Hanging in there: A Costa Rica adventure and Dilbert's DNA reveal

 Hi Friends!

Last we spoke, I was thoroughly enjoying my honeymoon phase of recovery. The great news is...I continue to float happily in what I refer to as a "holding pattern." My new hip is performing great. My not so good hip is hanging in there, my ankle seems to have settled, and Britknee is being Britknee...so all joints are currently doing their best. I feel good. I can honestly say that I'm present. I haven't been worrying about what's ahead of me, and my surgical night terrors are now a rare event. I've also started attending Pilates reformer classes, which have been so fun. It feels good to just do regular non-physio activities! I'm loving my job, and I've learned that a lot of my worries about health were specifically related to my job. I'm very happy with my decision to switch gears a year ago. 

I corresponded with a genetic team in Texas, and they require my full medical history in order to determine if they will take me on as a patient. I began the process of acquiring my medical records from 4 different hospitals in 3 different countries. OOF. I dived waaaay back into medical notes and emails from years ago, and it made me feel really uncomfortable. After reading multiple emails where I pleaded with doctors to take on my case and received MRI reports littered with bad f'n news, I turned off my computer, had a good cry, and decided to table it. I felt so sorry for that Kirstie. She went through some awful shit. That Kirstie had a lot of hope that things would just work out. She had no idea what was ahead of her.  I really have come a long way, and although it's good to recognize that, I'm not ready to go back there just yet. I've decided to pursue the medical records in the summer, when I can collect in person in Canada. I'm pretty sure that I want to find out what exactly is going on in my body, and maybe even look at prognosis; however, I'm kinda scared, and not ready to rock the boat on my honeymoon cruise at the moment. 

Speaking of honeymoon holidays, Ev and I recently returned from another wonderful Costa Rica adventure. 

There's something about Costa Rica that keeps pulling us back. Our first trip to Costa Rica took place 17 years ago, and despite it being 3 years after our wedding, we always considered it our honeymoon. (hockey got in the way post wedding!) We flew to Liberia, on the northwest coast, and spent most of our time learning how to surf in Tamarindo. It was incredible! Given that it was a special trip, I wondered if perhaps my love of the country stemmed from good memories (and YOUTH!) 

We went back to Costa Rica 2 years ago and felt the same good feelings. This time, Ev spent time on the Pacific coast in Jaco and then we rented a car and drove to La Fortuna, where we spent a fabulous week of adventure and relaxation with daily soaks in the hot springs, ziplining thousands of feet in the air, and ATV tours with incredible views of the volcano. (I highly recommend this location for a family holiday!)

Given that this was our third time to Costa Rica, we decided to explore the less inhabited, less developed Caribbean coast of the country. We landed in San Jose, rented a car and began our journey.

In Costa Rica, instead of greetings like "Good morning" or "Have a good day," locals say, "Pura Vida." This translates to "pure life." I've always thought this was a cool phrase, and looks great on t-shirts and hats; however, the more I experience Costa Rica, the more that I understand that Pura Vida is a way of life. My experience is that the people of Costa Rica value nature, family, friends, and happiness. Pura Vida is all about finding joy and contentment for life's simple joys. This is my interpretation, and I'm still learning, On this particular trip, Pura Vida (to me) felt like optimism and contentedness.  

Our first night in Costa Rica was Pura Vida at its finest. We traversed roads which were most definitely off the beaten track and, after few missteps (Um...we are now in a cow pasture?) arrived at a very special eco lodge near Turrialba. 

Our own little lodge for the night was perched on the edge of a valley, with incredible sights and sounds that would rival any relaxation sound machine! I awoke to a glorious view of the valley and the sounds of the rushing water from the river below, the crashing of the waterfall and the birds calling. As I stepped out of our lodge for a morning walk, I was immediately greeted by a family of goats who wander the valley side, keeping the grass manicured. Our accommodation was not fancy, and I wouldn't necessarily recommend for people with bug fears, but overall, it was memorable experience. 

Livin' on the edge!

What a way to wake up!

The next day we drove to Puerto Vjejo. Puerto Vjejo is located along the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, amidst lush tropical landscapes and long stretches of beaches. 

Puerto Vjejo is a fun, chill place. It's difficult to compare to other spots, as it's very uniquely its own; however, it did remind me a bit of Sayulita (Mexico) circa 2010. It's a quaint little town on the beach with unique shops and restaurants. It was quiet during the day but livened up at night. We always have felt safe in Costa Rica, however, there were a few guys urging Ev, "Coke? Smoke?" in the evening hours. We never felt harassed or followed. I even overheard a tourist telling one of the guys, "I gave up weed 10 years ago and I've never felt better," to which the guy replied, "That's great. It's not good for you!" Haha. He might have to switch products! 

We stayed at a small boutique hotel on the beach near Puerto Vjejo for 3 nights. I loved our room. It was all open-air, with a wrap-around deck and ocean views. Although our bed had a mosquito net, we never had to use it because...um...where are the mosquitoes? Was it because we were there during non-rainy season? I'm not sure, but despite the fact that our entire room was open air, I did not hear or see one mosquito! 

The hotel was on a beach called Playa Negra, which translates to black beach. The sand was black and packed, which makes for difficult post-beach clean-up, but is very conducive to long beach walks for individuals with questionable metal joints. I really enjoyed the beach walks, as I find it difficult to beach walk in Cayman for more than 10-minutes due to the soft sand on my joints. 

Playa Negra was like doggie heaven. It appeared as though everyone had a dog! Dogs with collars ran freely, chasing frisbees in the sea, scampering with other dogs - it was a sight to see. One late afternoon around dusk, Ev and I sipped our sundowners, watching the dogs live their best life. I was thinking about the meaning of "Pura Vida," and couldn't help but think that this was it!

We spent an afternoon at the Jaguar Rescue Center, just 10 minutes down the road from our hotel. The Jaguar Rescue Center is a temporary or permanent home for sick, injured, or orphaned monkeys, sloths, birds, and reptiles. One reason many mammals are coming into the center is a result of increasing construction and expansion in the area. Many monkeys and sloths are mistaking power lines for tree-top vines, and suffering from electrocution. The center has round-the-clock veterinarians to provide medical care to these animals. Unfortunately, many animals do not survive or leave orphaned babies behind. The center works hard to rehabilitate the animals and then release them back into their home. Some of the animals sustain injuries that would make survival impossible in the wild. These animals have permanent homes at the sanctuary, which looks like a pretty awesome place to live!

Costa Rica has a strong legal framework to protect animals, which I love and support! For example, it is illegal to take a selfie with a wild animal in Costa Rica. Tourists (and I was guilty of this), love posing for pictures with "pet" monkeys or hug a sloth for a photo op at a resort. This is not nice for the animals, and they are often kept in poor conditions. One of the monkeys rescued at the Jaguar Rescue Center spent his first year of life in a tiny box, taken out only for meals and photos with tourists. Despite efforts to re-wild him, he's afraid of the big jungle, and no longer has the skills to survive in the wild. Thank goodness for the center to take him in as a permanent resident. Please don't pose for pictures with wild animals! (Or kidnap a baby wombat like the crazy influencer in Australia). 

We spent our last night "glamping" in the jungle. This was NOT a conventional hotel, and definitely my favorite experience of the trip.

We stayed in a Geodesic dome, which apparently is the same type of domes used by NASA (life on Mars, anyone?) We were perched about the ground amidst the trees, about a 3-minute walk from a beautiful long beach. Our dome had a deck, where we spent our evening. As Faith, the woman who created this eco heaven with her bare hands (literally cleared the land!), toured us around the property, she covered her head with her hands and warned, "The monkeys will throw fruit at you!" Sure enough, the treetops were scattered with spider monkeys, swinging from vine to vine, tossing objects at the ground. She also warned us not to be alarmed if we heard a chair moving on our deck, as a resident sloth likes to move furniture around (SLOWLY) during the night. This place was unreal! The howler monkeys woke me up at 5am, with their Jurassic Park T-Rex sounding call. I was in my glory, completely overstimulated by nature. What an experience! 

Costa Rica for the win...again! I think Costa Rica might be in our future cards - who knows? We would both love to spend more time there. 

In addition to a really nice getaway this month, Ev and I hosted a very special event... Dilbert's DNA reveal!

We don't really know anything about Dilbert's history, other than that he was found wandering the streets of West Bay with some other dogs (I picture a dog gang). He was unkempt, dirty and scraggly and very skittish. Unfortunately, dumping a puppy once he/she is no longer a cute puppy is a common issue here, and it was suspected that Dilbert was an abandoned 3-year-old dog, set free to fend for himself. 

This sad story hurts my heart, so I've decided, (with the help of Chat GPT), that Dilbert was a secret agent, trained in covert operations. The secret agent life wasn't for him (too many high-speed car chases, which explains his hatred of car rides); hence he decided to live undercover as a pet. I mean, look at his face...he KNOWS stuff. Haha. 

This is the face of someone who has been mistakenly added to a signal chat ;) 

Regardless, Dilbert's DNA results were quite surprising! We suspected that he had some Shih Tzu and Poodle in him, as this is what the Humane Society labeled him as. But we never suspected 6 breeds!

We hosted our island fam for a DNA reveal brunch, presenting them with various options to predict the breeds that make up Dilbert. We managed to incorporate some "betting" and were able to provide the Human Society with a donation of needed supplies. We had a scavenger hunt for the kiddos and popped quite a few bottles of bubbles - it was a super fun day!

No one was able to correctly guess all 6 of Dilbert's breeds; however, a few friends managed 3. 

Here are the results:

32% Shih Tzu - explains the stubborn nature, loyalty, and wicked underbite

28% Staffordshire Terrier - Surprise! Staffy's are known to be sensitive dogs, which explains Dilbert's sweet soul, and it also accounts for his musculature stature!

11% Lhasa Apso - This explains Dilbert's protective nature, weariness of strangers, and little white dog body

10% French Bulldog - This explains Dilbert's occasional defiance and couch potato tendencies

10% Pit Bull Terrier - Surprise! Dilbert's a little pittie! haha. This explains his athleticism! He is super fast and agile!

9% Mini Poodle - Aw... Dilbert's little curls!

I'm not sure exactly how accurate these results are, but we had so much fun sharing it with our buds, and celebrating our Dilbert, who brings so much joy into our lives! I'm a strong advocate of "silly fun" these days. I'm feeling good and want to celebrate my dog's heritage - what can I say?

That's the very long update. Thanks for hanging in there with me!

Cheers!

Hip Hop Hooray!

 Hey friends!

I feel good! Like really good. I feel bright, alert, and present. The only example I can liken it to is if you've just recovered from a really bad flu. Maybe you've spent the last 48 hours on a bathroom floor, or perhaps you've slept in a seated position for days due to a bad cough. You know that day when you wake up and suddenly feel better? You are filled with gratitude and joy. You want to shout, "Hey everybody! I digested solid food today!" or "Everybody come look at me, I'm out of bed and vertical!" A cold sip of water tastes like heaven when it touches your lips. The sunshine on your face fills you with warmth and happiness. I am alive. I conquered it. Yes! That's where I'm at. I'm in the honeymoon phase of recovery!

Just 2 honeymooners! ;) 

Firstly, the iron infusion was a game changer. HOLY COW, you guys! I was severely anemic, just kinda moving through life in a thick fog. I recall looking up and the scenery seemed to move around me, like the "Oh Canada" circle vision 360 at Epcot (If you know, you know). Almost every time I sat up quickly, my world went black for a few seconds before colors reappeared. Nothing about this sounds normal, yet I was like, "Ya no biggie, I'll just eat more raisins." There were not enough iron-rich raisins to save my severely low iron levels!

My insurance did not cover my iron infusion, which seems odd since it literally is life changing, but who am I to argue? I hummed and hawed a bit over the price, but DUDE, that was worth every penny. Speaking of pennies, my mouth tasted like I was licking pennies for about 48 hours after my infusion. I also felt very fatigued and flu-ish for a few days. The iron kicked in exactly 2 weeks to the hour of my infusion. I kid you not. I could actually pinpoint the moment at which I suddenly felt human again. I was sitting on the couch, drinking my tea, and I suddenly stood up (no black out!), threw my gym gear on and rode the bike for 30 minutes. Unreal. Iron infusion: 5 stars. Highly recommend. 

The other bit of great news is that Kira, my new hip, is thriving. My physiotherapist had prepared a 10-week rehab program (typical protocol for a hip replacement), and Kira smashed the goals at the 6-week mark. Now granted, the protocol is typically for aged 65+ folks, but hey, I'm taking that win! I worked really hard, following the exercise protocol to a "T." My physio labeled me an "expert patient," which immediately filled me with pride, until I looked it up and found that an "expert patient" is one who has significant knowledge of her disease and treatment in addition to self-management skills. I mean...I don't wish for anyone to become an "expert patient," but whatevs. I'll take another win. 

My physio has given me the green light to resume regular activity like lifting weights at the gym, doing my Kira Stokes workouts with my sandbell and bands, and even participating in a pilates reformer class! He did warn me that I might have a false sense of security, given that I feel so great this early in my recovery. The reality is, my hip is only 8-weeks old and isn't near healing completion, so...you know, proceed with caution. Got it. 

My Kira scar is quite neat and straight - I'm using scar-away daily. 

I have been proceeding with caution until my furry friend, Dilbert had other plans for me. Since I've been feeling better, I've resumed my Friday morning beach walks with Dilbert. Typically, once we arrive at Cemetery Beach, I remove Dilbert's leash and he walks obediently next me, taking the odd sniffing break at a bush. We then return to my towel where I do some meditation, Dilbert digs a hole in the sand, and we chill. Dilbert, however, hates leaving the beach. Like a sullen child, he refuses to leave until the leash is hooked onto his collar, and he is literally dragged away, leaving little doggie bum marks in the sand.  

On our first Friday morning beach day since the hip was installed, Dilbert was out of practice, wandering a little too far for my liking on our beach walk, but like the good boy he is, he returned with me to my towel and assisted with my meditation session. 

When I opened my eyes from my session, feeling so relaxed and grateful, I could see that the beach was filling up with tourists, donning their snorkel gear for a morning snorkel. I began shaking out my towel and placing items in my beach bag when Dilbert looked back and observed my actions. Dilbert began slowly trotting down the beach, away from me. 

"Dilbert." I said sternly. 

Like he had never heard of such a name, Dilbert blatantly ignored me and continued trotting, increasing his speed, down the beach. 

"Dilbert! Come!" I said, a little louder and much more sternly. 

Dilbert did not acknowledge my presence. Not one bit. "Who the F is Dilbert? Never heard of him. Don't know this lady," I'm sure he muttered under his breath. 

I could see that the tourists were turning away from their masks and fins to watch this production that was about to unfold. 

Dilbert then began running with great speed, away from me, down the beach.

"Dilbert!" I cried, "Get back here NOW." 

I looked ahead and could see a woman with a dog further down the beach. Dilbert is generally really good with other dogs, but I could understand how this woman might be a little frightened by a runaway dog headed in her direction.

So, I did what only one can do when your dog has disowned you and is running into what might be a dangerous situation. 

I ran. 

Not a word of a lie. I ran. 

I think that might be the first time I've legitimately "run" in like 13 years? 

Feet sinking into the deep sand, Dilbert's leash dangling at my side, I ran past all the tourists, now watching with great interest. 

The only thing louder than the shrillness of my voice screaming, "Dilbert!" was the sound of my metal joints CLINKING and CLANKING along that beach. 

Like the scene from Forrest Gump, I pictured my body stripping metal parts from Courtknee, Britknee, and Kira. Metal screws and hinges fell to the sand as I ran and ran. "Clunk. Clunk."

The people were now invested, yelling, "Dilbert! Stop!"

I even heard one man comment, "Dilbert! What a great name for a dog."

White furry ears blowing in the wind, wet black nose pointed forward, Dilbert did not look back for one second. His old wild wild West Bay instincts possessed him to run and run and run...and run. 

When the beach finally gave way to iron shore rock, Dilbert had no choice but to stop. Both of us panting with exhaustion, I secured him with my leash, readjusted my parts back into my bikini, and then proceeded to do the walk of shame down the beach. 

"Dilbert! you bad dog!" shouted one woman. 

"I feel him. I don't want to leave the beach either!" commented one man. 

I angrily picked up my sandy, salty dog and very gently tossed him into the backseat of the Jeep. 

Our first official fight. Not bad after 2 years.

He feels shame.

Stevie would NEVER run away (She can't scale the fence...yet). 

But...You guys! I ran! I actually ran. It was the opposite of a "Baywatch" running montage, and might have been more of a hobble wobble, but whatevs. It's kind of a monumental moment for me. 

Aside: Running on the beach is not an approved activity 7-weeks post hip replacement, just FYI. 

So... things are good. 

In the past, my "honeymoon phase" was often accompanied by increased anxiety and fear, wondering if and when this phase was going to end...and how it would end.  I wrestled with hope thinking, "I really hope that was my last surgery." I pleaded with the cartilage gods, "Please let this be the last joint." I questioned, "Which joint is next?" That anxiety of the unknown often interfered with my ability to fully embrace the bliss. This time is different.

I know that I will need to have my other hip replaced. My ankle is swollen and unhappy, which may be signs of early cartilage degeneration. This seems to be the pattern with whatever is going on in my body. There are more surgeries in my future. In the wise words of Baba, "So be it."  I do need more answers, and I am currently communicating with a genetic research team in the US who may be able to take me on as a patient. We shall see. But for once, instead of fearing what's coming next, I'm just relishing in this feeling that I'm currently experiencing. Let the records show that I feel strong, healthy, and happy. 

So, cheers to that!

Aside: Why do we have to feel really really bad to fully embrace the good? Do we need to endure shit to make the sweet that much sweeter? This is a deep thought for another blog post ;)

Regardless, Cheers! 

May I present to you...

 Hey Friends,

It's been one month since my total hip replacement, and overall, I'm quite satisfied with the result. Firstly, I can't believe how much my initially horrid scar has shrunk and healed. I began to worry that I would frighten small children at the beach with my angry railroad across my thigh, but I actually think you could cover this sucker with some cute boy-short bottoms now. 

Secondly, the new hip has rarely caused me pain. One month post and I do not require any pain killers for the hip. (Aside: I do not judge people who require painkillers, this is just a "me" goal, given my history with pain meds). So that's cool... or hip, or whatever. The hip is enjoying rehab in the pool, in the gym, and is walking nicely with one crutch. I can squat, bike, one-legged bridge (boo-ya!) and even gently elliptical. It feels good. 

I've taken the new hip out to socialize, and although she got a bit grumpy after sitting for a long period, she enjoys being around people...and even kinda "danced" a little (more on that later). 

Introducing my hip to my friends!

I pissed her off once. Let me just state that I was totally in the wrong. I was told not to twist or torque my hip and as I was exiting my car to see one of my clients last week (Yes! I'm slowly returning to work!), I leaned over to grab my 3000 lb bag (crocodile dentists is soooo heavy) and tried to exit my car. I twisted my body, whilst holding the bag and my hip screamed out in pain - likely the most pain I've experienced since the surgery. It eventually dissipated, but you know, she was enraged with my thoughtlessness, and I respect that. 

Given the traits that the new hip has demonstrated over the past month, I've decided to bless her with a name. 

Drumroll...

um...DRUMROLL!

May I present to you....

(Sha)Kira!

You're probably wondering why the (Sha) is in parenthesis. You see, she has the potential to be Shakira quality, but she's currently a strong Kira. She needs to earn the (Sha). She's direct, tells it like it is - the hip don't lie, people (Sorry! Bad dad joke - couldn't resist). Also, I follow a fitness trainer online named Kira, and she is badass. My hip can be badass while awaiting rhythm. Perfecto. 

Just before I went under anesthetic on the operating table, I pleaded with my Ortho, "Can you please give me a dancing hip? Not like a white girl stiff Canadian dancing hip, but maybe like a rhythmic, flexible, Latina hip?" This caused quite a stir in the OR (I'm quite the entertainer on the operating table), and I was immediately silenced with propofol; however, I do believe that this hip has potential for rhythm. For now, it's a very stable, reliable, lovely hip, so I will take that. Great work, Kira!

Given that Kira was my 16th joint surgery in 12 years or so, I am very aware of my mental health pattern post-surgery. Typically, at the one-month mark, I hit a low and start to get down on myself. I think it's a combination of finally feeling well enough to start returning to regular life; yet, just not quite feeling well enough to fully participate. I decided to prepare for this inevitable mood drop by working on finding joy. This sounds so cheese, I know. But let me explain.

I've finally been acknowledged by the academy! ;)

Y'all know Hoda Kotb from the Today Show? I love her. She exudes joy and just seems like a good human. She retired last week, and I'm very sad to see her go. She talks a lot about finding joy in everyday things. She describes life as having exclamation marks. These are the "reel-worthy" moments like a new baby, a big vacay, a Taylor Swift concert. Exclamation marks in life are awesome. I love a good reel, and I love sharing these moments. Then there are the major lows in life - you've lost your job, someone near and dear to you has passed, your health is poor, etc. But in between the exclamation marks and the lows, are your "Wednesdays." You know how a Wednesday feels... it's just another blah day in the middle of the week. No major highs, no lows, a Wednesday is just a regular day. If you can find joy on your "Wednesdays," your life will be much more fulfilling. Gratitude - feeling grateful for small moments (scents, sights, feelings) is one of the key components to finding joy on a Wednesday. 

 It sounds simple, but it's really not. Firstly, social medial is mostly full of those "reel" moments. I'm not gonna lie, as I laid on my couch during the holiday season, ice on the hip, in my very quiet house, I scrolled though endless photos and videos of friends and family on incredible winter vacations, enjoying elaborate dinners with loads of people, and making magical holiday memories. Thoughts like, "I'm not good enough," "Maybe we should have had kids," "Everyone is having more fun than us," raced through my brain. Full disclosure, I find Christmas to be difficult sometimes because we don't have children, and the holiday is really about the kids, isn't it? I don't live with regrets, but Christmas tends to bring up these feelings. 

Instead of wallowing, I decided to make a conscious effort to notice all these little "glimmers" that were occurring around me. 

Let me give you an example:

On Christmas morning, I crutched out to the living room with my Paw Patrol and Ev. The Christmas tree lights were twinkling, Christmas music was playing in the background. The air smelled of spruce from the diffuser (Our poor Canadian Christmas tree was pretty much dead by December 20). We only had a few presents under the tree, but we slowly opened a few together. At one point, I was on the floor, showing Dilbert his stocking, and Ev came over to help me up. He pulled me up towards him and as "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" played in the background, we gently swayed to Frank Sinatra. It was Kira's first dance. I breathed in Ev's familiar scent as he held me close. We swayed for just a few minutes before he gently helped me back to the couch. Amongst the raised toilet seat and compression stockings, we found a touch of romance. It wasn't a "reel-worthy" exclamation mark; however, I'm positive that will be a core memory for me. I felt so loved and cared for. And for that little moment, I am incredibly grateful.

I'm also very grateful for my friendships. My friend, Anna, recently celebrated her 40th birthday. Anna is one of those friends who always shows up. Literally. I once asked if she could pick me up from physiotherapy after I had an intense vasovagal reaction and passed out. She rushed to me in the middle of her busy day (I'm not exactly sure what she does, but I know it's an important job), and she even offered to assist my limp body in the bathroom! Like who does that? Anna does. She also escorted me and participated in my hip staples removal. How did I get so lucky to score an Anna?

Anyway, many people feel the same way about Anna as I do, so a few friends even flew in from afar to attend her birthday. Our super fun friend, Emily, who lived on island during covid times flew in from Manhattan, and my OG island bestie, Kat, flew in from Miami.

I wasn't feeling great at that the time - just nearing the 3-week mark after surgery, but my goal was to reconnect with all my friends and attend a portion of this birthday. 

My island friends knew that I wasn't super mobile, so they all came to me for happy hour! It was so awesome. This was an exclamation point moment! I gave Kira a little champagne, and just so enjoyed chatting with Andrea, Rach, and Sash again. Yay! I was feeling almost human! At one point, I looked around the room, and instead of worrying about my "frat-house" decor or my sad charcuterie board, I thought about how much support there was for me in that room. These people showed up for me. 

I did manage to attend Anna's fabulous 40th and enjoyed myself. At one point, Kira danced a little to Sean Paul, which I think is a great sign that she will eventually earn the "Sha". Although I was stiff and sore after attending the party, I felt so accomplished, and my heart was full after reconnecting with all me peeps again. 

One of my buds commented, "You have friends who really care about you." I took that in. I really took that all in. I do. I don't have a ton of friends; however, I truly feel like the friendships I have are strong and have stood the test of time and distance. I know that this isn't the case for everyone. I truly am grateful for my incredible friendships. 

It's not all fairy tales and butterflies, my friends. I'm still experiencing some lows. My ankle is not doing well carrying the weight of my other two titanium joints. I am concerned. I am anemic and frequently "see black" when I stand up quickly. I'm awaiting approval from my insurance provider for an iron infusion. My other hip is catching and locking up. These are all troublesome. Worrying is in my blood (the blood with very low iron), and although gratitude and joy reduce the worry, it is still there, pushed deep down to the dark place that only my psychotherapist can access. Note to self: book a Psych appointment. Ha!

But...my tea tastes perfect today (Y'all know I have a very complicated relationship with tea!), I can now roll over onto my side when I'm sleeping, I am able to shower independently, and I can take Dilbert for short walks. So that's cool. 

Cheers to finding "glimmers" of joy on your Wednesdays! Highly recommend. 

New Hip Era

 Hey Friends!

Last we spoke I was preparing to "Shake it off" with Tay Tay prior to receiving a new hip. It's been exactly 2 weeks since my total hip replacement, so the jury is still out; however, I'll share my experience thus far. 

Firstly, Taylor Swift was unbelievably awesome! Admittedly, I wouldn't classify myself as a "Swiftie." I'm a fan, think she's very talented, and favor her Reputation Era. However, once I was amongst 60,000 people, all singing EVERY SINGLE WORD to every single song, I gained a realization as what it actually means to be a "Swiftie." FYI: My sister, Kayla, meets the criteria. ;) 

Everyone at that concert was absolutely living his/her best life. The outfits on the fans were unreal. People went all out! Girls had replicated Taylor's concert looks (bodysuits in 8 degrees!), created interesting T-shirts, even wrapped faux snakes around the body. Everywhere you went, fans were complimenting each other's fits - it was definitely a no-judgement zone. I loved how everyone was trading friendship bracelets - even police officers and security guards. One super fan climbed the stairs to reach a little girl behind us, saying, "I saw you and thought this little bracelet would fit your wrist." The stadium was filled with joy, kindness, acceptance, and anticipation. It was inspiring to be a part of that. Isn't it incredible that one phenomenal performer can generate that much positivity? We need more of that in our world. 

As expected, Taylor put on an unbelievable show. It felt quite emotional, as it was the very last show of her 2-year Eras Tour. At one point in the show, Taylor paused for applause, 60,000 people sang Happy Birthday to her, and we all watched her soak it all in for about 5 minutes with tear-filled eyes amidst the roaring crowd. Her dancers held each other tight, and I couldn't help but be swept away with emotion, knowing that these people have worked so hard together for 2 years, and it was all coming to an end. 

I haven't been back to Vancouver in over 20 years! I really enjoyed reuniting with my aunt, uncle, and cousins who live in Vancouver, and don't get the opportunity to see regularly in the summer.  In addition, it was so great to catch up with bud from my Victoria Hospital days in PA. Colleen scored us the tickets over a year ago, and it was so nice of her to share those coveted tickets with me and my sister. Kayla and I had so much (we always do). We took some Santa pics for our dad, toured around Vancouver, and just enjoyed hanging out. I love being with my sister. 

I arrived back on island exhausted, but full of happiness, and ready to take on joint surgery #16 - the first time my hip got in the action.  

My mom arrived the day before my surgery. I am so thankful that she took time away from her winter vacay life in California to help out. Her week here was definitely NOT a vacation, as she spent most of it either freezing in the hospital chair, putting cold cloths on my head, or running around fetching me meds, pillows, clothes, food, etc. 

Overall, the surgery went well. It took place at a private hospital in Cayman called Health City. Health City is part of Narayana Health, an Indian private hospital network headquartered in Bangalore, India. The majority of the healthcare professionals are of Indian descent, which was different than my last experiences in public health in Cayman, where the staff varied from Caribbean to American to Filipino. My experience is that every culture has a unique way of providing care, including the Indian culture at Health City. 

My nurses were very gentle, soft-spoken, and kind. I heard, "It's ok It's ok" about 30 times during my 2-day stay. Most of the time it was ok, but a few times it was not, and hearing "it's Ok it's ok" was a bit frustrating. My impression was that everyone was very rule-based, which I appreciate. If a med needed to be delivered at 5pm, it was delivered at 5pm. I rarely waited for a nurse to attend to me when needed and felt very cared for during my stay. I also scored a very large private room, which was a nice surprise. 

Typically, I awaken from anesthetic on a total adrenaline high. My MO is to wake up in recovery, sit straight up, and start chatting manically with anyone who is willing to talk with me. I generally wake up feeling like I could conquer the world, then crash and burn 6-12 hours later. This experience was much different. I awoke very groggy and quite low in mood and energy. Interestingly, I've felt this way the entire 2-weeks post-surgery as well. Also, I woke up feeling very ill and spent the first 15-hours post-surgery retching into my kidney basin. I sniffed peppermint, swished the anesthesia flavor out of my mouth with toothpaste, and hung on tight to that basin for dear life...until, thankfully, the nausea slowly dissipated the next day. I also cried off-and-on for the first few days. I wasn't really sure why I was crying. This is new. Like did my hip come with feelings? The hip was still frozen from the nerve block, and to be honest, I felt very little pain, requiring no narcotics/opioids post-surgery, which was my goal, given my icky reactions to those drugs. 

My surgeon came to see me the day after my surgery. I like him. He's calm, quiet and very thorough. He shared pictures of my shitty hip and stated that the damage to my hip and cartilage was not "typical." He explained that the hip they were planning to install, the dual-mobility hip, was too large for my not-so-child-bearing hips; however, the prosthesis placement was "textbook" (He used that word about 4 times, so I'm inclined to believe this is great news). 

Although I felt quite awful from the nausea, I quickly jumped into the role of awesome patient in the hope of being discharged earlier than planned. I sat up straight in bed, wiped the vomit off my chin, performed my bed exercises for him, and assured Dr. Alwin that I was worthy of an early discharge. He agreed and I was able to tolerate the long drive home from Health City in East End (about an hour from my house). 

The first 3 days were hard. Although the pain was manageable with paracetamol (Tylenol), I found it difficult to get comfortable. Laying, sitting, and sleeping were challenging. I caught a cold, which felt like a big kick in the ass. Coughing all night just added to my inability to sleep. 

My hemoglobin dropped from the blood loss, and although it didn't decrease to the level that warrants a blood transfusion like it did with my knee replacement, the level continues to make me feel weak and low in energy and mood. Iron supplements do not agree with my digestive system, so I'm still trying to increase my hemoglobin by ingesting iron-rich foods.

Funny enough, the worst pain has come from my attention-craving knee. You'd think the titanium knee would offer to take some of the weight off the hip, but it's been crying out for attention in the form of nerve pain. Nerve pain is the worst. It feels like a sniper suddenly targets you with an electric shock to the joint. My poor ankle (the only OG joint remaining on that side of my lower body) is currently sore and carrying the team as well. Thoughts and prayers to my ankle. 

So far, the rehab has been much easier than the knees. There are no specific milestones, like extension and flexion, that need to be hit right away. I've been told just standing and walking is what the hip really wants right now. I'm also able to do abduction exercises, bridge, get up off the floor, and have been doing abs and push-ups (from my knees) a few times a day. 

My biggest issue is currently my inability to bathe. It's now been 14 days without a proper shower/bath, and although I'm washing my hair in the sink and sponge-bathing daily, I just really really want a shower. My staples come out today and as long as everything looks good, I should be allowed to bathe on January 3. Never ever underestimate the ability to bathe, my friends! Speaking of the staples, I was quite surprised by the size of my incision. It's pretty gnarly! I was told that with this new anterior approach my bikini would cover the scar, but I don't currently own a bikini, or know of a bikini, that will cover that sucker. In fact, my hip scar is one footlong sub away from colliding with my knee scar! I might require long tassels on that bikini. (No worries, I will not post my incision pic here. DM me for a "hip pic" ;) 

We had a quiet Christmas. Stacey and Charlene came over on Christmas eve and we cooked a turkey together and watched Christmas movies (yes, Die Hard IS a Christmas movie). It was exactly what I needed that day. Dilbert has morphed into Kevin Costner a la Bodyguard era.  It's quite comical how he will not leave my side, escorts me to and from the bathroom, and checks all preparation in the kitchen to ensure that no one is poisoning me. What a good friend...or psycho-stalker Single White Female-ish? 

So that's the update. Everything is fine. I'm just kinda floating through the days right now in a daze, hoping that my mood and energy increase soon. I've definitely had worse surgery experiences; however, each surgery is increasingly harder on my body, I know that I need to begin pursuing a referral to a Geneticist and I know that there will be more surgeries in my future. I'm trying to practice gratitude, and I am thankful that everything has been "textbook," but I am just so tired and frankly, over it. 

Cheers to a healthy and safe 2025. 

My hips don't lie

 Hey friends!

It's been awhile (Did you just hear 2008 hit by Staind? I'm currently in my "vintage" music era. You've been warned). 

I've been a bit quiet and holding out/hiding out as I process some news. 

Last we spoke, I was explaining that I did something weird to my back that prevented my body from reaching vertical status. That back injury, my friends, was what they refer to in the literary world as "foreshadowing." 

The back pain turned into groin pain, and eventually into hip pain. I went to my trusted Physiotherapist and asked him to check things out. During the assessment, we both heard my hip click and then catch. It yelled out in pain, the hip clicked again and released. My heart sank. I know what catching and locking means. It's all related to my shitty cartilage. My physio was sympathetic but directed me to pursue an MRI as soon as possible and provided me with strengthening exercises and stretches to help ease the pain. 

For the next few weeks, I kept all of this information inside - my little secret. I told Ev but argued that I wouldn't worry anyone else until I got MRI results. That, in retrospect, was a bad idea. 

I suffered a severe IBS flare up, which, for me, is always linked to stress. My stomach protested anytime I put food into it, and I spent a few sleepless nights, either tossing and turning in bed or in the bathroom wishing I hadn't consumed food that day. It was the pits. 

"I am in misery. There ain't nobody that can comfort me" - Maroon 5

My psychologist questioned why I was keeping this information about my health a secret, and all that I could think of was that I felt bad about disappointing people. The past summer was one of the best summers for me, physically. My posse noticed, commenting, "It's so good to see you back!" It felt like a victory for all of us, given the fact that so many have supported me through the ups and downs of the past 12 years. I pictured the faces of my loved ones as I told them the cartilage disease was back, and all I could see was disappointment...and fatigue. Everyone is tired of hearing about my cartilage. I felt like I had let everyone down. 

Once I talked this through with my psych, I realized that I needed to externalize all these thoughts that were driving me crazy. I typically do that through this blog, which is so cathartic for me, but I wasn't ready to discuss it on a public forum yet. So, I started with my mom. My fabulous mom, my biggest cheerleader, who has been my right-hand woman through all my surgeries listened quietly as I shared my news. Obviously, she felt bad/sad for me, and we both lamented how unfair all of this was...but then we talked about making a plan, selecting a good surgeon, and moving forward. I felt so much better after unloading this information. I'm sure it added to my mom's stress that day, but I know my mom just wants to be there and help me through this. Thank you, mom, for taking some of that off my chest...or my bowel or whatever. 

I found myself back in the MRI tube, pleasantly and mildly sedated on Ativan (no cativan this time, friends!) The familiar sound of the clicking, honking, and banging of the MRI machine jived nicely with the song that repeated in my head,

 "Here I go again on my own. Goin' down the only road I've ever known." - Whitesnake

I held out a tiny bit of hope that the issue could be a very fixable labral tear, but I was prepared for the results that appeared in my inbox a few days later...I had multiple grade 4 articular cartilage defects in the femoral head of my hip. A contralateral view indicated the other hip was also in bad shape. Ugh. 

I have the benefit this time around of private insurance. Although this means I have a co-pay, in addition to insanely high annual fees, I "get to" select my own doctors. I knew that I needed someone who would listen, consider my extensive medical history, and forgo the sexy cartilage replacement surgeries that were not previously effective in treating my knees. I had seen Dr. Alwin for a knee consult post knee replacement and really liked his quiet confident demeanor, knew he was top in his field for joint replacements, and decided to pursue him. 

I waited 5 weeks for the consult, and during those 5 weeks, I watched and felt my body deteriorate before my eyes. It SUCKED. Instead of disappointing everyone around me, I just felt incredibly disappointed in myself. How did I go from e-foiling like a champ just a few weeks ago to barely being able to get myself to a standing position? I finally experienced a taste of freedom, and it was being taken away from me...again. I knew that self-compassion was what I needed, but every time that I looked at myself in the mirror, all that I saw was a loser with a defective body. How do you not view yourself as "defective" when the word "defect" is found in each and every MRI report you've ever read about your body? Isn't it crazy how fast you can turn on yourself? During this time, Ev was in Asheville, navigating a business during one of the worst natural disasters in history. Wifi was sporadic, so we weren't able to communicate much. I felt really bad for what he was dealing with, terrible for the people who lost loved ones and homes, and I felt guilty for feeling sorry for myself and my stupid hip. Oddly, I never really sat down and grieved this new plot twist in my life. Instead, I began projecting my sadness onto other random things. One day as I was driving, I ugly cried for at least 15-minutes over a cow that had been left standing in a flooded pasture. That poor poor cow. (I also would like to apologize to the lady who witnessed me bawling in the Foster's parking lot). Ya...they weren't the best of times, that's for sure. 

"I tried so hard and got so far...in the end it doesn't even matter." - Linkin Park

I finally met with Dr. Alwin on Friday. (Aside: I'm fully aware that a 5-week wait is incredibly swift compared to my fellow Canadians who wait months for a consult witd h a specialist. Don't come at me, public health care recipients!) He was calm and confident, just as I remembered him. He listened intently to my 12-year history, raising his eyebrows a few times in surprise ("You had Serotonin Syndrome??" I loooove impressing doctors with my medical anomalies), and then proceeded to show me the images of my shitty hip, as well as her not-as-shitty partner. After x-rays and discussion, we quickly agreed that a total hip replacement was the only option. He showed me his fancy dual mobility implant, along with the porous cap that they 3D print to ensure the bone grows into the implant. He explained his anterior entry approach (which I had read is the most current with the fastest recovery data), and we selected a date of Dec. 16. Merry Christmas to me. I gently requested a bilateral hip replacement - why not get them both done at once? Maybe slot the ankles in for Valentine's Day? Let's really mess with the TSA security screen.  But he suggested taking one at a time, and suspects that the other hip may hold on for a bit longer once the evil hip is removed.

 "Hold on for one more day." - Wilson Phillips. 

So... I have a plan. I'm currently struggling with pain relief. I'm opting for massages, chiropractic care, physio, movement, nostalgic music/shows, and a glass of wine here and there, as opposed to the opioids that are effective, but turn me into a numb blob. I can do this. It's only a month away. I am so so so thankful that I switched jobs when I did. I'm grateful that Evan is such a smart cookie, growing his businesses to a place where we don't need to rely on my income to support our lifestyle. My new schedule allows for enough down-time in between clients and long weekends to recover. My new employers/teammates have been nothing but kind and understanding and are willing to help me through this with little or no disruption to my clients. What a relief. This is not my fault. It's taken over a decade for me to fully realize this. 

Finally, I'm pursuing a referral to a Geneticist. I want to learn more about the composition of my cartilage, and why this is happening to me. Now that it's moved from my knees to my hips, which is extremely rare (the story of my life), I'm experiencing increased fear about my future and prognosis. I think more information is needed. 

 Another surgery (#16), another joint - surely, I've been dealt these cards for a reason. But seriously, how many more life lessons do I need to absorb? I am resilient. I am strong. I will get through this, just as I have in the past. Also...I'm going to Taylor Swift's final concert of the Eras Tour in Vancouver with my sister and Canadian work wife a week before my surgery. I can only fathom how incredible this concert is going to be! What an amazing send-off for my shitty unwell hip (Practicing self-compassion). 

"Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit. They said babe you gotta fake it 'til you make it, and I did." - TayTay

Cute pose? or...just trying to hold my body together?

Insert inspirational quote about stormy skies making best sunsets.

The "go for it" summer

 Hey Friends,

Can you believe that summer is almost over? It definitely FEELS like the middle of summer here in Cayman, where the humidity index is still in the 90's and there's a thunderstorm at least five times a day!

We returned back to Cayman after 2 months at Candle Lake, Saskatchewan. For the first time in about 13 years, I experienced a "go for it" summer. 

We are taught that pain is an indication to stop an activity. If something really hurts, you probably shouldn't do it, as it might be causing further damage. When I was diagnosed with my cartilage disease about 13 years ago, I was given a list of activities/movements that I needed to avoid in order to slow the process of the disease. I was told no torque movements like swinging a golf club, racquet, or paddle. I was told no high impact activities like jumping or running. I was told to limit the number of steps I was taking in a day. I was told to stop when I felt pain, elevate and ice. These restrictions and warnings were forefront in my brain for the past 13 years. Although my disease progressed and I endured surgery after surgery, I didn't want to be the one responsible for making things worse. 

Now that I have two prosthetic knees, things have changed. 

My right knee continues to be "off." We know that it's larger than my left, and the size is limiting my extension and causing pain. My super awesome team of therapists and doctors have assured me that I can't make it worse. This is just how it is. I was told, for the very first time in 13 years, to "go for it" this summer. My physiotherapist, who worked through my kinesiophobia (fear of movement) with me, suggested that I pick and choose what I'm willing to experience pain for. For example, I hate running - so no sense in causing pain doing something that I don't like. On the other hand, he suggested I might sacrifice some pain to play pickleball, a sport that I've been longing to get back into. 

So that's what I did. I went for it!

I played pickleball with Kayla and her friends. Initially, I thought that I was pretty awesome because Kayla and I were winning all of our matches, but once I played singles and began losing horribly, I realized that Kayla was the reason that we were winning all of our doubles matches. Haha! She's got really long limbs!

I surfed as much as I could. I really enjoyed some morning surfs with my besties, the Hunters. And I loved witnessing my little bud, Harper (age 6), learn how to surf independently, singing our favorite song, "The Sign" the entire time (90's pop. A girl after my own heart!)

I two-stepped, I polka-d, I "Kirstie danced" (tipsy happy jumping with a lot of upper arm action) the night away at Farmfest with my super fun aunts, uncles, and cousins. 

I fully participated in shark week festivities this year, completing the incredible shark cage relay, winning the Can Jam cup with Linds, and dancing (jumping?) the night away on the back of Rick's boat with some of my favorite people in this world! ("To the window - to the wall!") ;) 

I went on long walks, long bike rides, and long stand-up paddles through forests and creeks. 

I tried new workouts that incorporated some jumping and lunging (2 things I was told NEVER to do previously). 

I even E-foiled for the first time! Our friend, Matt, brought over his E-foils and I was able to quickly get up and even fly a little, watching fish swim just below the surface. I loved it so much that I demo'd a board as soon as we returned to Cayman!

Yes, I hurt after each of these activities. The pain now radiates into my hip because my entire right side of my body is "off" with this ill-fitting prosthetic knee. But you know what? It was totally worth it. It felt good. I don't feel like I "lost" 13 years of my life, but man, parts of it were definitely on hold. My 30's, when most people still feel limber and agile, were a bit of a mess for me. I learned some life lessons that have shaped who I am today, but let's be honest, I missed out. I intend to make up for lost time. 

You know what was even better than having a "go for it" summer? Sharing it with my people. 

One of my greatest fears about moving to Cayman 10 years ago was losing these strong and meaningful connections with friends and family back in Canada. There's something so fulfilling about returning after a year away and picking right back up where you left off with the people you love. Whether it was serious in-depth conversations about family and work, silly, laughter-filled chats about diary entries from 2001, or just sitting quietly with the people you love and watching the geese float by, every interaction was gratifying. It was hard to say goodbye to everyone, but I know we'll pick up again next summer (or...come and visit! Anytime!)

Paw patrol killed it for the second year in a row. They traveled like pros and thoroughly enjoyed their summer at the lake. Stevie spent hours on the deck "hunting" birds and insects (and there were a LOT of insects this summer, unfortunately). Dilbert loved his long morning walks and the fresh air. Our return to island was a bit messy with canceled West Jet flights and rerouting that added about 8 hours to our trip, but the pets were troopers and hung in there for a long journey! 

We're back into our island routine and I have begun a new and exciting part-time temporary job in addition to my work with Achieve Cayman. I am covering a maternity leave for a speech-language pathologist with HSA (public health). I'm seeing a diverse group of patients (mostly adult) with a variety of diagnoses such as voice disorders, stroke, dementia, brain tumors, etc. I've only completed my first few weeks, but I'm absolutely loving it! My brain kicked into high gear, attempting to remember the neuro anatomy and treatment plans for each diagnosis. It was a bit scary, super challenging, and felt very rewarding. I feel like I'm going to be a very well-rounded clinician through this experience. I'm excited to continue this position a few days a week until December. 

There's the update! I hope everyone transitions nicely into sweater weather and pumpkin spiced everything. 

Cheers!

Addendum:

Ironically, my "go for it summer" ended abruptly this week with an injury. I know what you're saying, "It was the pickleball! It's the damn pickleball." No, no, it wasn't the pickleball that got me. I literally hurt myself standing up. Wednesday, after a full day of patients (and too much sitting), I went to stand up to leave at the end of the day and my body could not reach vertical status. Pain seared in my lower back/hip, and I awkwardly tried to play it cool in front of my new (and much younger colleagues). As everyone said their farewells for the day, I didn't want to alarm my new co-workers, so I pretended to search my purse for my keys to remain in the hunched over position that I was only capable of achieving. So, you know, I searched for my keys as I said goodbye to the other therapists, searched for my keys as I painfully descended the stairs, and searched for my keys as I bid the security guard a good night. I drove home hugging my steering wheel, with my face barely over the windshield, hoping to remain anonymous. Thankfully, I have a great chiro who was able to put my SI joint back into alignment. I will start again with Physio this week. Apparently, I'm at the age and fitness level where my joints just randomly fall out of place whilst performing regular human functions like standing. Awesome. I'm definitely not 100% yet (maybe 25%), and the only thing I'm "going for" is gentle pool stretching. I'm sure there's a lesson here...like go for it, but maybe like go for it-ish? I'm not sure but will keep you updated.