It's time to go back to Canada: 5 pieces of evidence

There are only 3 sleeps left to go until Ev and I (along with an angry orange cat and terrified white dog) make the long trek back to Saskatchewan. I still love living on the island, and will be happy to return at the end of August, but at this point, on July 6,  I absolutely feel the NEED to get back NOW. It is time. I've spent hours daydreaming about our place at Candle Lake and all the friends and family we will re-connect with (most of whom I haven't seen in a year!) With the chaos of continuing to work full days whilst arranging the pets travel documentation, securing the condo over the summer, and packing, I feel like I'm presently dangling in limbo. I'm stuck between two worlds - my body is in Cayman, trying to continue with the routine; yet my mind is back in Canada.

Here are the top 5 reasons that I KNOW it is time to head back to Canada:

1) I'm almost out of Tim Horton's
Every single day, for the past 10 years or so, I have kick-started my morning with a cup of Tim Horton's steeped tea. It has become a morning necessity. With the nearest Tim Horton's located about 1700 miles away, I panicked (just a little) when I pondered how I would continue my morning routine on this island. Behold: the Timmy's Keuring Cups! Genius. One condition that I have implemented for visitors is that one cannot clear Cayman customs without importing at least 3 boxes of Timmy's Keurig Cups for Kirsten Lindsay (that's my official passport Cayman name). These precious cups can only be found in Canada. This system has been effective for 2 years now - not a single day minus my cherished  tea. The stash; however, is low. Dangerously low. For the past week, I've been latching onto my beloved tea, cross checking the cups with the number of days left on this island. As long as our flight departs as scheduled, all will be OK. If not, I have no idea what to expect of my body if it is deprived of my morning tea. I'm predicting that the ramifications will be bad. Bad bad.

This box looks empty. I can feel the withdrawal shakes beginning. 

2) It's too fricken hot
I really hate to bitch about heat. I bitched about cold for 35 years, so I really have no right to bitch about heat. But it's really fricken hot here right now! It's 100 degrees with 80% humidity - that feels like 40+ degrees Celsius to all my Canadian friends. But it's a different kind of heat - one that I have never experienced. The air is dense. It's difficult to breathe. The sun seems to burn your skin on impact. Even our little white dog, Dundee, "softened" by the tropical climate, struggles on his daily walks, sensitively  lifting his paws on the hot concrete. It feels like you can never quite cool down. The pool is 90 degrees (like taking a bath with all your neighbours), and the air conditioning feels extra chilly, causing an uncomfortable cold sweat to drip down your body as soon as you return inside from the heat. In addition, the heat is wreaking havoc on my appearance. The combination of makeup dripping down my face and my white girl Canadian hair, frizzy from humidity, is terrifying . I give up on even attempting to look attractive anymore. Ok. I am done bitching. Wanna smack me in the face? Throw me back in a Saskatchewan winter and see how I well I function! haha.

White girl hair in a Caribbean summer. Bad combo. 

3) School is out
Working as a Speech-Language Pathologist, I have had the opportunity to work in both hospital and school settings. The interesting thing about working in the schools is the nice and neat linear schedule - there is a beginning, a middle, and an end. It builds a great sense of camaraderie amongst co-workers. We are all experiencing the same pressures at the same times during the school year. In addition, we all celebrate our successes at the same deadlines….including a well-deserved summer holiday (Hallelujah!) The end, my friends, is total chaos. The last month of the school year is total madness with teachers trying to administer tests, wrangle students on school trips, and write report cards. The Speech Therapists are desperately trying to complete and deliver reports to each of their schools. It's just a crazy time. It's exhausting. For some reason, this year, we are all required to work an extra few days following the end of the school year. The reports are done. The kiddos are on holidays. There are no more children to treat. So let's just call these days, "paperwork days." Ironically, our office just ran out of paper and we're singing the Karaoke version of "Sweet Caroline." It's time, people, it's time.

Spreading joy at my office

I love working with these guys!

4) I'm driving on the wrong side of the road!
Oops! As I drove down Seven Mile, my mind was elsewhere. Pondering whether or not our internet was still connected and operating in Canada, I mistakenly turned left into the right lane. That's the wrong lane, by the way. For 2 years, I have been perfectly capable of abiding by the rules of driving on the left side of the road; yet, suddenly, here I was, driving like a tourist into oncoming traffic. EEKS! My mind is not here anymore. I am officially a danger to the roads of Cayman!

5) I'm homesick.
Oh I've had bouts of homesickness during our 2 years on island, but this homesickness is something else. I ache to be at Candle Lake. I constantly daydream about boating with my girls, watching reality TV with my sis, laughing at  Derrek vacation aggressively, enjoying a campfire with my dad, sipping tea with my grandma, visiting my Baba and Gido on the farm, camping with Evan's family...and most of all...hugging my mom. With all my recent medical appointments, the heartbreak of digesting my last diagnosis, and the overwhelming plans for more surgeries, I just desperately need a mom hug. A big Lynne MacDonald Mom hug. Sigh. Can't wait. It's time, people, it's time!

I miss my Mommy!

Cheers! Our crew arrives midnight on Saturday! I apologize in advance if you happen to be on our flights. Things could get hairy. Literally.

Looks like I'm in a bit of a pickle

As sweat dripped down the back of my kneecap, I readjusted my gray pencil skirt, sat up straight in my chair, and listened nervously to the Orthopedic surgeon's spiel. Her dark brown eyes were kind, yet her tone of voice was stern. She spoke softly and directly. I watched her lips move and processed phrases like, "your knees are at the end of the road," "irreparable severe grade 3-4 damage," "managing your pain so that you have some quality of life," and the one that perplexed me, "it's time for a reality check." As this woman, an Orthopedic surgeon who I had never met before, reviewed the MRI for both of my knees and delivered a grim prognosis, I began to cry. Dammit. I've been through this countless times before. I practiced this. I spent a week rehearsing my pitch - my plan was always to accept the diagnosis and prognosis with grace and immediately plead my case for a referral to a specialist overseas. Confident and assured, I would convince this surgeon to refer me to the Cartilage Repair Center in Pennsylvania for one last expert opinion. This was my plan. Instead, here I was, reduced to tears, sobbing into my bead necklace that rattled noisily as I shook with tears. I felt defeated. I felt powerless. I felt incredibly hopeless. As she waited quietly for my response, I lifted my head, looked the Orthopedic surgeon in the eyes and responded, "Well, it sounds like I'm in a bit of a pickle."

A bit of a pickle? Are you kidding me? Why those specific words came out of my mouth are beyond me! I'm in a bit of pickle all right!

I'm not sure why the Ortho suggested that I need a "reality check." I am fully aware of my reality. The condition, the disease called Osteochondritis Dissecans has progressed rapidly and it appears as though most of the cartilage in my left knee is diseased. Although the cartilage transplants that I received appear intact, all 3 compartments of the knee are now affected. The right knee is slightly better off with only 2 out of 3 compartments being affected. The hope was to contain the disease to one area, but my cartilage had other plans. Bummer. (Bummer? I did it again. What I mean is F$%&!) In addition, my elbow appears to be showing signs of the disease. I honestly wouldn't care what the MRI showed if I wasn't experiencing so much pain. But I am. Pain is a constant companion - a reminder that my joints are far from normal. Over the past 4 years, 6 knee surgeries and plenty of "in a pickle" tears, I have had brief reprieve from pain. These were awesome days, and even months, where I walked on the beach, swam in the ocean, or even surfed without pain. I never once, during those 4 years, took those moments for granted. I bottled them up and cherished them because deep down I suspected that the pain was likely to return. I sent texts to my mom, "Mom, I feel good today!" Proof that these pain free moments truly existed. And here I am. I now have a "pain crease" - an ugly wrinkle that has developed between my eyes. Evan says that I make a particular face when I'm experiencing pain, and I can see that it's resulting in a permanent mark on my face. Now that I'm aware, I try to smile more frequently to erase that nasty reminder. It saddens me to think that smiling, something that used to be so automatic to me, is now an act that requires conscience effort. I am too young to feel this old (aren't those lyrics from a country song?)

So your'e saying that my Joint Juice isn't gonna fix this?

Now for the positive news. I am so impressed with the health care and insurance coverage that I am receiving in Cayman. Never underestimate the value of an excellent Doctor! I've been lucky enough to receive care from the best of the best since I was diagnosed 4 years ago.  I did some research (AKA: asking around) and found a phenomenal family doctor here on the island. He listens, he asks questions, he's knowledgeable, and most importantly, he "knows" people. Within 2 days of seeing him, I had my MRI. During my MRI, a Radiologist in Europe analyzed my scan in real time. I exited my MRI with my very dismal reports in hand (and high on Ativan. I suffer from MRI anxiety, so sue me). A week later I was crying in the Orthopedic Surgeon's office, pleading my case to be referred to one of the top cartilage specialists in North America. Four days later I received a phone call from my insurance company stating that I would be seeing the Cartilage Specialist in Philadelphia in 2 weeks. Amazing! I am incredibly grateful. Digesting "bad" news is one thing, but sitting on it for months, or even years, with no simple solution in sight is torture. Just to provide you with a comparison, the wait time for a  semi-urgent MRI in Saskatchewan is 4-6 months. Just for the MRI! Never mind the appointment with the Specialist Orthopedic Surgeon, which can take another 3-6 months.  I just think that it is unacceptable and inhumane to make a person in pain wait that long for answers.

So although I am more than a little discouraged (OK. I am PISSED OFF!) and wish that I could return parts of this body for a full refund ($100 for both knees! Anyone? Anyone?), I am grateful that I have a consultation with a professional who researches my rare condition for a living. In the meantime, walking is hard, especially with my hot, clunky knee braces (can you say "heat rash" in tropical summer humidity?), and am encouraged to use the water as my gym to maintain muscle mass. Thankfully I'm surrounded by the Caribbean Sea so that shouldn't be a problem.

Hanging with my fur buddies helps 

Drinking Prosecco in my pool really helps.

I always debate sharing serious and personal peeks into my life like this one. I know that people read my blog for a laugh, and I realize that today's post isn't much of a feel-gooder. It's so much easier to hide behind Facebook photos of sunsets and Disney trips (uh, newsflash Kirstie: FB isn't "cool"anymore? Say Wha?!) We're all the same though, aren't we? Each of us is fighting our own battles. We're all just trying to do the best we can. Although we might perceive someone as doing "better" than us, that social media smile might mask a health crisis, a loss, a relationship problem, or financial woes. I've learned that being vulnerable and honest strengthens and improves my connections with others. It's those personal connections that make me a happier person - a person who is better equipped to deal with these challenges. This is me - and the sun can't shine everyday in paradise (again with the song lyrics!) Evan hooked me up with a Ted Talk by a woman named Brene Brown. I highly recommend a listen. She explains vulnerability from a research-based perspective. I think she is great. It's changed the way I think. Check it out.

https://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability?language=en

Cheers Friends!

Women Who Live On Rocks

Hey everyone,

I'm super excited because one of my favourite blogs, Women Who Live On Rocks," is featuring one of my stories today. Women Who Live On Rocks is a compilation of stories written by women who live on islands all over the world. I've always found the stories to be witty, smart, and definitely relatable as an island girl! I'm honoured to be featured amongst this group of women writers.

My post was featured on June 6 and is called, "7 Things No One Tells You About Moving To A Rock." check it out:


http://womenwholiveonrocks.com/7-things-no-one-tells-you-about-moving-to-a-rock/

'Cause Every Little Thing Gonna Be All Right

I've always been an anxious person - even when I was a kid. As a farmer's daughter, I worried about the weather. I obsessively checked the weather channel to determine if there was too much rain, not enough rain, or heaven forbid…hail in the forecast that would decimate my father's crops. In high school, I substituted my water bottle with Mylanta to drink during time outs to settle myself through tense volleyball matches.  I spent 7 years "watching" Ev's hockey games from the bathroom stall because my ulcer grew and my heart broke just a little with every goal he let slip by.  I've tried various methods to decrease my anxiety: meds, a "worry box" (write down your worries and put them away!), meditation, and yoga, but as I hold my downward facing dog and count to 10, high on Ativan, I worry that I don't have a pen and paper handy to submit my worry in my "worry box." It's complicated.

When making the decision to sell it all and move to Cayman, sight unseen, I was full of worry; however, I really hoped that I would settle into this relaxed, calm island life that's depicted in movies and books…you know, like, "Eat, Pray, Love." Perhaps my heart rate and blood pressure would decrease, my watch would adjust to island time, and Bob Marley would convince my worried little brain that, "Every little thing gonna be all right."

It worked. Well, sorta. There are definitely some things that I no longer worry about. I don't worry about being on time anymore. When something is scheduled for a specific time, It's now apparent to me that the time is more of a guideline than a rule. You know, like "be there for 9…ISH." Got it. I don't worry about dressing appropriately for events anymore or being judged for the way I look because it's completely acceptable to walk my dog in my slippers and show up to a party in a bikini, flip flops, and wet hair. I also don't worry about my face freezing and falling off when I run to my ice box car in the January - Saskatchewan winters are brutal people! So, yes, some of my worries have floated out to sea. Unfortunately, however, I have developed some novel worries  that can only manifest from living in this specific environment.

Behold: Top 5 fears of living on an island:

1. Fear of Chicken Surprise: Most of the schools on the island are "outdoor" schools, in that you access each classroom from the outside. Each group of 4 classrooms share an outdoor garbage bin. The sight of these garbage bin fills me with anxiety, as the chickens regularly hop in to the bins and chow down on leftover cafeteria food. Nothing is more terrifying than the feathery feeling of chicken wings flapping in your face, as it clucks angrily, escaping the bin with oxtail in it's mouth. One day, I was actually beckoned to chase a chicken out of a urinal in the boys' washroom. At a loss, I threw a pen in the chicken's general direction and yelled, "Go! Go!" (brilliant). As all the children cheered (except for the unfortunate child who peed his pants waiting of the urinal), I knew I that I had reached the pinnacle of my career.

The chickens look innocent but they're actually tormenting me

1. FOMOOS: That's a fear of missing out on sunsets, by the way. I've always loved sunsets - the sunsets over the ocean as summer approaches are especially breathtaking. I have over 300 shots of the sunset from my patio (who wants to come see my slideshow? Anyone? Anyone?) Nothing produces more anxiety than when I'm trapped indoors during sunset time. What if today's sunset is especially amazing? What if everyone sees the green flash tonight? The anxiety is only heightened when, one hour later, I see multiple Facebook posts commenting on today's fabulous sunset. AAAGGGHHHH!!!!

Is this the ultimate sunset? What if tomorrow's will be better?

1. Fear of being in a meeting where someone is TMI'ing to the max: I'm not sure if it's a Caribbean thing, if it's the "everyone knows everyone and everything" mentality of the island, or it's simply because I have such a trustworthy face (haha!), but I have been in numerous meetings where people have strayed of topic and revealed waaaay toooo much information. As a Speech Therapist, I do not need to know the size of the placenta or the rate at which you dilated during labor. Keep that sacred info to yourself. Although mildly interesting, It's not important for me to know that you have a side job smuggling soldier crabs in your pants from the sister islands ("They were duct taped to my legs! Now that was a long flight!") It's also not vital that you tell me about the goat's head that you travel with for good luck. Interesting... yes! Vital…no.
2. Fear of losing something: Nothing lasts too long on this island. Bananas go brown within a day, internet connections come and go, visitors are packing up to depart when it feels like they just arrived, and new friends leave island  as contracts expire and new adventures begin. I found myself saying, "Never get too attached." But you know what? That's BS. Screw it - get attached. Put that Mr. Yoshida's sauce on your beef, chicken and ice-cream before it's discontinued. Use that internet as hard as you can before your connection is lost. And when you find those people with whom you share a connection with, confide in them, show them your true self and express to them how much they mean to you. Don't hold back. It's those special connections that you make along the way that comprise your journey.

If I hold my laptop at a height of 6 feet 7 inches and tilt it at a 28 degree angle, I can occasionally access the internet from work

1. Fear of being the only worrier on the island:  Am I the only one on this island who worries? When my passport went MIA at the airport because the staff accidentally returned my passport to the wrong passenger, to my surprise, no one appeared worried. Even as they announced overhead, "Does anyone in the airport have Kirsten LIndsay's passport?" no one appeared particularly worried. No worries. When only one person showed up to work at a blood lab to register 30 fasting (read: cranky) patients at 7:30am, no one worried. In fact, the one employee, completely nonplussed by the situation, stopped mid-service to occasionally check the diamond appliqués on her new nails. No worries. When a school of 600 students ran out of paper on a Monday morning and I resorted to writing notes home to parents on paper towels, no one worried. No worries. See what I mean? Now I'm worried because I seem to the only one who is worried! Please worry with me! AGGGHHHH. 

In other news, Ev and I spent his birthday weekend in Florida! We had a really great weekend together. We rented a vehicle in Miami and drove to Orlando. I miss a good road trip that lasts longer than 45 minutes. Back in our heyday (haha), Ev and I used to drive all over North America for hockey. We're  pretty good at road tripping. We decided to spend Ev's birthday at Epcot, which was the perfect choice! I've done Epcot as a kid, so I knew Ev would appreciate the World Showcase, which allows you to wander through different "countries," sampling worldly food and drink. Given the fact that walking is mucho challenging for me at the moment (Never take for granted the ability to walk without pain, friends), we could only walk a short distance before I required a little sit down. This worked out because we were able to stop at every country, down a wobbly pop, and move on. Beer in Germany! Margaritas in Mexico! Prosecco in Italy! What a cultural experience! (haha). Needless to say, by the time we reached the last stop, ironically Canada, we were feeling just FINE. The highlight of the day, I must say, was Ev's "Happy Birthday Evan" pin. Those Disney employees must get special points for every birthday wish they holler because everyone, from the maintenance man to Alice in Wonderland, was shouting across the street, "Happy Birthday Evan!" Initially, introverted Ev was a little taken aback, but I could see as the day went on that he was beginning to enjoy this special attention. At one point, a waiter in "Italy" brought us our wine and as he left Ev commented, "What the hell? He forgot to wish me a happy birthday!" Haha. What a guy! He makes me laugh.  

Wine goggles - not to be confused with "beer goggles"

Welcome to Italy!

Welcome to Morocco! (we have a drink, it just didn't make the photo)

This Canada Sign his actually holding me up

Fireworks!

Epcot selfie

That's right: He's wearing a shirt that says, "I'll be your Mickey" and he's sporting a birthday button!

Panama!

When we first moved to the island I was convinced that we'd no longer require vacations. We frequent the beach a few times a week, we lay by the pool every Sunday, and we watch the sunset every Friday during Happy Hour. Why would we need a vacation? The reality is: while I'm laying by the pool, I'm running back in to fold the laundry, our beach departures vary on the time at which Evan has completed a call with a client, and happy hour, although very satisfying, is often spent lamenting about this one time when a kiddo pooped his pants in speech therapy. So, even when you live in a vacation destination, one still needs to leave the island and vacation somewhere different. Vacations are all about seeing something new and leaving the "real world" behind. We're just incredibly fortunate that our "real world" is such a vacationy place. To get to my point: We needed a vacation. And we got one - a super fun, chill, and exciting vacation. Added bonus: We got to vacation with some of our favourite people in the whole wide world - the Hunters.

Darren and Allicia Hunter and Evan and I became instant friends about 6 years ago. Darren was a nurse on level 5, where I worked as a Speech-Language Pathologist. Darren was this outgoing guy with an intriguing "shark fin" hair style, who administered medication with his little boom box blaring from his med cart. Everyone loved Darren and I thought he seemed like a good dude. At that time, wakesurfing was a relatively new and unheard sport and Evan and I had just purchased a boat to learn how to master the sport. I underestimated and questioned Darren's knowledge of wake surfing boats, but when he showed me a video of him and his wife ripping it up behind their super cool surf boat (way better than ours!), my grade 9 self took over and I longed to be friends with these cool kids. It didn't hurt that after our first "couple's date," it was evident we had tons in common. Evan and Allicia love to analyze numbers and determine new and interesting ways to make money - Darren and I spend hours planning how we will spend the money. A perfect match!

Since we've moved to the island, I've really missed hanging out with Darren and Allicia. They are the kind of friends with whom you can surprise for a random Wednesday after work visit and laugh about the events of the week. Easy friends. We've also taken epic vacations together over the years: Cozumel, Honduras, and Bali. There was also that Little Cayman trip in the Fall, but you know, if you read my blog, you'll see that Derrek* had a little issue that resulted in an early departure. No biggie.

This year we decided to meet in Panama. Panama City was nothing like I expected it to be. On one hand, you have the "Manhattan-esque" skyline - huge skyscrapers, including Trump Towers, malls, and intense traffic (just keep beeping your horn, that will definitely move traffic along faster) -Yet on the other side of Panama City, you experience the old quarter, with the Spanish colonial buildings and quaint shops and boutiques. And it's all surrounded by tropical jungles. We spend a few days exploring the city, including a trip to the Panama Canal, which was actually super interesting (Allicia kept reminding us it was the 8th wonder of the world). We also found some amazing rooftop bars overlooking the massive city (one rooftop bar even had a prostitute! Hours of viewing pleasure for the boys!) I also did some shopping, which was challenging due to the fact that no one spoke English. Typical polite Canadian that I am, I profusely apologized to every saleslady, "No Espanol! Sorry!" haha. After a few days in the city, we hopped on a Panama Air flight and headed to a group of tiny islands called Bocas Del Toro. Bocas are a group of islands (or archipelago if you're into fancy words) in the Caribbean ocean, just off the northwest coast of Panama. I've never seen a place quite like Bocas before! Bocas is unique and has it's own cool surfer/hippie vibe.

The Panama Canal!

rooftop bar in "old" Panama City

Group shot in Panama City

Tourists!

The Hilton knew we were coming and prepared the Barbie Room for us

Vacation Barbie and Unimpressed Ken with a sore back

Air Panama Motto: "Despite what your itinerary says, our flights are never actually Direct"

Our deck for the week!

 We rented a house on the main island called "Colon." Our house was great. We had a huge deck, complete with hammock and our own pool to cool off in the hot afternoons.  We spent hours sipping coffee in the mornings, watching the sugar frenzied hummingbirds battle for our feeders. From there, we took water taxis to each of the other islands and explored beaches, jungles, islands inhabited by sloths and topless women (Evan and Darren never looked), bays teeming with wild dolphins, and cool little bars perched on stilts in the middle of ocean (Throw back a margarita, throw on a snorkel, and explore the marine life under the bar!). One day we rented a golf cart, loaded up the cooler with beer, turned on our cell phone stereo and traversed the Panama jungles to Justin Bieber. We had a blast! Honestly the best part of the vacay was just spending time together, laughing and enjoying each other's company again. Knowing and living Derrek's* history of aggressive vacationing, we contemplated wrapping him in bubble wrap; however, all went relatively smoothly with no hospital visits. Bonus! (plus we never saw any blowholes or dived deeper than 40 ft - no chance of decompression sickness!)

The most beautiful deserted white sand island (tops optional)

I'm not gonna lie, I was a little nervous about my joints prior to this trip. It looks like my elbow now has loose cartilage floating around in it (but elbows are stupid anyway) and my right knee (the first cartilage transplant 3 years ago) has been…well…inconsistent. Like sometimes it just doesn't work inconsistent. Ugh. Unfortunately I'm starting to feel like there's an expiration date on my transplanted cartilage, and worry that it could be fast approaching. I've come to the realization that I can't live my life waiting for my cartilage to disintegrate, I gotta live and do what I want to do, but I also have to treat my joints well and show them love (ice, elevation, inspirational music) on a daily basis. I know I'll never run or jump again - I've come to terms with that (by telling myself that running and jumping is stupid anyway). But, there are still some activities that I save up and challenge the knees with for special occasions. One of the things I've really missed since my knee surgeries is surfing. I'm still only a beginner, but I caught on quickly, have pretty stellar balance, and I just feel awesome when I'm doing it. I knew that I really wanted to try surfing again in Panama, but was really nervous that it would put my knee over the edge, and into the "no longer working" zone. So I practiced ways of standing up on my surfboard that didn't involve lunging or "popping up," as one is supposed to do, and found a method that seemed to work (in theory, on the floor at the gym).

The surf break in Bocas was interesting, in that it was out in the middle of the ocean - not off the beach like most. A little boat took us to the break and you simply paddle in and catch the waves. There's a channel that you exit into once you've caught the wave so that you can paddle back into the break without getting slammed by waves. On our past travels, we've rode waves in Costa Rica, Sayulita, and Bali that were about 3-5 feet high. Baby waves. I didn't realize until I was paddling into my first wave in Bocas that I was dealing with 8-10 foot waves. That's like North Shore pipeline in my Saskatchewan prairie mind! The first wave was an epic failure. All four of us got slammed. Hard. When I finally surfaced, my rash guard was around my ears, my bikini bottoms were hanging at my knees, and my hair was completely wrapped around my face. I swept my hair aside just in time to get slammed by another 8 foot wave..and then another…and then another. Good times.

The four of us met back at the boat, in an attempt to regroup. Darren was nauseous from vertigo, Allicia was ralphing off the side of the boat after being slammed in the head with her board, Ev's freckles had been redistributed to new places, and I was in shock after exposing my naked bottom to the Bocas' surf community. Isn't surfing fun? I decided to go back out and give it another shot. This time, I caught a wave and tested out my new adaptive "pop up" method. It worked! It was the most sloth-like, most geriatric form of surfing one could imagine. At one point I was actually doing a downward facing dog on my board (thank god my bikini bottoms were firmly in place!). Gingerly, I stood up in slow motion, my joints producing a loud, "CREAK!" as I straightened up on the board. It was ugly. It was no Kate Bosworth in "Blue Crush." But….I stood up and I surfed that wave. Four times! Boo ya! I forgot all about my joint issues and rode my 10 foot beginner foam surf board like a boss. A boss I tell you! Total awesomeness. I couldn't actually walk the next day, but, hey, you can't have it all.

Countdown to Summer!

Overall, the trip was a huge success. I miss my buddies so much and it was so hard to say goodbye in Panama City. We sacrificed a lot to move our life to Cayman. It was a good decision and I don't regret it. But, the biggest sacrifice by far as been living so far away from the people we love. Maintaining strong friendships in a long distance situation can be challenging. I'm so grateful that we were able to meet up with the Hunters and pick up right where we left off. Such good times. I'm looking forward to be reunited with all our Canadian friends a family - the countdown is on - summer starts in 82 days!

Kirstie and Allicia = recipe for FUN

Just chillin' in our hammocks

Bocas Hummingbirds: we watched these for hours from our deck!

Scuba Steve says, "don't pee in the ocean!"

Golf cart Justin Beiber Jungle Tour

Easy on the Eyes

Hey friends! It's been an action-packed month in the Cayman Islands.

Working with kids, or "kiddos," as I lovingly call them, is interesting.  There are definitely times that I mourn the loss of working with the adult population with whom I worked for about 7 years. For example, when I hear myself saying, "Fingers out of nose," "Hands out of pants!" "Get off the floor" "Don't put that in your mouth!" and my personal fav, which happened a few weeks ago, "You mean you can't wipe your own bum?" Oh dear. I'm not qualified to wipe little bums, that's for sure! On the other hand, the kiddos are pretty funny. I love how innocent and carefree they are. They're goofy and silly and not yet old enough to feel self conscious about it - which, in turn, makes me feel free to act goofy and silly. It feels good to rap fun songs, celebrate a successful role of the dice, and act out "Little Red Riding Hood" with puppets. That's right, puppets, people. I'm pretty much Romper Room (Man, I always hoped she would see me in her magic mirror!)

The majority of the staff in the schools that I work with are from the Caribbean, so the children aren't used to seeing blonde, blue-eyed people very often. The kiddos are intrigued by the fact that I look different than them and often ask questions to determine what my life is like - like I'm a new species of animal they've never encountered. One little guy asked me, "Miss, your husband white too with yellow hair?" One little girl asked me if my skin would turn the same colour as hers if I went in the sun.  One boy was so confused about which child at the school "belonged" to me, "Miss, which one your kid?" Haha. I've never been a minority before moving here. It's a strange feeling, but to be honest, I don't think about it much anymore. Occasionally I notice that I'm the only caucasian in a store or at a school, but I've never heard a racist remark or felt uncomfortable.

Overall, working with children is great. Their laugh is contagious, their joy is contagious, their pink eye is contagious.

Say wha?

That's right, pink eye. Gross. Me. Out.

I woke up one Monday morning and felt like my contact was ripped, as my eye was irritated, red, and itchy. By 11am, it was partially swollen shut and becoming crustier by the minute. After being diagnosed with conjunctivitis (Pink eye) and written off work for a week - an entire week! I settled down in my house with the intent to catch up on my reading and daytime TV, give my angry knee a proper break, and perhaps share some quality time with Ev. Boy, that didn't pan out at all.

By that afternoon, I was unable to see out of my eye and it was seeping. What a gross word. Seeping. Reading and watching TV were not an option, my eyes were too sensitive to sunlight to go outside, and Evan, of all the nerve, was working! Evan works from home and by "work," I actually mean "work." After a week of careful observation (I think I may have annoyed him?), I can conclude that Evan works, with just a few short breaks, for an average of 10 hours a day. Unreal. Why? Seriously, why?

By day 3 I had a fever, both eyes were red and angry, and I felt like total shit. I opened an email from the government warning me about the risk of Zika Virus in the Cayman Islands: "If you have the following symptoms: pink eye, fever, and joint pain," you may have the Zika Virus." Say Wha? Pink eye: check! Fever: check! joint pain: Um. I've had 6 knee surgeries, of course I have joint pain! Check!

So now not only was I a gross disgusting human being with weepy sticky infected eyes, but I was also thoroughly convinced that I had the Zika. After much research (AKA "google"), I determined that as long as I wasn't pregnant (which I was not), my symptoms should subside in a few days - no harm done.

I interrupted Evan from his computer, "Ev, I think I have the Zika!"

"What should we do?" he responded.

"I think as long as we don't partake in unprotected sex we are fine," I responded,

Now, I can't be sure because I only had about 20% vision in one goopy eye and 35% vision in the other, but I'm pretty certain I detected a look of disgust on Evan's face that indicated that he had absolutely no interest in participating in amorous activities with me. Who could blame him? Shuffling sadly around the house with sunglasses over my glasses, eyes leaking, and fever-induced sweating, this was not my finest moment.

Who wants to make out? Anyone? Anyone? (This is not actually me, by the way - taking a pink eye selfie did not ever occur to me!)

So we'll never know for sure if I had the Zika. It definitely sounds much more dramatic to contract some exotic mosquito transmitted virus than dirty old pink eye; therefore,  I think I'll just stick with the Zika self diagnosis.

Once everything cleared up, and the crust settled from my eyes, Ev and I took a quick 30 minute flight over to the Cayman Brac for the weekend. The Brac, as everyone refers to it, is a sister island just northeast of Grand Cayman. It's much smaller, but the landscape couldn't be more different. Instead of sandy beaches, the Brac is mostly comprised of bluffs and limestone. The bluff is pretty impressive, with a 140 ft drop into the Caribbean. A bird called the Brown Booby (haha, I said, "booby") nest on the bluff and we were able to see their fuzzy, little white booby babies! It feels satisfyingly juvenile to yell, "Look! Boobies!" It was a fantastic weekend! Our buddy, Monty, used to live on the Brac, so he introduced us to all the locals, invited us to a locals pig roast on the beach, and took us on an island tour (AKA: drive around in a jeep and stop at every bar along the way, and wake up with a true Brac hangover). Ev and I also managed to fit in some really beautiful dives - I've never seen so many fish! We were back in time to pick up my sister, Kayla, from the airport.

sunrise on the Brac - heading out on a dive

The bluff - 140 foot drop

Look!  Boobies! - a mom and baby 

Kayla is presently enrolled in her last year of business at the University of Saskatchewan. She played University volleyball for the past 4 years, making any travel during the school year difficult, so this was her first time visiting me on the island.

Kayla and I had an awesome time! I took her to all my favourite spots, we saw turtles, starfish, and stingrays, we baked, and we laid in bed at night and watched our favourite shows (The Bachelor!) with mud masks on our face. I loved showing Kayla where I lived and introducing her to my friends. Last summer when I was down and out, Kayla spent a lot of time just laying on the couch with me, bringing me treats, and cheering me up with her wicked sense of humour. Although I'm still struggling with some joint issues today, I felt well enough to explore the island and show her how awesome this little tropical paradise truly is. I miss her a lot and wish I could see her more often. I feel grateful to have such a great friendship with her. Confession: When I was 16, I occasionally would babysit Kayla. By "babysit," I mean steal booze from my dad's liquor cabinet while Kayla was sleeping. Phew, I feel so relieved getting that off my chest. Love you, Kayla!

That's my update. This week's goal is to avoid the head lice and any other mosquito transmitted viruses!

Cheers!

Hell's not so bad!

We finally got a PO Box!

It's in Hell. Literally. One of my pet peeves is the misuse and overuse of the word, "literally;" however, I can literally tell you that our post office box is literally located in Hell.

Our neighbourhood of West Bay has a unique little tourist attraction. It's an area of black limestone formations that resemble upside down stalagmites in a cave. Apparently, someone took a look at this natural wonder and exclaimed, "This must be what hell looks like!" Hence, it was named "Hell," and a little red souvenir shop was erected with a post office next door.

Hell? Do you really think Hell would have palm trees?

An odd little man owns the souvenir shop. He dresses up in a red devil's costume, complete with legit devil's ears, and greets tourists with clever little quips like, "How the hell are you?" He also assists you in mailing a postcard, direct from "Hell." Interestingly, this is actually a tourist attraction. People skip one of the most top rated beaches in the Caribbean to drive to "hell" to meet and acquire a photograph with this odd little man.

See, it's legit. 

I have no idea who these people are but they're having "one hell of a holiday!"

Our new post office...

…is a tourist attraction!

The other day I entered the quiet little souvenir shop in hopes of finding a stamp to mail my letter from "hell." Upon opening the door, a bell chimed, and I heard the odd little man run into a back into a room to quickly don his devil's costume, "It's OK!" I yelled, "I'm not a tourist. I just need a stamp!" Within seconds, out popped Satan himself, "How the hell are you?"

"Haha! It's Ok, I'm not a tourist," I repeated, "I just need a stamp, please."

"Well where the hell are you from?" he responded, obviously ignoring my plea to stop the routine.

"I live down the road. Do you have any stamps?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" He responded.

"I just need a stamp."

This went on a for a while, until he finally agreed to sell me stamp. As I walked out the door, I yelled, "Have one hell of a day!" which definitely resulted in a huge devilish grin. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?

Anyway, although we are officially receiving mail in "Hell," life isn't so bad on the rock these days. Last we chatted, I explained that I was craving a trip off of the island, and was desperately yearning for the hustle and bustle of city life. I got what I asked for. Evan, Evan's mom, Peggy, and I took a quick trip to Orlando. As I sipped my Starbucks (prepared incorrectly, I might add) and watched hundreds of crazy women dig through $5 panty bins at Victoria's Secret, I soon realized that city life is overrated. Navigating the I-4, toll booths, traffic lights, and the right sight of the road were serious stressors that I wasn't prepared for. (FYI: I did actually turn into the left lane once. My mother-in-law calmly informed me that I was on the wrong side of the road. Oops). The stores were crowded, the restaurants were lined up, and the concrete pool in the middle of the interstate was noisy. It was perfect. I probably could have gotten my fill simply by riding the escalator in the Miami airport, but 4 days in Orlando was ideal to remind me of how fricken lucky I am to live in the Cayman Islands.

On that note, I got some great news today! I received a letter informing me that the Cayman Islands Department of Education will be "seeking to renew me for another two year contract." This would allow me to continue with my current position until the end of school year 2018. I totally took for granted how simple it was for me to get employment on the island. To be honest, I was home sick one cold February day in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, and my TV stopped working. Bored, I navigated the internet and happened upon an job posting for a Speech Therapist in Grand Cayman. Having no idea where Grand Cayman even was located geographically, I applied on a whim. Within months I had the job, we took some serious risks, and we were on our way! Easy peasy. A little bit of luck, fate, and the ability to throw caution to the wind? (Actually, I was TERRIFIED). Who knows. After working here for almost 2 years, it is apparent that the reality of securing a job, let alone a well paying job with amazing benefits, is difficult in Grand Cayman. Unless you have permanent residency or hold Cayman citizenship, your job is never guaranteed. I've watched people come and go (not by choice), simply because they were not renewed or were unable to find a job that was able to support them financially on this expensive island. I've worked hard the last year and half to make myself as indispensable as possible to the education system, and thankfully, they seem to have recognized that. After years of taking for granted that my job would always be there for me, it's interesting to be in a position where you essentially "fight" for your job every 2 years. Keeps you on your toes, and reinforces Trooper's wise words: "We're here for a good time, not a long time…so have a good time... the sun can't shine every day." Ahhh, thank you Trooper... and Power 99 Fm radio for playing the hell (hehe) out of this good 'ol Canadian band during my entire childhood.

 So it looks like we have a 2 year plan. I was pretty nervous about making a whole new plan, and honestly, when I saw the email today with the subject heading, "Contract decision," I pictured Jeff Probst's sober face as he extinguished my tiki torch proclaiming, "The tribe has spoken."

It's all good. Throw me on an escalator with an Earl Grey Latte (1 pump of vanilla syrup) every 4 months or so and I'm happy as an island clam.

Cheers to 2016! Have one hell of a year! hehe.