conservatorship for Britknee!

 "It'll give you a new lease on life!"

"You'll never regret it!"

"Best decision I've ever made!"

Those, my friends, are various quotes from total knee replacement forums, reviews, and shiny orthopedic clinic pamphlets. I clung to those reviews when I was grabbling with the decision as to whether or not it it was time to get new knees. And those reviews, frankly, are pissing me off right now. 

It's been a full year now since Courtknee, the first knee, came into my life. I am very satisfied with the result. I have limited pain in that knee, I can kneel all the way into child's pose, I can bend it (past the point of prosthetic limitations, no big deal- still a high achiever!) , I can straighten it, and overall, it's a high functioning, overachieving knee. I want to break out the bubbly and cheers this solid addition to my body, but unfortunately, Courtknee's success is currently being overshadowed by her evil sister Britknee's failures.

We're heading into the 7th month now since Britknee came into my life...and can I just stop right here and ask, Why did y'all let me name my knee Britknee? Like, hello? I was heavily medicated and, like a mother who is disorientated post-childbirth, I decided to name my knee after one of the most dysfunctional celebrities in the world right now? C'mon! I digress...Britknee sucks. I don't know how else to put it. She still won't straighten to a functional position. Because I am unable to get her to full extension, all my muscles from my ankle to my neck are affected - they are shortening and tightening. Each week I spin the wheel of muscle pain roulette and see if I'm going to strain my back, hamstring, quad, glutes - or this week's special -  tear a ligament! I'm in constant pain. The pain awakens me at night, and it feels like I have to swing this giant dead appendage across my bed in order to roll over. I'm sporting an ugly limp, as I drag this unstable, disorderly knee behind me everywhere I go. Britknee is legit toxic (currently dancing with knives???),  and I want a refund. 

Why? Why? Why?

The surgeon who performed my surgery encouraged me to be patient. When I told him I was very disappointed with the outcome, he nodded and replied, "So am I. But...we must wait a full year to see if it settles. So...see you back here in March! Keep pushing and stop limping." 

Super.

I went for a second opinion and the Orthopedic Surgeon recommended that all the hard-core joint mobilization therapy to straighten Britknee be stopped immediately. He explained that there is a window in which pushing and forcing the knee may aide with extension, but my window has passed. He hypothesized that all the forceful pushing is inflaming the scar tissue in my knee, preventing extension from happening naturally. If you let scar tissue mature, it becomes more malleable, and may eventually loosen, allowing extension to occur on its own. He suggested drastically reducing my daily step count and any high impact, but continuing to strengthen with physiotherapy (it's my 18 month anniversary of physio!), light weights, and cycling. He recommended giving it a solid 3 months. 

A second explanation was provided regarding a plastic piece in my prosthesis. There is a possibility that the piece is too large for my joint, preventing full extension. A smaller piece could be swapped out, which sounds easy peasy, but in actuality is another big surgery. I gathered that this would be a last resort kind of decision. I'm not really into this. I'm more of a "15 and done" kinda gal. 

I appreciated his explanation. It made sense to me. He also seemed to "get" me immediately, as he gently explained, "I can see that you are a person who will push yourself past your limit. You've done everything you can. You've gone above and beyond. But you need to rest a bit and just allow it to heal. This is not your fault."

So, you know...I listened and shed a few tears. Maybe I was just looking for some validation. I have been working so hard. In my mind, I had been the perfect patient. Can I just get an award or something???

So be it. (If you know, you know ;)

I'm trying to be more relaxed and restful in my approach; however, real life does not necessarily promote this. This strategy was fine in the summer when I had absolute control over my daily routine, and could balance rest with activity. But I am currently back at work full time in 4 different schools with students who have special education needs. It's a challenge to control your movement in the unpredictable school environment.  When my impulsive 5-year old student with severe Autism suddenly breaks free to chase chickens near the busy parking lot, I am unable to gently stop, apply light pressure equally to both joints while maintaining proper posture and announce, "My surgeon recommends no high impact."  

I am tired. I am in pain. I feel defeated. For some reason this 7 month thing is really getting to me, mentally. Given the fact that I was essentially pain-free at the 4-month mark with Courtknee, my expectations were set pretty high. There are days when I feel pretty hopeless about my situation. I was told to avoid knee replacements for as long as possible, and I did this by enduring surgery after surgery for 12 years. When I finally came to terms with the fact that it was time to replace my disease-riddled knees, my gut told me that I would regret it. And, currently, I do. I regret it. Maybe I should have left the right knee alone for a few years, or tried one more cartilage transplant. Was it that bad? Regrets are the WORST, and wake me up at 4am (why can't you wake up at 4am thinking about puppies and kittens?) 

Can you hear my tiny violin in the background playing a sorrowful sombre tune?

I hope that in a few months time, I will look back on this post and laugh at my dramatics, realizing that I just needed more time for healing to occur. My rational brain tells me that 7 months isn't really that long, right? (But my God, 13 years is!!!) My second-opinion surgeon was confident that I'd be feeling much better by Christmas. And, I suppose I should be thankful that one of the knees is a success story. But, honestly, I'm in the thick of things right now, not feeling so thankful at the moment, and I'm sick of hearing about so-and-so's grandma who resumed her role as captain of the bowling team a mere 3 months after her knee replacement. I'm tired of being Chumbawamba - I get knocked down, but I get up again. But like how many times can we repeat that chorus? I really just feel like staying down...for a while, anyway.

Even in the depths of despair I can throw out a bum pun.

I needed a good venting session. Writing this down makes me feel better. Thanks for listening. 

Those were the days, my friend

 Hey friends,

I can't believe that our summer vacation has come and gone. Sometimes I feel like I'm standing on the landing at London Underground, and time is shooting past me like the trains whooshing by. There were so many moments this summer that I willed time to hold still for just a little longer. I'm not sure if it's a result of aging, or maybe I've developed a more fatalistic attitude, but I know that next summer, something will have changed. Someone may be gone. Someone won't be well. I know that positive change occurs as well - new babies, new relationships. Regardless, I felt myself holding tight to moments that brought me great joy. Someone described these moments as "glimmers" - like the opposite of a "trigger." I'm personally triggered by the overuse and misuse of the word trigger, so I'm overjoyed to refer to words/experiences that spark joy and peace as a "glimmer." These moments calm your nervous system, and make a positive impact on our mental health. 

Once we arrived at our house on Candle Lake, I released a great sigh of relief, and just thoroughly enjoyed my time, my surroundings, and the awesome people around me. 

I know you're all wondering how our emotionally traumatized dog and blind cat made out on our travels. They did very well! Dilbert, the dog, maintained a drug-induced sleep for most of the trip, took a big dump in the middle of Toronto Pearson airport, and generally quietly traveled at our side. Stevie, the blind cat, let out a massive scream on each take-off and landing, but settled as soon as we put our hand in her carry-on to soothe her. She was a champ!

Anyone wondering how I managed on our travels? 

Not well.

I was a fricken mess. I think the stress of traveling with these two special needs pets for the first time accumulated over the weeks leading up to our big travel day, and I just finally broke down - conveniently at the airport, as we prepared for security. 

Suddenly, my eyes welled up with tears, and despite Evan's best effort to blow those tears away  (his #1 strategy to prevent crying),  I began uncontrollably sobbing in the security line. (You guys know I'm not a crier!)

Evan looked at me, "Oh wow. What's going on?"

"I don't know. I'm so worried. I'm just so worried."

Ev provided a little pep talk, I gathered myself,  and we carried through security with no issues. 

I cried again on the plane when an overhead bin fell off the tracks, deplaning was suggested, and the pilot secured it with duct tape, saving the day! (Thank goodness, can I get some wine please?)  Other than my mini mental break-down (what the hell???), things went well!

The summer was exactly what I needed. We didn't do or see anything new or spectacular, but I just relished my time at our house at Candle, surrounded by so much love and support. I loved introducing our new pets to friends and family, and seeing them thrive in their new environment. Dilbert surprised us all and did not run away. He enjoyed sitting outside on the deck in the mornings, taking daily walks though the forest, and even fell in love with Darren and Allicia's dog, Coco! Stevie was amused chasing grasshoppers in the yard, and participated in Bocce ball games with the gang by following the thumping of the bocce balls impacting the ground - she's so smart!

These are a just a few "glimmers" that I experienced this summer: 

• Taking my first breath of fresh Candle Lake air (I wish that I could bottle that spruce/lake scent)

• 

• Paddleboard workouts in the morning with Kayla. The lake was so quiet and still, and the only sound was the distinct sparrow tune (and Kayla and I grunting while attempting to stay on our boards).

• Singing "Those were the days" with all my Tycholiz family at Baba and Gido's farm for our big celebration, "Farmfest '23".  I remember looking around at all my aunts, uncles, cousins, and cousins' children and thinking how happy this would make Baba. It was pure magic.

• Pulling up to the boat parties and seeing all my favorite people jumping up and waving us in

• Falling head over heels for Joey on the "The Bachelorette" during our regular Monday viewings with my sister and cousin. We had so many laughs on those Monday evenings.

• Saskatchewan "pop-ins," where family and friends just randomly pop by for a visit. I love surprise visitors, and was super excited when I arrived at the door to see my cousin and his family on bikes. 

• Enjoying coffee on the deck with my mom and her siblings one beautiful summer morning. Everyone looked so well and happy. 

• Participating in Dad's "Meath Park tour." Kayla, dad and I hit the road on the side-by-side, sipped a beer, and got the full tour of Meath Park (population 150), according to Dad's memories ("A really nice family lived in this house. They had 4 really attractive girls. I remember giving one a Valentine in grade 2"). It was an incredibly comprehensive tour. Haha!

• Boat rides back from the boat parties. That's when Kayla and I cranked our little stereo, and Ev drove extra slow so we could turn up a dance party and pretend we were in a boy band (and eat ketchup chips). I Love dancing and singing with my sister!
• Lunches with mom and friends. Our "ladies who lunch" group included Joanne, Lani, and Aunty Donna. It was so nice catching up with some of my favorite ladies.

• Our cousin day at Shell Lake. Kayla and I spent a day with our super fun cousins, Courtney and Rochelle, as well as our awesome aunts and uncles. My face hurt from laughing so hard, especially when we sipped fireball whilst trying to stop our peddle boat from consecutively turning circles. I miss those girls!

• Shark week Celebrations. These are always a good time. We consumed our 12 bottles of bubbly and celebrated every shark on the planet! The shark cake was perfection, and the lawn games (whilst donning full shark gear) were super fun. 

• Our anniversary: I pulled my veil out of storage for the 18th consecutive year (it now reeks of tequila, fireball, and bad choices ;) ). Our favorite people arrived for brunch rum punches, and we celebrated on our deck. I can't believe it's been 18 years - I still vividly remember that giddy feeling I had while repeating my vows to Evan. It was such an incredible day. 

• Special day visits with my dear friend, Lisa, who drove 2.5 hours to see me, and my "Janna day," when my super bud since kindergarten comes to my house for 9 hours of "coffee."
• Watching the Northern Lights dance in the sky, as I lay on my dock at 11:30 at night. Mesmerizing!

• Surfing behind Darren and Allicia's boat for the first time since my knee replacements. I took it very easy, but it felt really good. I loved having Allicia, Darren, and Harper cheering me on, and I'm thankful that I am slowly returning to a more active lifestyle. 

• Sitting quietly by the fire with Ev, and decompressing after a full day of friends
• Reuniting our OG high school group in Saskatoon, and participating in Carly's undying love for Michael Bolton ("We can work it out!"🎵)

• Drinking my Timmies tea in the hot tub, and watching the family of geese float by on the lake. 
• Moments of just "being" with people. My mom, sister, and friends would often stop in and we would just watch TV or sit on the deck and chat. It was easy and comfortable. I think this is what I miss most. 

• Seeing Dilbert and Stevie shine in their new environment!

• Laughing so hard that I cried...but in a good way, not in an airport security line kinda way. 

That's just a few, and there are so many more. Although I was still in pain, I felt so much joy and contentedness. After falling off the rails a bit this year after my surgeries, I finally felt like my old self again - happy and fun. That's exactly how one should feel after a holiday! I'm trying to hold onto that feeling and remain revived and optimistic as I enter my 9th school year in Cayman, and get back to addressing  this uncooperative Britknee. 

Cheers friends!

This is my blind cat, emotionally traumatized dog, and disabled wife. Please allow us back into Canada

 Hi Friends

The countdown is on! In 14 days we'll be packing up our blind cat, emotionally traumatized dog, my deformed Britknee, and making the trek back to Candle Lake for the summer. What could go wrong? Haha (nervous laugh).

I am slightly worried (AKA lay awake for hours with heart racing) about how this trip home will go. Neither of our Paw Patrolers (Stevie and Dilbert) have ever traveled any further than about 20 miles, and Dilbert has puked and/or pooped on about 75% of his treks out of West Bay. Thankfully both pets can travel as carry-on; however, given that we have 2 flights and approximately 12 hours of traveling, I'm leaning towards sedation....for all of us. Say your prayers for us on July 1. 

Despite the mobilization "therapy" (This is TORTURE, people, not "therapy") three times per week, this f'n knee will not straighten. Britknee toys with the therapists, looking straight-ish after it's been yanked repeatedly out of joint for an hour straight, but then immediately bends back at this weird and awkward angle as soon as I exit the Physio clinic. I've had second and third opinions. The physios are saying that we might just have to call this, as the scar tissue and joint stiffness just does not seem to be responding after 4 months and AGGRESSIVE therapy.  This could very well be a situation where I need to be anesthetized while each and every professional in the OR takes turns jumping on Britknee (this is how I picture a manipulation under anesthetic) Haha! (nervous laugh). My surgeon is on holidays, and I am not able to see him until the end of August. In the meantime, I'm to carry on, continuing to attempt extension and see if we can combat this without another surgery. At this point though, what's another f'n surgery? 

I've been back at work now for 2 weeks. It's been....rough. I do really enjoy waking up with a purpose, doing my hair, wearing something that does not contain lycra, catching up with my fabulous colleagues, and hanging out with the kiddos. That has been very good for my emotional and mental health. I feel like after 12 years of surgeries, I'm now a professional faker, and have the ability to plaster is big smile on my face, joke my way through pain, and generally look like I'm fine. And sometimes faking it can genuinely make you feel better! However, the truth is that I'm wandering around in this bizarre fog. I'm struggling to problem solve. When something goes awry (which is a very common occurrence in our workplace), I just don't know what to do, nor do I really care. I could sit for hours with a blank stare, not a thought circulating through my brain. That sucks! I blame the medication - Gabapentin is known for putting people in alternate universes. I blame the pain - it's really difficult to sustain 8/10 pain for an hour in physio and then limp back to the office. I also found out this week that I'm severely anemic, so I'm sure that hasn't been helping. Apparently iron is important.  Do you remember the video games where your character starts blinking repeatedly when it's down to its last life force? That's me. I'm on my last life force. Thankfully we have a 3-day weekend ahead (God save the King!), so I can retrieve a few more lives with some BBQ'd red meat (GOOOO IRON!) on the beach. 

Britknee watching the physios try to straighten her

Look at me! Dressed and vertical! 

So...although I'm excited to go home and see my Canadian peeps, I'm heading back in a much different position (literally) than I had expected. I'm still on ALL the pain meds. My gait is atrocious and causing my muscles to shorten, resulting in overall pain. Britknee is nowhere near where Courtknee was at this time, and frankly, I want a refund. This knee is stupid. I hate it. I had visions of golfing, wakesurfing, and just plain old WALKING (is this too much to ask?). I also was really looking forward to getting drunk. Really stupidly drunk. Unfortunately, after 2 drinks, I feel like crap and the thought of adding headache and dry mouth to my long list of symptoms does not appeal to me. I'm pissed off. I'm so tired of hearing about the billions of successful knee replacements that typically occur on people over 60, when Britknee is far from a success story at this point, despite the fact that I'm young -ish, fit-ish, and have been so committed to my therapy. Why can't I catch a damn break?!

OK. RANT OVER. 

Thanks for feeling sorry for me. 

Now here's the fun update...

You all know that we adopted Dilbert from the Humane Society (AKA "Dilly," "Dill Pickle," "Dilly Bar"). Although Dilly's history wasn't clear, he was found abandoned, wandering the streets of West Bay in rough shape, and it's quite obvious by his submissiveness and fear of feet that he was kicked or abused in some way. Dilbert was heart worm positive and had to endure 2 months of treatments, which requires the dog to remain very calm and inactive. Thankfully, we've passed the 2 month mark, and Dilbert is ready to learn how to be an active and happy dog. 

Dilbert is now attending school on Tuesdays and Thursdays! His little school bus comes and picks him up at 8:30 AM, he typically pukes and/or poops on the way to school, and then he learns commands, socializing with other dogs and people, and generally just gains confidence. 

He's doing really well! It's so cool to see this passive, scared little animal become so full of life and joy. 

So proud!

Blind Cats hare NOT allowed at doggie school :(

Dilbert's a little clingy with his new emotional support dog 

Every morning Dilbert positions himself near the bed and patiently waits for me to wake up. As soon as my eyes open, he lets out this joyous "howl!!!" and that's the kind of enthusiasm and energy that I need right now! How can you wake up grumpy to that? He gets me out of bed in the morning, and instead of dreading the day ahead, I spend my mornings laughing as I watch Dilbert and Stevie awkwardly play together. Dilbert also has developed a keen interest in my bras. He waits until we're sleeping and then steals them out of laundry baskets and drawers and does zoomies around the house, euphorically flinging the bra around in the air. I swear he's a reincarnated teenage boy (or maybe a creepy old guy?) haha (nervous laugh). 

I think it's incredible how these two animals came into my life at such an opportune time. This has been one of the hardest years for me in terms of pain and rehab, yet I've experienced so much joy and happiness with these little furry friends. I'm so thankful for them. I didn't think that I'd be able to love an animal as much as I loved Biloxi and Dundee, and although Dilbert and Stevie have completely different personalities, they make my heart happy. This sounds cheezy, and a bit dramatic - but these little furballs are keeping me going right now. Animals are amazing. 

Well...that's all for now. Just imagine Evan on July 1 explaining to the customs agent, "Hi. This is my blind cat, emotionally traumatized dog, and disabled wife. Please let us in to Canada." (oh dear...)

Wish us luck!

Terrible things I have said and done to my physio

Hi Friends,

Last we spoke, Britknee wasn't into being straight. Unfortunately, despite being straightened into submission by my PhysioTerrorist three times a week and performing prone "torture hangs" from my bed while my dog licks my heels, my fricken knee is happily stuck around the 5-7 degree mark. Ideally, you want the knee to extend to zero - straight. Five to seven degrees might not sound like much, but having the knee stuck in this awkward bendy position is painful, affects my ability to sleep, and causes me to walk like I'm dragging a drunk and disorderly Britknee behind me. 

I briefly saw my surgeon for the first time since my surgery. He looked me up and down, declared me a success and instructed me to push harder for extension. He explained that there is likely scar tissue impeding my knee from straightening all the way, and encouraged me to "break down the scar tissue," until my knee let up and straightened. 

Easy peasy. Break through scar tissue. I mean, how hard can that be? 

The last time I had scar tissue that needed to broken through, I had a quick surgery where they cut the tissue and released the knee. I was under anesthetic. It was fine. Apparently we just need to do the same thing, but you know...without the anesthetic. 

Cue my physio, the superhero who is tasked with breaking down said scar tissue.

I've known my physio friend now for over a year. I would say that we have a solid relationship. We have good-natured banter. I think that we appreciate each other's sense of humor - although when he requested a reminder to bring ice to our sessions and I messaged, "If there was a problem yo I'll solve it, check out the hook while my DJ revolves it..." he responded, "Huh? You have a DJ?" (That was the day I fully realized our age gap - Hello? Vanilla ICE).  Yes, he hurts me, but it's with a purpose, he apologizes, and we carry on. I'm convinced that he's good at his job. He doesn't coddle me. He pushes me, and that's exactly what I need and want right now. You know why? Because I need to break this f'n scar tissue and get discharged from my 12 year relationship with physiotherapy! Anyone ever been a 12-year relationship that you desperately need to break out of? At this point I can genuinely say, "It's not you, it's me."

Once the surgeon gave the go-ahead, physio started a new therapy called "joint mobilization." I'm not sure exactly how to describe it, other than to say that he grips my knee/leg in different positions, forcefully pushing and pulling it, then repeats those motions over the course of the one hour session. Now...one of my pet peeves is an over-exaggeration of the pain rating scale. Nothing annoys me more than when a patient walks in with a coffee and exclaims, "It's a 10/10 pain today- or even worse...It's a 12." That drives me nuts because we need to respect the rating scale and the people who literally are experiencing 10/10 pain. If you stopped for a coffee and drove yourself here, you are NOT experiencing 10/10 pain. Sit your ass down, take a sip of your coffee and maybe consider a 5. 

I digress. This "mobilization" therapy is a legit 8-9 out of 10...temporary pain. I sweat profusely. I grind my teeth. I scrunch up my face so hard that any botox I've ever received is slowly released out of my pores. It takes my breath away. I also laugh-cry - like a laugh that unexpectedly turns into a cry. It's like my brain can't process what is happening and is unable to control my emotions. 

But worst of all, once the he releases the position, I take a breath, and then I utter terrible things to my physiotherapist.  It's brutal. The therapy is brutal and the things that I say to my very nice physio friend are brutal. 

I've comprised a short list:

"I hate your face"

"You're ruining my life."

"I hate your stupid accent." (He's British, and there's nothing I hate more right now than hearing that British accent count down: "3-2-1")

"You Motherf-er"

"You're such an asshole"'

"You are the worst."

"You psychopath!"

There's more, but you get the gist. 

It's awful, I feel awful, and no human should be exposed to such a toxic work environment. I've apologized. I've brought cookies. It doesn't seem to hurt his feelings. But this is where we are right now. I can see that this is also frustrating for him. He visibly winces when I sit down with my legs out in front of me and Britknee outright refuses to touch the physio bed, "Hello! I'm up here!"

To add to this mess, I'm begun experiencing what I can only deduce to be a vasovagal syncope. A vasovagal syncope occurs when your nervous system freaks out in response to a trigger. It's like a flight or fight response. Your body thinks that you're in terrible danger and slows everything down, including your blood pressure, causing you to pass out, or experience the symptoms one faces just before fainting.  This has happened to me in the past when I've received cortisone injections. I'm not afraid of needles, or see it as a threat in any way, but I think my body experiences the pain of the injection, and just freaks the hell out for no great reason at all. It's not really dangerous (unless you hurt yourself passing out),  but it's embarrassing, and I've found myself suddenly on a few cold doctor office floors, apologizing for my melodramatic body. Falling dramatically to the ground should be reserved for legit emergencies like heart attacks. Like, c'mon, nervous system - be better.

During Friday's physiotherapy session, I had what only can be described as a dramatically tragic vasovagal syncope - like a terrible scene out of middle school play. I was sitting on the edge of the bed getting ready to leave and did not feel "right." When I went to sit up, I fell over forwards, blacking out for a few seconds and hitting the floor. My physio bud was at the computer and I heard him run over and say, "Shit, I should have caught her." (funny in retrospect). He quickly elevated my legs and I laid on the floor, shaking uncontrollably for a solid 25-minutes. I was shaking so hard that my teeth chatter was preventing me from talking. We both knew it was my vagus nerve and I continuously reminded myself that I was fine, but as I convulsed frantically on the floor, "fine" was a tough case to make to my body.

There were only two of us in the office and I could hear my poor physio pal talk through the situation, "I should get you food. Safety first. I can't leave you alone." Ugh. This poor guy. He quickly brought me a juice box, stuck the straw in, and spilled it all over my hair. I lay shaking, drowning in Jessica Alba's Honest Organic Fruit Punch. I could see the humor in this, and kinda laughed, but my fricken body would just not stop acting as if I had been shot...the performance of a lifetime.

In the end, another physio arrived, and we all assisted in moving my body out of the way, behind the curtain, as to not upset the new patient coming in (How's that for terrible advertising!) Eventually everything settled down, my superstar bud, Anna, came and got me (and also assisted me to the bathroom - good friends help you pee!) I went home and slept for 6 hours. What a fricken DAY. 

Anyway, now I shall focus on controlling my breathing and convincing my nervous system that this 8/10 pain is temporary and I'm not going to die. I'm also avoiding driving for at least 15-minutes after my sessions. So, you know, at least have a responsible vasovagal syncope. 

So that's the update. I do this three times a week. My poor physio gets to do this with me three times a week. I am so over this shit. It feels like it's never going to end. Go hug a physiotherapist. They deserve more love. 

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

 Hey Friends!

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

I have a few updates since my last blog. 

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

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

physio with the fam!

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

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

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

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

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

fu#$ing straighten up Brit-Brit!

On to happier things...

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

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

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

Cheers!

New additions to the family

Hey friends,

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

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

Come and see how awesome I am!!!

Wanna see a squat? Maybe a bunny hop?

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

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

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

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

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

"torture hang" (I named it)

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

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

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

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

Sweet little Stevie - a rare moment of cuddles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then something magical happened. Dilbert and I became buds. 

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

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

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

Paw Patrol to the rescue!

Dilly with his favorite toy, "Sharky"

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

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

Happy Easter!

Goodbyes

 

Hi Friends,

As most of you now know, we lost our dear Baba a few weeks ago. It was a bit of a shock to our family - I know that many of you are questioning, "How could the death of a 95-year old woman be a shock?" But Baba was doing really quite well just days before she passed. In fact, her family Doctor contacted our family when she died, saying that he really couldn't believe it. He had just seen her, and overall, she was doing quite well. Her Doctor explained that they had a conversation about death and Baba told him, "Mike (my Gido) is pulling me up, but my family is pulling me down." He told us that he'd rarely worked with someone of that age who had the ability to so eloquently communicate her thoughts and feelings. Baba had just turned 95 and my hope is that she could still smell the beautiful birthday bouquets in her room when she was reunited with my Gido. I will miss my Baba very much. I always felt like we had a special relationship - although perhaps everyone felt like they had a special relationship with Baba? I loved her candid, humorous advice. She was direct, but always kind. There have been many instances in which I say something short and blunt, and Evan replies, "Ok, Baba." I laugh, but I feel proud because I should be so lucky to be likened to such an incredible woman. Over the past 10 years I've felt like giving up...well more than a few times. Sometimes the pain or the obstacles just seem to be too much - but I always remember that I possess Baba's DNA. It's the good stuff! That DNA is packed full of resilience, commitment, and strength. And so I keep going. Baba will always be a part of who I am. 

My family asked me to write the obituary, which I really enjoyed doing. Part of the process is collecting memories and stories from aunts, uncles, and cousins. Although I didn't make the trip home for the funeral, I felt like I was able to reminisce with family as I put our memories into words. Writing has always been cathartic for me, and it made me feel closer to Baba - my way of saying goodbye. The day after I completed the obituary, I had a very vivid dream. Baba walked past me nonchalantly. She was wearing an outfit that was familiar to me - it seemed very real. She shuffled by with her walker, then suddenly tossed her walker to the side, gave me a little smile, and carried on. I choose to believe that she paid me a visit that night. I woke up feeling so happy! It felt like a proper goodbye. 

During my break, I tagged along with Evan on a business trip to California. Cayman Airways is now offering a direct flight from Cayman to LA, which is super convenient. In 5.5 hours and 2 complementary rum punches later, you arrive at LAX, where us islanders are immediately overstimulated by traffic, people, and noise! We quickly exited LA, I removed my N95 (I'm very paranoid at the moment),  and we settled in a small community called Oceanside, about halfway between LA and San Diego. As Ev ran an event for his west coast gyms, I rented a bike and cruised the beach, watching surfers do their thing. I indulged in a spa day and took myself for oceanfront lunch. It was nice! We had a beautiful spot on the beach, where I would join Ev's crew by the fire every evening for a cocktail. Once Ev's event was over, we took a quick trip to the Temecula wine valley, where we participated in a wine tour. We visited 4 wineries, where each provided about 5 tastings. You do the math! By the end, I had no idea what I was even drinking anymore, but we had a great time and my body was feeling very warm and fuzzy...which was vital, given the fact that it was snowing in southern California. Yes...snowing. Now you may recall that Ev and I had the great fortune of experiencing the coldest Christmas in Florida in 15 years, just a mere few months ago. Obviously we promote unprecedented weather. So...let us know - is your area expecting record lows? We'll do our best to hop and flight and experience that with you! haha. By the end of the trip I was desperately layering each and every piece of clothing in my suitcase over my hypothermic body. Although I enjoyed a change of scenery, I was pretty pumped to step out of the plane and immediately be hit with that humid Caribbean air. 

It looks like my 3-month Covid sentence is almost up! As you may recall, my Nov 29 surgery was cancelled suddenly when my pre-op Covid PCR came back positive. As long as I'm Covid negative on Monday (please please please please), I should be receiving my new right knee on Tuesday! And let me tell you, I am so ready.

Courtknee turned a corner at the 4-month mark. She is strong, stable, and mostly pain-free. I've never experienced this with my knees over the past 12 years. Physiotherapy is no longer this tortuous event that causes me to swear profusely. I am so proud of the progress that I've made! When I go to the gym I feel like a regular person again.  I lift weights, I squat, I stair climb - I feel strong. In addition, the activities I was told would be painful like kneeling and some yoga poses aren't painful at all. Courtknee has been willing to try new things, and doesn't seem to be limited by the hardware. This is awesome! The right knee, on the other hand,  is seriously cramping my style, locking up regularly and causing embarrassing falls. The falls have resulted in a  smashed cell phone screen and a cracked Fitbit! It's starting to get expensive. I'm over it. I can't wait to replace it with metal and move on. 

Mom is scheduled to arrive Sunday - although this massive Toronto snowstorm is keeping us on our toes (please don't cancel the flight, please don't cancel the flight). I'm totally ready to move through the post-op shitty- ness as quickly and as gracefully as possible (please don't pee the bed, please don't pee the bed), and begin introducing this knee to my body. I feel so hopeful. I haven't felt hope in a very long time. I am still nervous that something will derail this surgery on Tuesday (please don't test positive, please don't test positive),  so I don't think that I will take a breath until I've been awakened from my anesthetic and see the Frankenstein scar on the my right knee. Aside: Do I gently ask the surgeon to try a little harder to make a straighter cut...or will this seriously piss him off? (please don't screw up my surgery, please don't screw up my surgery). Haha!

Thanks for the all the messages of support. I really appreciate them!