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.