Back in my happy place!

 Hey Friends,

There has been a lot of action in the last month! Let me catch you up...

Firstly, there is a massive wildfire in northern Saskatchewan called the "Shoe" wildfire. It began in May and dry conditions and strong winds caused it to spread quickly. By the end of May, the fire was over 500,000 hectares (Google convert says that is almost 2000 square miles) and had a massive impact on the province of Saskatchewan, burning many lakes and cabins. By mid-June, the fire was moving towards Candle Lake at a rate of a few kilometers per day, and Candle Lakers were becoming concerned. We have many friends and family who own summer properties (we call them "cabins") at Candle Lake, but there are also about 850 permanent residents here, who live year-round. A voluntary evacuation order came when the fire was about 12km from Candle Lake. At that point, my family began collecting valuables and securing their properties. Thankfully, my mom was able to gather some sentimental items - you know, my VEIL! and lots and lots of photos. My sister and dad rigged up a sprinkler system on our roof, and Kayla managed to locate a box of very important love letters from Evan (Think long-distance teenage angst, "I miss you so much it hurts"). It was pretty scary. We've owned our place at the lake for 21 years, and I have an attic full of boxes of treasures. I pleaded with Mother Nature that I would absolutely sort through my boxes if my cabin remained standing! I found a wildfire app that showed wind direction and speed, and being the person that I am, I OBSESSED over this app for about 2 weeks, awakening in the middle of the night to ensure that the dreaded east wind was not blowing the fire in our direction. Things became very heated (see what I did there?) when the fire was 9km from the lake and a daily report stated that it was "imminent" that the fire would reach Candle Lake. Thankfully, the next day, Mother Nature called a truce and dumped over 20mm of rain on the fire, the water bombers, fire fighters, and ground crew were able to regain control of the fire, and Candle Lake was out of harm's way. Phew! The fire is still not contained; however, it is no longer threatening any communities. 

Candle Lake in the blue box when fire was at closest point

For about a week, our plans to return home to Canada were put on hold as we monitored the fire. The pets' exports are complicated and must be timed with our departure, so I was debating delaying appointments, for fear that our departure would be delayed, or even worse, cancelled. Thankfully, it all worked out. The Paw Patrol bravely crawled into their pet taxis and made the long trek home without incident, other than one member pooping her pants (she will remain anonymous, and no, it was not me). 

I can't put into words how GOOD it felt to walk into our home. When I imagined the possibility of losing our happy place on the lake, I felt sick. I know it's just a house, a material thing that can be replaced, but there are 21 years of incredible memories in this house. Evan's dad, Jerry, assisted with renovations, and he and Evan spent hours converting this cabin into, what was our permanent home for a few years. I was so incredibly grateful that our home was untouched by the fires, and I wake up every morning, feeling the breeze through the window, listening to the loons make their loon sounds (wail?), and the water lap on shore and I feel so SO grateful to be here. Also, I kept my promise to Mother Nature and immediately sorted through dozens and dozens of boxes. The majority was tossed, but I found some special treasures. I'm so thankful that they are safe. Aside: yes, we are keeping ALL of Evan's CD's because the island Jeep has a CD player and Big Shiny Tunes still rocks. 

It's hard to believe that we've been home for 2 weeks now! It's flying by much too fast. I feel like I've been in a Saskatchewan safari, encountering baby loons, baby geese, baby ducks, and even a bear while riding my bike! (Ev since has bought me a bear bell). A deer almost ran into me on my bike yesterday. It was spooked by a car and diverted straight into my path. Imagine hitting a deer on a bike? Yikes. Close call there, hey? (I've re-acquired my Sasky accent). I wonder if more wildlife has moved in as a result of the fires? Most importantly, I've reconnected with my family and my precious lake buds! I am soaking up my lake routine of morning paddles on my stand-up paddleboard through Fisher's Creek, bike rides to the village, pop-in visits from friends and family, and perhaps some consumption of alcohol on boats. (Lots of boats and so many alcoholic canned bevvy choices). It's been wonderful. 

As far as the hip goes, after being provided with the injection choices, I opted for probably the least popular choice - the good 'ol cortisone injection. When insurance came back, denying coverage for PRP and Hyaluronic acid injections, I hummed and hawed over the $5000 CI price tag, and decided that my hip probably didn't deserve my investment. Okay, that sounds harsh, but the reality is, there is no research that indicated these injections would improve my situation and given that my hip is pretty much past the point of no return, I decided to opt for the "pretend it's not happening" method. By the end of June, my pain had significantly increased, my mobility was declining, and I just wanted something to hold me over during the summer. Cortisone is generally effective at providing some temporary relief. 

I went into the clinic for the injection, which is done under fluoroscopy (X-ray). Although the needle for the hip injection was much larger and intimidating than the knee needle, I am not afraid of injections, and the pain was temporary. Once the injection was complete, my body does what it does best. It freaked the eff out. I had another vasovagal response (which I had forewarned the medical team about), and instead of passing out this time, my body went into full overreactive dramatic mode, convulsing and shaking uncontrollably on the x-ray table. The surgeon was called back in, along with another 7 medical professionals (was there a Dentist there at one point?), and everyone was kinda panicking. Evan was there as well, and he was attempting to explain that this was a common occurrence, but once they clocked my blood pressure at 200/140, I thought they were going to use the defibrillator paddle on me, "Clear!" Once I could finally speak again, I assured them, "I'm fine. I'm fine. It's my parasympathetic system." How embarrassing. Good GAWD. Why does my body always assume that I'm on the brink of death? So annoying. It all lasted about 30 minutes, but once the dust cleared, I was like, "Hey, how long do you think this cortisone injection will provide relief?" My orthopedic surgeon explained that it differs for every patient, but typically it ranges from 1-6 months. Please be a 6 month'er, please be a 6 month'er, please be a 6 month'er. 

Unfortunately, it's now the one-month mark and hip pain is returning. I'm still hopeful that I just tweaked something. I dunno. When has it ever just been a tweak, like seriously, Kirstie.  I messaged my surgeon asking if it's possible that it's wearing off and if there is anything I can do to hang on to the beautiful anesthetic effects. He responded that the effects of cortisone wearing off at one month are possible, but not probable. Ooooooof. Story of my joint health right there. Low probability is my jam. Thoughts and prayers to my left hip. Please just give me this summer. I will deal with you appropriately in September. Amen. 

Enjoy these summer days, my friends!

Cheers to Evan Lindsay love letters, wedding veils, and Big Shiny Tunes 2 (the best one). 

The one where Cinderella trades her glass slipper for a PRP injection

 Hi Friends,

Okay, I'm going to compare myself to a Disney princess, because truth be told, I always wanted to be a princess (in retrospect, I'd be a terrible princess), so here it goes:

As the clock struck midnight, my majestic horse-drawn carriage transformed back into a mango, my stallion morphed into my special dog with attachment issues, my footman transitioned back to my blind bitey cat, my beautiful iridescent gown converted into athleisure wear, and my glass slippers vanished, leaving a pair of orthopedic shoes in their place.  

A bit dramatic, right? Actually, that doesn't sound so bad - kinda comfy. That metaphor was a fail. 

What I'm trying today say is, the honeymoon phase of my recovery came to an abrupt end. About a month ago, I was cleaning out Stevie's litter box, when I failed to return to a vertical position. Since then, pain has been shooting down my left groin and lower back. I bend over and then something abruptly stops me from standing up straight. That something, it would seem, is another shitty hip. 

You guys, I've been through this brutal cycle of pain, acute pain, surgery, recovery, chronic pain, acute pain, surgery, etc, etc for about 14 years now. Like I'm not stranger to it, yet does it get any easier? NOPE. UGH. 

I knew that the left hip was failing but was relishing in this magical period of time where I felt little to no pain - sleeping through a night without waking up in pain was so so good. The surgeon theorized that my new strong hip would take the weight off my shitty hip and give me more time. Well, it was an incredible run of about 2.5 months. During that run, I appreciated life like I've never appreciated it before. It was an extended glimmer. It felt like my senses were enhanced. I saw life through a glimmer filter. I inhaled wonderful smells more deeply, my freshly washed sheets felt extra smooth on my skin, the birds sounded chirpier on my morning walks, and even plain tap water tasted icier and more refreshing from my "Ms. Kirstie" Stanley. I felt joy from seemingly routine everyday events. My speech therapy sessions were on point. I literally walked out of sessions, thinking "Boom! I rocked that." My workouts at the gym felt amazing - I was doing real "gym things" instead of physio exercises. I blasted Bif Naked, "I love myself today," as I cruised to the grocery store with my windows down. I questioned if most people ever get an opportunity like this - like a comeback high after things have been low for an extended period of time? Do other people get glimmer months like this? It felt like a gift. I'm really thankful for those few months. 

However, I've since re-entered the pain cycle and am currently seeking the next steps in the shitty hip saga. Basically, the left hip has moderate-to-severe cartilage damage, less damage than the right hip had when I went in for the total hip replacement. So, it's not yet ready, or eligible under insurance, for termination. We have a unique window to try some therapeutic techniques that we've never been able to try before, given that my other joints have always been identified as issues only once they've hit the point of no return. So...yay??! To add insult to injury (literally), my hip flexor and rectus femoris (that sounds like a naughty muscle) on my new hip side are screaming out for help, but guess what? That shitty right knee ain't helping, nor is the left shitty hip. You are on your own, kids! Good luck. 

I met with Dr. Alwin, the surgeon who replaced my right hip and he suggested that we inject the shit out of it. I mean, he would never use the word "shit" because he's a very quiet and reserved man, but when he talked about injecting it with PRP, hyaluronic acid, and possibly cortisone, I heard, "LET'S INJECT THE SHIT OUT OF IT!" (It feels more dramatic, like an exciting sci fi movie with Sigourney Weaver).

For those of you who aren't familiar with PRP, it stands for Platelet Rich Plasma. They draw your own blood, spin it in a centrifuge to concentrate platelets and then inject it back into the affected area. The theory, in my situation, is that it may help alleviate pain and slow down the rate of my disease process - buy me more time before a total hip replacement is the only option. Hyaluronic acid acts as a lubricant for the joint, helping to reduce joint friction; hence pain. I think most people are familiar with cortisone. These injections consist of corticosteroids and are injected directly into the joint to provide effective pain relief. There is increasing evidence that cortisone injections can cause increased cartilage damage, causing the joint to deteriorate faster, so that's definitely something to consider. 

Given that they don't really know what the hell I have or what is causing my cartilage to degenerate in all of my weight bearing joints, it's a bit of a shot in the dark (see what I did there?), but what do I have to lose (other than about $3200 KYD - approximately $5400 CAD). This is not covered by my insurance, so I have to decide if it's worth it. I can think of a lot of things I'd rather spend the money on, but a part of me feels like I should try the PRP and maybe the hyaluronic acid; otherwise, I'll never know. That being said, I kinda feel like a really old car that requires a lot of maintenance. Like do you shell out the money for the top-of-the-line maintenance costs for a 1970 Buick LaSabre, knowing the engine needs to be replaced soon? Am I a junkyard car that we salvage for parts or am I a classic, distinctive automobile? For those of you who have followed my journey from the beginning, we quickly determined that if I was a racehorse, they would, without question, shoot me. 

 Aside: for my Canadian friends who have asked me about private health insurance, now that I no longer work for government, I pay for private health insurance. The monthly premium is $1000 KYD ($1700 CAD) - that's $12,000 KYD per year and covers me and Evan). This is considered a "middle ground" plan.  Some have inquired whether we pay more because I have a predisposed medical condition, but given that my condition is undiagnosed, we do not. This is what an insurance plan costs when you work in the Cayman private sector. With this coverage, I co-pay for most things. For example, my insurance might cover 80% of my MRI costs, and I pay the additional 20% out of pocket (which amounts to $500 KYD). My insurance covers $50 KYD of each one hour $180 KYD physio appointment (my Canadian physio friends are reading this mouth agape), and doctors' appointments range from $25 to $400, depending on bloodwork, X-rays, etc. I've never waited more than 2 weeks for a specialist appointment, and I have the freedom of choosing my own medical team, and surgery wait time is minimal - which to be honest, is priceless. But there are times when I feel like I'm spending hundreds of dollars a week to meet with medical professionals who aren't entirely sure what to do with me. Like maybe I'd rather just get a pedicure. 

I digress.

I'm back in pain management mode, suffering from daily pain that specifically impacts my ability to sit for more than 15-minute intervals. It's also waking me up in the night when I roll over. I struggle to get vertical a few times a week (which can be embarrassing and inconvenient) and am feeling bummed about it all. Each time I'm met with a new medical issue, I feel myself re-entering the cycle of grief. I am a grief cycle expert! I've noticed that I'm spending quite a bit of time in denial the last few times - "Oh, maybe I pulled a muscle" (Hello? Your hip is deteriorating). I also held out on seeking help for a while "I don't need my psych; I have the tools and can do this on my own!" (Dude, go talk to your lady. She makes you feel better). I think I'm moving past denial, given that last week and the upcoming weeks are filled with appointments with my professional team. I'm also experiencing moments of anger. Although I'm thankful for the short stint of fairy tale life, I'm pissed that the glass slipper fell off. I see lots of princesses dancing at the ball, how come I'm stuck hunched over the litter box in a non-vertical position? I always experience some sadness as well. I'm sad that my body is failing me, yet again. I feel sad for myself because I've been through so much and I don't feel like doing this again. I feel sad for Ev. I know it hurts him to see me in pain. Eventually I'll stroll into acceptance - maybe next week. It's exhausting.

Luckily, months ago we booked a weekend getaway - we must have known that we would need a quiet and calm retreat. Last weekend, we flew to Kingston, Jamaica, and enjoyed a chill weekend in the Blue Mountains of Jamaica, at a place we've visited a few times called Strawberry Hill.

Strawberry Hill is this charming, cottage-y type of resort way up high in the Blue Mountains, overlooking the city of Kingston. Bob Marley sought solace here after he survived an attempted assassination in 1976. So, I mean if Bob can recover from a near death by shooting, surely, I can feel calm and peaceful about this new development in my "journey", right? Sure. 

Strawberry Hill was exactly what we needed. I inhaled fresh mountain air, sipped wine while listening to three little birds singing from the tree-tops and the reggae music echoing off the hills. Although Ev and I did have some serious discussions about my next plan of attack, we mostly just hung out and felt happy. We explored the area, ate good food, laughed a lot, and enjoyed each other's company. There are still many glimmers in life to experience, despite the pain. So... you know, life is complicated, but it's good. 

Now I just need to develop a plan. My goal is to enjoy this summer at Candle Lake, minimizing the pain as much as possible.

Stay tuned for updates on the SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS shotshots SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS (did you sing it in your Lil Jon voice?)

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.