Gretzky's and Bobby Orr's of teams!</p><p>Unfortunately, it looks as though my pain, catching, and immobility are due, yet again, to cartilage. Previously a scope and clean out of the knee provided me with about a year or so of pain relief, but it would appear as though this disease is taking over. My team, despite its awesomeness, is no match for Osteochondritis Dissecans.</p><p>It's funny how certain words will stick with you. My friends and family rally around me, referring to me as "strong," "a warrior," "brave," and "resilient." Yet, about 7 years ago, as I begged a Doctor to sign off on documents that would allow me to see my cartilage specialist in Philly, five words were uttered to me that are currently playing on repeat in my brain. These words are so loud that they are drowning out all of the positive ones:</p><p>"YOU ARE A LOST CAUSE."</p><p>The Doctor was trying to warn me that these surgeries would likely not be effective, given the nature and presentation of my disease. In retrospect, maybe he was right. Maybe he was trying to be funny? (Orthos can be eccentric people!) But those words...man....those words haunt me!</p><p>I've pulled out my thick book of notes from my Pain Psychologist and reminded myself that mindset is pivotal in managing this disease. I put my ear buds in and sing, "I've got to keep on moving," as I work through challenging physio exercises. When I am overwhelmed by a staircase looming, I tell myself, "One step at a time. You got this." I imagine my body thanking me when I stretch and gently keep moving after a long day of work. Yet, "You are a lost cause" wakes me up with panic in the middle of the night. "You are a lost cause" takes ahold of me when I can't see through the pain. Dammit, I can't meditate those words out of my brain. </p><p>I am tired. I am so so exhausted. The pain is relentless and at times, all consuming. I carry on, heading to work each day, attending each therapy appointment, and I hear myself saying, "All good!" "Getting there!" and my personal favorite, "No worries!" Those are all lies. I actually have ALL the worries. So so many worries! </p><p>Each and every Specialist has advised me to avoid a knee replacement until there are no other options left to consider. I always suspected it was looming in my future, but the goal was to get to at least age 55 before venturing down that path. Language is powerful to me, and the last 10 years I've heard countless phrases such as "We're not throwing in the towel yet," or "We haven't reached the end of the road yet." These phrases suggest defeat. I have been conditioned to believe that choosing a knee replacement means that I've lost the battle or that I am a quitter. I know many of you are reading this and thinking, "My dad had a knee replacement and is doing great!" or "Knee replacements aren't a big deal, why doesn't she just get one of those?" I'm not about to get into it now, but I am far from an ideal candidate for this procedure. It's a permanent surgery and there is no reversing that decision if I'm left with regrets. However, at this point, it's about quality of life, and despite having so many fantastic people on my side, my quality of life is currently poor. I have come to a crossroads where I am faced with deciding between my current quality of life and "future Kirstie's" challenges. </p><p>So after conferring with my all-star team, I realize that I have, indeed, come to the end of the road (Can you all hear Boyz To Men right now?). Today a Specialist eloquently stated, "Your knees are really really lousy." Got it. I appreciate the directness. But I have an option. It's not lost on me that many people get shit news and have no options. </p><p>I have armed myself with a stacked team with incredible knowledge who all reiterate that I am NOT a lost cause. But...it's hard. It's really hard, and I'm not afraid to admit that. So rather than post a picture of a beautiful island sunset, I'm just going to be honest and admit that I do not feel #blessed right now and things kinda suck at the moment. I need some time to process and come to terms with the fact that I am not accepting defeat, but rather, accepting that I've taken my knees as far as I can possibly take them. And not for lack of freaking trying!</p><p>In the meantime, I've been pumped full of cortisone, and although I'm currently experiencing the "cortisone flare" side effect (not awesome), I am hopeful that I will soon experience some temporary relief. I desperately need a break from pain and a clear mind to make some decisions. </p><p>My mom arrives on Thursday. I had visions of us going for nice beach walks, which ain't gonna happen, but I know that just having her here with me will lift my spirits. I need my mom, and am so thankful that she can be here with me!</p><p>Cheers. Thanks for coming to my pity party...and staying until the end! </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-64895049235444234262022-01-29T11:02:00.000-08:002022-01-29T11:02:34.745-08:00I've got to keep on moving<p> Hey Friends!</p><p>Have you watched the documentary about the olympic ski racer, Lindsey Vonn, called "The Climb"? It documents Lindsey's recovery and rehabilitation after 2 major knee injuries and her return to sport. It's really inspirational and provides a lot of insight about the physical, mental, and emotional challenges of rehabilitation after injury. </p><p>Now I'm by no means an Olympic athlete - although I was Miss PA Highland Dancer in1985 and a silver medalist at the YBC National Bowling Championship in 1991 😜- but when I watched this documentary a few years ago, I was absolutely glued to the TV, captivated by Lindsey's experience. Lindsey's rehab was so intense and grueling, and I could relate to how defeating and mentally exhausting recovery can be. </p><p>I'm now 4 weeks post surgery #13 and doing pretty okay-ish. Every week since my surgery I've been able to step up my physiotherapy and can feel myself slowly gaining strength and confidence. I've managed to wean off of Gabapentin (the brain fogger med), so that's one huge goal accomplished! It occurred to me the other day during my pool water walking that my rehabilitation and the state of my mind during recovery has significantly shifted since my first few surgeries. </p><p>The very first knee surgery (about 10 years ago) was meant to be a simple meniscus repair. Once my Ortho got a look inside my knee and realized that I had this disease, Osteochondritis Dissecans, he had to completely change gears mid-surgery and perform micro fracture surgery on my knee. The surgeons drilled holes into my bone to stimulate cartilage growth (I was wide awake for that one, by the way, but was drugged to the point of oblivion), and I was told post surgery that my 3 week recovery was now a 4-6 month recovery. </p><p>I listened to my surgeon explain the severity of the situation. I had a rare cartilage disease. I would never be the same. I heard the words but didn't fully process them and I absolutely refused to accept them. I was provided with a physio protocol for recovery and vowed to "beat" every single goal in that booklet. </p><p>I was insufferable. I cringe now when I think about how I threw myself head-first into that recovery. Although I followed all the rules (no weight bearing for 6 weeks), as soon as I was given the go ahead to begin therapy, I made it my mission to surpass every benchmark. I attempted to convince my surgeon that the recovery bar needed to be raised because I was a superior patient who overachieved in all areas. If anyone asked how recovery was going, I would boast about how awesome I was doing, and demonstrate party tricks on my crutches (no lie). When my surgeon suggested that I might not be strong enough to wakesurf, I sent him video of myself wakesurfing with my crutch, eventually tossing the crutch away. That video was a giant "eff you and eff this disease." (I'm still sorry about that). Like I said...insufferable. In my mind I was an ideal patient - motivated and determined. But in reality, I was trying to win a game that was impossible to win. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEim1o3lSPhGFoNtXR6Vc-nanXNqMMjYc3Kv6iB6MBtfEFx3EG62gjOklljq2kzAm1eDswpr0uCd_k2lTUSU80vUEcbFPVJL4d8ZP3W7d00fonns-RZk4mKz4uDOlbrmlEIpBcNXIKTObqCgHmdkI-Ut1YEpSo8qB7C_jx45Tt0RckARmKiugH8-MigQqQ=s320" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEim1o3lSPhGFoNtXR6Vc-nanXNqMMjYc3Kv6iB6MBtfEFx3EG62gjOklljq2kzAm1eDswpr0uCd_k2lTUSU80vUEcbFPVJL4d8ZP3W7d00fonns-RZk4mKz4uDOlbrmlEIpBcNXIKTObqCgHmdkI-Ut1YEpSo8qB7C_jx45Tt0RckARmKiugH8-MigQqQ" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Haha! Remember that time I covered my knee brace in "motivational" sayings? No? Me neither. 🙈</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>In retrospect, I was completely in denial about my diagnosis. I was going to be normal, despite this stupid disease that I apparently had. That first surgery, by the way, failed. I'm not saying it was a "me" problem, but my stubborn, "I will be victorious" attitude did not promote success. </p><p>Well...thank the Lord things have changed. The biggest thing that I have learned to accept over the years is that my body and I are on the same team. When I said things like, "I'm going to beat this!" I was implying that I was in a fight or a competition against my body. This was a terrible mindset and I spent so much of my time angry and resentful that my body dared to defy me in this manner. Like it or not, this body belongs to me and I've learned to be kinder and more patient with it. After all, we are literally in this together.</p><p>Secondly, I've learned that these physio benchmarks are simply guidelines. I don't focus so much on imposed timelines. If I'm not off the crutches in 3 weeks, I no longer lay in the dark listening to Linkin Park, sobbing, "In the end, it doesn't even matter." (True story 😞). Although I still require reminders, I do realize that the guidelines don't take into consideration the fact that my knees have endured 13 surgeries. They have been through a lot! So my squat might be more of a "dip" at the moment, but that's just where my knees are at this point in time. And I am perfectly okay-ish with that! </p><p>Finally, my mindset about recovery has flipped a complete 180. Rehabilitation used to be a roller coaster of high highs and super low lows. I would play "Rage Against the Machine" and lunge until my knees would shake and then fall into a heap on the floor and cry for hours when I was still 10 degrees off my target. The pressures that I placed on myself were insane - and I'm not an Olympic athlete - it's not like I had a major competition looming! Yikes. Today I ride the bike while listening to "Break my Stride" by Matthew Wilder, and focus on moving forward slowly and purposefully. I quietly celebrate my accomplishments and try...yes try...to not get frustrated when recovery is not a neat linear path. </p><p>I'm not going to pretend like it's all roses and butterflies. I'm relieved that I'm not that super intense, angry rehabilitation patient any more; however, I still feel frustrated and anxious with my recovery. </p><p>I worry that I will require a walking aide for the rest of my life. Prior to this surgery, I was using a crutch or both crutches for about 2 months. I'm still using 1 crutch for longer distances, but I have anxiety about walking independently again. Many years ago I used a cane for a few months. There was something about that cane that signaled "permanent handicap" to me, and although I would never judge anyone else for using a cane, that cane really messed with my mental and emotional state. I try not to contemplate the what ifs, but in all honesty, I worry that I might eventually enter "cane territory" again. </p><p>I know that I'm not training for an Olympic event, but I now see the purpose of my rehabilitation as training for life. I want to work a full day of school without pain meds. I want to sit down with my students and not worry about standing back up. I want to take short walks on the beach. I want to go to a friend's house and not fret about climbing stairs. I want to feel confident that I can walk to a table in a restaurant and not fall down. This is why I faithfully participate in my physiotherapy every single day. </p><p>Evan described something called "Game Theory" that he often discusses with his business clients. There are two types of games: a finite game and an infinite game. A finite game has a distinct beginning and end. Someone wins and someone loses. In an infinite game the purpose is to keep the game going. You only drop out of the game due to lack of will or resources. No one wins and no one loses. Your goal is to simply stay in the game - to keep the game going. After almost 10 years since my diagnosis, I have (thankfully) learned that I cannot "win" this game. My goal is to play the infinite game. And I'm doing a pretty okay-ish job at it right now ;) In the words of Matthew Wilder, "I've got to keep on moving." </p><p>Cheers Friends!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGMpUb5dU_n4x5HwdaumI0gwAnBlxX6Lifk3pvKwqbmOB41ebQZrGDRxj6DtrPnSSkfLw5me68MGJum-V4OIBz0dXSKQdtqj29MgzVMOwgKyANsSjWSa6cA0rblHA-LCmtpSTWheRrw9XCV8tVvRAzwurkNzZE63NY-WdEcnMntsshx2fmxet3aT-Qzg=s311" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="162" data-original-width="311" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGMpUb5dU_n4x5HwdaumI0gwAnBlxX6Lifk3pvKwqbmOB41ebQZrGDRxj6DtrPnSSkfLw5me68MGJum-V4OIBz0dXSKQdtqj29MgzVMOwgKyANsSjWSa6cA0rblHA-LCmtpSTWheRrw9XCV8tVvRAzwurkNzZE63NY-WdEcnMntsshx2fmxet3aT-Qzg" width="311" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-75771601624099797072022-01-08T05:58:00.000-08:002022-01-08T05:58:15.632-08:00Surgery #13: Can you Die from Ingesting Essential Oils?<p> Hey Friends,</p><p>Well, we managed to fit in a quick trip to Philly over the holidays for surgery #13, and successfully made it home to our Cayman condo last night. Let me tell you, travel is not for the faint of heart these days. Looking back, I still can't believe we managed to pull this trip off - one positive test would have derailed the entire plan, not to mention all the flight cancellations that were occurring over Christmas! We were very lucky that, logistically, our travel went off without a hitch. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXeYCeUY7KlZ8u4abDZAhSZ2MUp1Iuk-YRYs2mhr-yZ2pqEuRZTxr1vB9fO7sQBZehCUpQ7uFYOKHvhDOPgSrYfpPpIpt_h-kBNE-ixQ7CWWFIN1oXEpCKRTD9U9XkSrFhHVHQGp9DnYufNWs8spHpeae8Zw1nZ5BxEEPTkD2grkFg3RduDET5OOIstA=s206" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXeYCeUY7KlZ8u4abDZAhSZ2MUp1Iuk-YRYs2mhr-yZ2pqEuRZTxr1vB9fO7sQBZehCUpQ7uFYOKHvhDOPgSrYfpPpIpt_h-kBNE-ixQ7CWWFIN1oXEpCKRTD9U9XkSrFhHVHQGp9DnYufNWs8spHpeae8Zw1nZ5BxEEPTkD2grkFg3RduDET5OOIstA" width="155" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Free garment bag with your 13th surgery special!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>When my insurance company sent me our travel itinerary, I saw that we had a 4 hour layover in Miami, and immediately thought of an agency in Cayman called One Dog At A Time (ODAAT). ODAAT is a non profit organization on island that helps to get forever homes for the unwanted dogs, many of who are awaiting euthanization at the Department of Agriculture. ODAAT has multiple partnering agencies in the US and Canada, and is often advertising the need for flight escorts. Although our shelters and foster homes in Cayman are busting at the seams (spay or neuter your pets, people!!!), the humane society in Miami, for example, has a shortage of pups, and dogs from Cayman are adopted very quickly in Miami (our pups are affectionately called "Cayman Coconuts," and I think it's a bit of a novelty to have a coconut in another country). So, I immediately reached out to the organization, and together with the Cayman Islands Humane Society, they were able to select 4 lucky dogs that we could accompany to Miami. </p><p>Overall, the experience of escorting the dogs was excellent! ODAAT was very organized and had all the paperwork in order and ready to go. We were able to meet our travel buddies: Bunny, Duque, Montana, and Xander, and I assured each nervous pup that they were in good hands. The dogs were crated and put in the pet cargo area of the plane. The flight from Cayman to Miami is a nice quick 1 hour trip, and the dogs were all safely transferred to a humane society in the Miami area. On last check, 3 out of 4 dogs have gone to their furrever homes, and the last sweet pup, Bunny, will surely get swooped up soon. Typically a trip to Philly carries negative connotations with it for me, so it was nice to distract myself with helping these dogs, and put a positive spin to the trip! I highly recommend becoming a pet escort if you are able.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj80xVnuy_G6C4fQ83CwnhsDZjb0FTCgutT42-IPCBaI07LLIzGQab3ZU4KuHHBJel51RQ9Cb_-YiDhcwlEdNq9ZaramWk-cTHQgdOIIZmD-3uhOt_yWEWmebHLaWKWER_xIA1hQ_ERlqHBXuoBm7ZE69wo5wyVpDhIhrEgWxBJfVymFLSolRCQIpvwwA=s206" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj80xVnuy_G6C4fQ83CwnhsDZjb0FTCgutT42-IPCBaI07LLIzGQab3ZU4KuHHBJel51RQ9Cb_-YiDhcwlEdNq9ZaramWk-cTHQgdOIIZmD-3uhOt_yWEWmebHLaWKWER_xIA1hQ_ERlqHBXuoBm7ZE69wo5wyVpDhIhrEgWxBJfVymFLSolRCQIpvwwA" width="206" /></a></div><br /><p>Philly was cold and dreary. We always stay downtown in the Rittenhouse area, and both Ev and I noticed that there are more police and security guards in shops and restaurants. There were a lot of homeless folks attempting to stay warm in doorways and alleys. We were told it's not safe to venture out at night alone, which has significantly changed since our first visit to Philly 7 years ago. It's sad to see. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4Z7nO7V77boJB_j5uZCMi4thuaEMgZ4wyIj5bkFmTiO9BsBrUds1DuOpG2GWE6T4jx7w3xQc42mDD-y9aw_vpJc4LiJw_fQ8Luh7xj-9Xphh3AAqvjV5FY5d3QEsIom-z8sMnbdKy2tBUwUKuXOBINPwiRHMXzvA1Y3URGqxSVwbIh4qFlD_-urECqA=s206" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4Z7nO7V77boJB_j5uZCMi4thuaEMgZ4wyIj5bkFmTiO9BsBrUds1DuOpG2GWE6T4jx7w3xQc42mDD-y9aw_vpJc4LiJw_fQ8Luh7xj-9Xphh3AAqvjV5FY5d3QEsIom-z8sMnbdKy2tBUwUKuXOBINPwiRHMXzvA1Y3URGqxSVwbIh4qFlD_-urECqA" width="155" /></a></div><br /><p>The Philly air was thick with Omicron and I began to fret about the possibility of contracting Covid and being stuck in Philly. We double-masked and avoided large groups as much as possible, but we were in and out of stores buying groceries and supplies. Every time Ev left the apartment, I yelled, "Don't catch Covid!" haha. Thanks tips!</p><p>For Covid reasons, my surgery was at the Penn Medicine surgery center this time, as opposed to the hospital. The surgery center is super efficient - like a production line swiftly moving patients in and out of surgery. I'm always in awe of their efficiency and organization. Because 2 patients ahead of me tested positive, my surgery was moved up earlier in the day and I nervously joked that I had been "called up." Now that Dr. Carey works with the Philadelphia Flyers, he appreciated my hockey reference and asked if Evan wanted a quick hip surgery, given the new surgery slot openings (Ev has arthritis in his hip from all those years of butterfly saves). </p><p>My team is always trying to solve my nausea issue, and each Anesthesiologist adds a new and exciting element to my anesthetic concoction to prevent the puke that inevitably occurs about 6 hours post surgery. I admire their tenacity, and although the "magic formula" was a bust again, I appreciate that they always try. I asked my Anesthesiologist if she could slip something special into my IV, given that this was my 13th surgery, and she suggested a margarita. </p><p>I don't typically dream while I'm under, but the margarita comment was obviously in my subconscious because I spent my entire knee surgery saddled up at the Westin bar while my favorite server, Rev, provided me with one frosty margarita after another. At one point, Rev said, "Miss Kirstie, are you sure you want another?" and as I grabbed for another salty rim, I slipped backwards off my bar stool and woke up in recovery.</p><p>"Whoa!" I said as I woke up startled, "I drank too many margaritas!"</p><p>The nurse laughed and handed me a pair of seriously heavy crutches, "We have a crutch shortage today, so the only ones available are bariatric crutches." Yikes. Those suckers were sturdy (designed for patients up to 350 pounds), and surely to result in toned triceps. </p><p>Once back in the apartment, I was struggling to control my pain and succumbed to the narcotics, which predictably led to severe nausea. </p><p>I sat upright in bed for about 7 hours, frantically sniffing peppermint essential oils, willing myself not to puke. Finally at 3am, I shoved the bottle of peppermint oil up my nostril and fell asleep in an upright position.</p><p>At some point my head tilted back, tipping the bottle of peppermint oil into my nostril, flooding my nose with burn. Minty burn. </p><p>I coughed and choked as peppermint burned my nose and filled my mouth and desperately put a cold cloth up my nostril to ease the fire inside my nasal passage. Poor Ev was sound asleep and didn't know what happened, awakening to my yelling, "It burns! It burns!"</p><p>To be fair, it distracted me from my painful post-surgery knee.</p><p>For the next 5 hours I spit and puked up peppermint while blowing fresh mint oil out of nose. My google history at 5am reveals the search, "Can you die from ingesting essential oils?" It was touch and go, but I did not die (although there were points I wanted to), and to be honest, it's kind of hilarious in retrospect, and makes for an interesting blog post. </p><p>Once the fear of dying from essential oils subsided, I did something that I don't typically do. I try to avoid self-pity at all costs - in fact, I push all the self pity down and suppress it under humor. Perhaps the peppermint oil provoked an eruption, but what happened next was something else.</p><p>I bawled my head off. I felt so unbelievably sorry for myself that I just let myself go, sobbing uncontrollably for what felt like 10 solid minutes. I cried for all those days that I dragged my sad sorry ass to work in terrible pain. I cried for my shitty soft cartilage, and this stupid disease that I can do nothing about. I cried for my future, knowing that surgery #13 will not be my last. I cried for the fact that I don't deserve this. </p><p>Evan sat quietly at my side and held my hand and just let me go. </p><p>Eventually even my tears tasted of mint and Ev said, "Take a deep breath. That's done now."</p><p>Sometimes you just need a good minty cry.</p><p>Overall, my surgery was a success in a way - the surgeon identified all the areas where my cartilage is peeling off like an onion and smoothed the peeling cartilage. These areas cause the most pain, as the fraying cartilage catches in my joints. My actual cartilage implant from 4 years ago is doing well after another trim - however, the rest of my cartilage continues to degrade in quality and quantity. This surgery will provide me relief, but no one can predict for how long. I guess that's as good as it gets. I might cry about it again later??</p><p>I will say this...I am incredibly lucky to have such an amazing team at Penn Medicine. The level of care I experience each and every time is phenomenal. I received 5 check-in calls post surgery, one from my Surgeon on New Year's Day, who expressed his frustration with my continuing nausea. The staff often remember me and my shitty knees, and are always so compassionate, caring, and interested. They go above and beyond, and I appreciate them immensely. </p><p>Recovery has been fine. I was just about to enter into pity-ville again on day 5 when I received a visit from a special friend. Kat, my island bestie from our first years in Cayman, who now lives in the DC area. We haven't seen each other in 2 years, and the fact that she drove post-snowstorm, in freezing cold temps (Well not Sasky cold, but Philly cold), really meant a lot to me. She's one of those best friends who you can pick up where you left off, talk about anything and everything, and just enjoy each other's company. Kat has a very distinct laugh - deep and hearty! That laugh lifted my spirits and her visit meant the world to me. </p><p>We miraculously tested negative and made it back to Cayman without issue. The travel was painful, but I'm back in my island home, with views of the ocean rather than tall brick buildings. That feels good. </p><p>I know that none of this is easy on Evan. When we repeated our wedding vows over 17 years ago, neither of us predicted that our marriage would entail this. But Ev never complains. He calmly holds my hand, delivers my crutches, brews my tea, comforts me, and makes me laugh when I'm sad. He knows the drill and accepts it as part of our life. Our incredible, yet complicated, life. I appreciate his encourage-mint and commit-mint. I know that we are mint to be (sorry - how could I resist??) </p><p>Cheers!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLKaZ4vLmpLWBjaTgu0zyUxXHxnJPE6CMBN3R4E2nEKkNtJzb3eRyK4iIpT0-AIvqsA_jbEVVm-lZdgHLnZBnU1VWNeJjMLxqC9p7hJQ-DRHY_zPJr2BzozoCarjG4r4QK9NBetmX5S0Ri-xhPoVNOSqZQ9JRec99qFEMfmV2DoMnh5rAVxDg5ylFGng=s206" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLKaZ4vLmpLWBjaTgu0zyUxXHxnJPE6CMBN3R4E2nEKkNtJzb3eRyK4iIpT0-AIvqsA_jbEVVm-lZdgHLnZBnU1VWNeJjMLxqC9p7hJQ-DRHY_zPJr2BzozoCarjG4r4QK9NBetmX5S0Ri-xhPoVNOSqZQ9JRec99qFEMfmV2DoMnh5rAVxDg5ylFGng" width="155" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We know Dr. Carey doctors the Flyers, but do the Flyers know he doctors Kirstie Lindsay?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiul76qj8k1bkeWCYlVGtQgX9-8u5_36U7DBKSQyOntSd8w3wm2g6XhIkayV9hyfKX46jrq01W-iyyEJhhVwX5kcUMQ2ybHko6PJupKQcx3XS7qJCmlMiu-mnWNrErZdmhnWBF9Osvco94S7Fy-LzU-2vzZ1xDCXRnlSBhgxR5gbhW4_WIMfqwZCKn6Bw=s206" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiul76qj8k1bkeWCYlVGtQgX9-8u5_36U7DBKSQyOntSd8w3wm2g6XhIkayV9hyfKX46jrq01W-iyyEJhhVwX5kcUMQ2ybHko6PJupKQcx3XS7qJCmlMiu-mnWNrErZdmhnWBF9Osvco94S7Fy-LzU-2vzZ1xDCXRnlSBhgxR5gbhW4_WIMfqwZCKn6Bw" width="155" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank you, 90 day Fiance, for getting me through some dark days</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjs0Zxk5_PU2h87ZpvhnbfyKGufc8UppJqI0pRYlEV-UT3hp0hX7txfCmWYGQcb_cTa1wMTWQMA1UzYyMEFXEXXJTZP0PbO7j9Otkx1wD5KjbWL_qMKQcHpLGXJHyCYwKbLdxh-VhsOlgoS8D8aDjfOL7aS5ZBaibkxGAanmLf15SmmvSC0bMoN2w1L-Q=s206" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="155" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjs0Zxk5_PU2h87ZpvhnbfyKGufc8UppJqI0pRYlEV-UT3hp0hX7txfCmWYGQcb_cTa1wMTWQMA1UzYyMEFXEXXJTZP0PbO7j9Otkx1wD5KjbWL_qMKQcHpLGXJHyCYwKbLdxh-VhsOlgoS8D8aDjfOL7aS5ZBaibkxGAanmLf15SmmvSC0bMoN2w1L-Q" width="155" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Year's Eve was LIT!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYnz4dJrqALclqv3pbce1OgAalfknEulxy6vGj9KAZYNTgUhHw11Gjoiq2VO2-RLtF6QyvEyvCPH3zRmxkv7xLkvL1m_CNOswJMTIeWLdhAfH_bX8nB4p-5v5Y8cG7E_bg3muVffr4rjb2dmPqOGt8GW4o8fKjkuxnvBUJXIdICOIRYcg0rdPNDZOa6Q=s206" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="153" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYnz4dJrqALclqv3pbce1OgAalfknEulxy6vGj9KAZYNTgUhHw11Gjoiq2VO2-RLtF6QyvEyvCPH3zRmxkv7xLkvL1m_CNOswJMTIeWLdhAfH_bX8nB4p-5v5Y8cG7E_bg3muVffr4rjb2dmPqOGt8GW4o8fKjkuxnvBUJXIdICOIRYcg0rdPNDZOa6Q" width="153" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Found some good light reflecting off my satin pillow ;) </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-54234721539490208842021-12-18T07:12:00.000-08:002021-12-18T07:12:55.425-08:00You've Goat To Be Kidding Me<p> Hey Friends,</p><p>I promised you a hilarious tale about an event that goat out of hand. Now that I've had a solid week to process my experience, and appropriately embellish the details, this unbelievable, yet true story, is now fit for human consumption. </p><p>I feel like almost everyday in Cayman, I hear or see something absolutely outrageously bizarre, think, "You can't make this shit up," and immediately search the the room for hidden cameras. Well friends, I've goat one for you and you literally cannot make this shit up. </p><p>I was driving back to our home in West Bay mid-day, traveling down Mt. Pleasant Road, the "highway" of our district. In the distance, I could see something standing in the middle of the road, so I slowed to investigate. There, unmoving, stood a goat. The goat stubbornly refused to move after I honked, so I pulled over. There are many goat farmers here in Cayman, but a goat is not an animal that you would typically see on the side, or in the middle of the road in Cayman. If it was a blended family of chickens and iguanas, I wouldn't have even bat an eyelash.</p><p>I opened up my door and beckoned to the goat, "Hey! What are you doing out here? Are you lost?"</p><p>Like a friendly little puppy, the goat bounded over and nuzzled his little horns in my hand. Instantly, I felt responsible for this goat's well-being. I unloaded my crutch from the backseat and got out of the vehicle. My new friend, who I aptly named, "Billy," refused to leave my side. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNUZ8aVT8WoGJdsxrh9xPGRTuhHmGEMegyD2fOtCgxqrvkpe8NUmZD3ASm0WVnannKi0veYVUR0rA_573JcoKfmAuUnDki7_PAq6kpOJECa6GCmP_r2eAMnFAhlZfzhL0xEXbbJfyCyar3jmy5QmS-7-f4Elg9z2lrtdl__OKvEyi2Em52ECyTwF070g=s274" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="274" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNUZ8aVT8WoGJdsxrh9xPGRTuhHmGEMegyD2fOtCgxqrvkpe8NUmZD3ASm0WVnannKi0veYVUR0rA_573JcoKfmAuUnDki7_PAq6kpOJECa6GCmP_r2eAMnFAhlZfzhL0xEXbbJfyCyar3jmy5QmS-7-f4Elg9z2lrtdl__OKvEyi2Em52ECyTwF070g" width="274" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meet Billy. He enjoys frolicking in the middle of traffic and harassing women on crutches</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I noticed a clearing across the highway where I reasoned a small farm could exist, so I attempted to lure Billy across the highway. We were making some progress, when suddenly Billy began dancing on his hind legs back and forth across the highway (I swear on Allicia's Barbie collection). As Billy danced, I could hear vehicles approaching in the distance. And given that local buses barrel down this road at high speeds, I couldn't bear the thought of Billy becoming road kill (I mean, he's probably Christmas curry, but NOT road kill!).</p><p>So I did what any animal lover would do and I stood in the middle of the road, waving my crutch in the air while Billy danced like no one was watching back and forth across the highway. Thankfully, vehicles began stopping. One car attempted to help, offering to put Billy in their hatch, but Billy was busy living his best life on the highway to hell (Literally...the district of "Hell" was about 3 miles away). Oddly, other vehicles rolled down their window and yelled at me...AT ME! </p><p>"Hey! Get your goat off the road!"</p><p>Dude. I'm on crutches, in my formal work clothes - do I look like a goat wrangler?</p><p>I was making little progress when suddenly a familiar voice beckoned from a vehicle, "Ms Kirstie, what are you doing?"</p><p>It was one my student's moms - a lovely woman, and a fellow West Bay-er. She immediately got out of her car to help me herd Billy.</p><p>"I think I know the farmer who owns this goat," she said, "I will make a few phone calls."</p><p>Together, we managed to lure the goat into the ditch, where he was safe from oncoming traffic. As she attempted to contact the suspected owner, I fed Billy leaves, but noticed that he was becoming more aggressive, pushing his horns into my legs.</p><p>"My students, now fully entertained by the situation, yelled from the vehicle, "Is that Ms Kirstie? Ms. Kirstie! Why do you have a goat?"</p><p>Suddenly, Billy ran out into the road again, and sat himself down in the middle of the highway. I looked on in horror to see that Billy was um....aroused...and sporting a...ahem...goat boner. Oblivious to the high speeding oncoming traffic, Billy tended to his male goat parts, while I, yet again, waved my crutch, desperately trying to save this damn horny goat. </p><p>This time, drivers became quite angry, as Billy was now completely blocking both lanes of traffic. Cars began honking their horns, aggravating my friend, Billy, who was trying to have a private moment. </p><p>Billy stood up, purposely walked toward the line of vehicles, and began bucking the cars with his horns!</p><p>Oh what a silly Billy. </p><p>"Hey! Get your goat!" yelled the angry drivers. </p><p>Luckily the mom came to my rescue, shaming the drivers for being so rude, ("This is NOT Caymankind!") and helping me lure Billy back to the side of the road. </p><p>"What are we going to do?" I asked her. </p><p>"It's okay, I have a friend coming with rope," she responded.</p><p>Ahhh...rope. Good thinking. </p><p>Soon an iguana hunter approached us on his bike, and offered his goat expertise. </p><p>"You got to make the goat noises," he suggested. </p><p>At this point, I had been on the road, on my crutches, with my dear friend Billy for over an hour. I was not above making goat noises.</p><p>So the three of us nayed and brayed in various frequencies and intensities, and sure enough, Billy left his boner alone, and followed us into the clearing.</p><p>When we finally got Billy into the clearing, and we could see that there was, indeed, a goat pen in the distance, housing at least a dozen goats, our iguana hunter friend took Billy by the horns and corralled him into the pen. I have no idea if that is where Billy actually resides, but he was now locked away, safe from traffic, with a bevy of beautiful lady goats who he could impress with his um...Billy willy (CRINGE).</p><p>When I got home that day, sweaty and exasperated by the experience, I didn't even know where to begin the story. </p><p>"You see, there was a goat with a boner and I didn't want him to get hit by a car..."</p><p>Looking at me incredulously, Ev replied, "Okay, I gotta hop on a call with a client, but maybe we could talk about this later?"</p><p>"Yup. No problem."<br /></p><p>In the end, I feel like I goat owned. I obviously got goated into doing something that I was not qualified to do You herd it here first, it was a baaaaad situation. </p><p>Ok. I'm done. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzpuxzJ6DI9PsMmr0LjjsOcxD6N_CPKKE40wm-pIAF1g2dpEKY2h566KOreUgWsuJNvjcQ3qrhEOCN6Tws_9w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-47160616383859045312021-12-11T05:38:00.001-08:002021-12-11T05:38:33.865-08:00Tourists, new experiences, and a pussy party!<p> Hi Friends!</p><p>We are trudging along here in Cayman. Covid is alive and well, and typically around 50-100 people are testing positive on a daily basis; however, the government went ahead with the planned border opening, and our borders are now "open" to travelers. I use "open" loosely, as there are still challenging hoops to jump through in order to actually receive approval to land here. As a tourist, you can't just hop on a plane, show your passport, and head to the beach. There is pre-approval paperwork, proof of vaccine, a negative PCR prior to arrival, and then multiple covid tests during your time in Cayman. So...tourists are trickling in...kinda like a sloooow drip. In fact, we've created a fun new game during happy hour called, "Spot the tourist," and it was quite exciting to see an older gentleman donning calf-height white socks with a tropical-themed shirt last Friday! Welcome back!</p><p>Despite many of our friends and/or their children testing positive for Covid, Ev and I have managed to dodge the virus (I feel like I shouldn't declare this, as surely now the 'vid will find us!) We found ourselves alone at happy hour on a few occasions, awaiting the release of our buds (sounds like a prison sentence!) We were both able to get our boosters, so I'm hopeful that my vaccine is doing it's job, and I can continue to remain healthy...ish. </p><p>Yes, there's an "ish." I haven't been feeling well now for the past 2 months, as one of knees is back in asshole-mode, yet again. I will spare you all the details because I can hear you all saying, "Again?" You are probably just as tired of hearing about my knees as I am being responsible for these damn appendages. I do require another knee surgery in Philly at the end of December (lucky #13!), and I'm feeling pretty...I don't know..defeated? I'm over it. I am in quite a bit of pain these days, so I am relieved that the surgery is happening quite quickly. I need to feel better. I'm really struggling to work full days and maintain any facade of joy and excitement over an accurate production of a /k/ sound. Being in constant pain is terrible for your mental health, and as vain as this may sound, the deterioration of my appearance is really bothering me. I feel like I've aged 5 years in the last 2 months. When I look at my reflection in the mirror, I see a sick, tired, sallow-skinned, vacant-eyed, aging woman. It makes me feel sad. This is NOT who I am! Like I said, I'm OVER IT!</p><p>On a positive note, I did something super cool over the past few months. I taught a course to second year Education students at the University College of the Cayman Islands (UCCI). When I was approached to run the class: Methods of Inclusion and Collaboration, I was initially reluctant and kinda scared shitless. I was approached on a Friday and the class began the following Tuesday. I think that the lack of time to fret and consider all disastrous outcomes was in my favor, and I'm so happy that I decided to it. It was an incredible experience! </p><p>I ended up re-writing the course material - I think teaching someone else's material can be difficult, and I wanted to include our updated Code of Practice in the session. My class was comprised of 9 second year Education students, mostly in their late teens and early 20's. They were eager, attentive, interactive, and just an incredible group of humans to work with. The course ran during the early evenings on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was time-consuming, as I spent many hours preparing for lectures in addition to fulfilling my full-time hours as a Speech Pathologist with the schools, but it was an incredibly rewarding experience! Unfortunately we had to move to remote learning during the last 3 weeks of the course due to Covid, and that learning curve was STEEEEP. I had 24 hours to figure out how to run Microsoft Teams (hate it!) and deploy exams online on a program called "Blackboard." I totally understand how my grandparents felt the first time someone showed them internet. It was all blowing my mind (not in a good way), and I was paranoid that tech issues would prevent me from delivering lectures and administering exams. In the end, it all worked out with a few minor glitches (can you picture a laid up Kirstie, ice on knee whilst laying in bed, realizing that not only is the final exam not visible to the students 2 minutes into exam-writing time, but that the entire course has disappeared from the platform!! OMG). Overall, teaching this course really elevated my spirits and made me feel like "me" again during a challenging time. </p><p>In other news, Biloxi, the Most Interesting Cat in the World, celebrated his 20th birthday last week! It's not everyday that a cat turns 20, so in typical Kirstie fashion, I had to throw a pun-filled pawty for him. I wanted to plan something fun for my island "nieces," and also provide an opportunity for the parents of the nieces (ha!) to drink champagne, so obviously we threw a birthday brunch! While Ev prepared his famous panakouken (dutch crepes filled with anything and everything), I had the kiddos decorate Biloxi's new "Catty Shack," and shower Biloxi with pawesome gifts that would make any cat jealous. One of my buds jokingly referred to the birthday as a "pussy party," and we had to gently suggest that 5-year old niece stop telling people she was attending a pussy party at Aunty Kirstie's house! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpLxsNQntaQLy48ZJjfdBM6m-JlSG3kcFyIQ_dR2T_24t84vLUNCsgzXuW9vbmddrWlSo8QkBbfu_qU4782Cv4LtFB_Dzqe4yKyloDIEToT4yQBjKCG41q0lKJQNfXknN2CYmpAD-swaU1q1V7g4y8JZ05kSnsYUXEIFeScQlHc7u5oMjxvhhF8Qie8A=s1080" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpLxsNQntaQLy48ZJjfdBM6m-JlSG3kcFyIQ_dR2T_24t84vLUNCsgzXuW9vbmddrWlSo8QkBbfu_qU4782Cv4LtFB_Dzqe4yKyloDIEToT4yQBjKCG41q0lKJQNfXknN2CYmpAD-swaU1q1V7g4y8JZ05kSnsYUXEIFeScQlHc7u5oMjxvhhF8Qie8A=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuUKWB3hZdzsL6nRhwYsD-B_cRG3CRqSBTrZkCP4wnZxyK4RZK7fIG8bLCQJGthU33sjL48JUCrWs_wxOo0GkupEUiN7xLbya19TYSJ_die40NSWrT5xjJZvNz483dDqa02-Hc76iO0EJAtblCUF7gK4zeKHqweH12VC0hpWGnvA5B41FPablRDMviZw=s1080" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuUKWB3hZdzsL6nRhwYsD-B_cRG3CRqSBTrZkCP4wnZxyK4RZK7fIG8bLCQJGthU33sjL48JUCrWs_wxOo0GkupEUiN7xLbya19TYSJ_die40NSWrT5xjJZvNz483dDqa02-Hc76iO0EJAtblCUF7gK4zeKHqweH12VC0hpWGnvA5B41FPablRDMviZw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxWvDoisgOXQtUr_JvKgsv8wuEqo24MAGiKr-ypCJWsGw6sDrQsaL-m8lt_BxSi_Ge6hG4QFBAKHr5LlaMsZJTJvQg9O5l87ItU2m8_0zttTXr6GLt84LzDDp4BKvXutIg1DpyfWni_YNsSSH9rWtHVrk_rPFwQMLGf_jUetWaBG_QTPoYpRlMoImc9g=s1080" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxWvDoisgOXQtUr_JvKgsv8wuEqo24MAGiKr-ypCJWsGw6sDrQsaL-m8lt_BxSi_Ge6hG4QFBAKHr5LlaMsZJTJvQg9O5l87ItU2m8_0zttTXr6GLt84LzDDp4BKvXutIg1DpyfWni_YNsSSH9rWtHVrk_rPFwQMLGf_jUetWaBG_QTPoYpRlMoImc9g=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p>Although Biloxi is quite frail (he blows over if the breeze from the fan directly hits him), he's in pretty good health for a 20 year old cat! He's become super cuddly since we lost Dundee, our little white dog, and he insists on sleeping with his paw on my arm, or his head nuzzled in my neck whenever I'm home. I truly feel like he can sense when I'm not feeling well (or maybe he just really enjoys laying in bed with me!) He can be incredibly annoying, meowing bloody murder at 4am when his pate is no longer formed in a perfect volcano shape, but despite the aggravation he causes, I love this cat so much. When I look at him, all the memories of our youth come rushing back. Biloxi was with us when Evan and I moved in together for the first time (that was a ROUGH start, by the way). He travelled to every state/country/continent that Ev played hockey in. He's been with us through really hard times, and with us during the best times (he tried to climb on Ev's knee as he was proposing!) We love this guy, and I know that he won't live forever (or maybe he will?), but I'm so grateful for every extra day that we have with him. </p><p>I have a really funny true tale of rescuing a goat from the middle of the road - but this story deserves it's own post. So stay tuned because things definitely goat out of hand! </p><p>Cheers!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2925933692288878049.post-13508837394949094002021-10-30T07:02:00.000-07:002021-10-30T07:02:20.957-07:00Keepin' it positive and testing negative<p> Hey Friends,</p><p>Well not only the Cayman Island Covid bubble burst, but it's burst and exploded, rapidly spreading Covid-19 across all three of our islands. </p><p>The good news: </p><p>1) Almost 80% of our adult population is vaccinated.</p><p>2) We currently only have 4 people admitted to hospital due to Covid</p><p>3) We now have lateral flow tests on island (rapid tests)</p><p>3) Our borders are set to open (No quarantine) on November 20 to vaccinated adults. This is huge for the island, as we've been closed since March 2020 and tourism is taking a beating!</p><p>The bad news, however, is that over a hundred people are testing positive on a daily basis, resulting in hundreds of families who are currently in isolation. Businesses are shutting down temporarily or reducing their hours and schools are becoming scant with staff and students as families are waiting out their isolation at home. It kind of feels inevitable at some point, that we will all test positive, given that our island is so small and we all interact with each other on a daily. </p><p>I had my first brush with a positive today, in fact, when I was notified that the two children I pulled for therapy on Wednesday had both tested positive. Immediately my brain was inundated with flashbacks of Covid positive #1 sucking on his fingers before wrapping himself around my legs in an attempt to receive a second sticker, and Covid positive #2 sneezing on "Room on the Broom" when he temporarily moved his mask down to his chin. Yikes. Within the hour I had convinced myself that I was surely positive as well, although I willed my vaccine to do it's damn job and waited for my lateral flow test to arrive. </p><p>I found a quiet corner in my office to wait for the test to arrive. Most of my colleagues knew what was going on and we jokingly referred to my quiet corner as the "Covid corner." I noticed my lovely coworkers making wide circles around me when they had to pass. I had also brought cookies to the office that day and noted that suddenly no one was eating my "Covid cookies." The stigma is real, people. 😜</p><p>I took the test in the staff washroom with another coworker who had worked with Covid positive #2 and it felt strangely like some weird colleague pregnancy test bonding moment. </p><p>"God I hope I'm not positive. I'm not ready for this."</p><p>"I don't have the time right now for a positive!"</p><p>Thankfully, we were both negative. This time. We lived to see another Covid-negative day, which is challenging as a "front-line worker" who is sneezed, coughed, and spit on (inadvertently) by little unvaccinated people swarming with germs on a regular basis. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjgsWFCUMwzXXkzUnKHiNEDZ0RtXxRrRUvHb60vuIFkSgcs-vjxrLUInGhNL1Yf53vdA8RJo1YSwZlnkbVu1riAbmOVQsuKc6p0WoOec2GHNvqtySHVdo6rtxAyGO11iKwBJ38GvmBigvT/s299/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="299" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjgsWFCUMwzXXkzUnKHiNEDZ0RtXxRrRUvHb60vuIFkSgcs-vjxrLUInGhNL1Yf53vdA8RJo1YSwZlnkbVu1riAbmOVQsuKc6p0WoOec2GHNvqtySHVdo6rtxAyGO11iKwBJ38GvmBigvT/s0/download.jpg" width="299" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm either not pregnant or Covid negative. Either way, it's good news for me!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>During this process, I whatsapp'd Evan various messages, explaining the situation.</p><p><b>Me at 10:15am: 2 of my kids tested positive. Just waiting now for my test.</b></p><p><b>Me at 10:45am: Island is sold of tests. Just waiting for manager to bring me a test from Department of Education</b></p><p>*At 11:00am, I could see that Evan had not read my messages, which is a common occurrence. </p><p><b>Me at 11:15am: Still waiting for my test. I will need to test for 4 consecutive days, and as long as I'm negative, I'm good to go.</b> </p><p>*Evan has still not read any of my messages</p><p><b>Me at 11:45am: I'm negative...today anyways. </b></p><p>I kind of forgot about Evan's radio silence on the Whatsapp and carried on with my day after high-fiving my co-worker for narrowly escaping our first brush with Covid. </p><p>Finally around 12:30pm, I could see that Evan had replied, after missing 5 of my Whatsapp messages:</p><p><b>Evan at 12:30pm: You're not a downer at all! </b></p><p>Huh?</p><p>What?</p><p>Oh. My. God. Did Evan even read my messages? </p><p>I can only assume that he had read the last message, determined that I was feeling down in the dumps, went to his bank of positive affirmations, and sent one my way!</p><p>Firstly, it's kind of nice that Evan has a bank of positive affirmations for me, and I do always appreciate his lovely messages. But honestly...</p><p>This is hilarious. What if I had been HIV positive?</p><p>Kirstie: Evan I'm HIV positive</p><p>Evan: Good! Love your sunny outlook! </p><p>My office and I laughed for hours over this unfortunate miscommunication. </p><p>*Disclaimer: Evan swears that his response was a a joke. But my story is funnier, and I don't really believe him. </p><p>Funny enough, this isn't the first time that I've caught Evan sending pre-recorded positive messages from his "wife bank."</p><p>Back in the day, when we owned our first gym in Prince Albert, Evan was working 12 hour days, and we were rarely seeing each other. I figured that the least he could do was send a message or two throughout the day to stay in touch. </p><p>"Why can't you just send me a message...like see how my day's going? Like don't you care?" (Oh man, I sound soooo needy, right?)</p><p>Immediately following my whiny request, Evan began sending me a daily message:</p><p>"Hope you're having a good day, bud!"</p><p>"Have a great day, buddy. Love you!"</p><p>"How's the day going, bud?"</p><p>I was pleased to see that my attentive husband was responding to my needs, and despite the fact that he was pulling ridiculous hours at the gym, I felt like he really cared.</p><p>It took a solid year for me to realize that these daily messages were coming in at the exact time each day. Similiar messages were suspiciously cycled through on a weekly basis as well. </p><p>Finally one day I confronted Ev about his daily check-ins. </p><p>Ev confessed immediately, obviously not thinking that this was a problem at all, "Well, ya. So I sent myself a notification. Every day at 2pm, my phone reminds me to send you a message." </p><p>"So you aren't actually thinking about me at 2pm?"</p><p>"Yes I am thinking of you. My phone notifies me and I think about you."</p><p>Hmmm....so you're saying that you ARE thinking about me?</p><p>I mean...it's kind of brilliant. </p><p>It totally takes the romance out of the situation, but kinda genius.</p><p>I feel like Ev could make mad money if he used his genius to create a "happy wife, happy life" app that automatically sends positive messages to your wife on a daily basis. Just a thought. </p><p>Anyway...that's the update for now.</p><p>Cheers to keepin' it positive and testing negative....for now. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kirstiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05150826814136922964noreply@blogger.com0