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!

Our Florida/Georgia RV Adventure!

 

Hey Friends!

How's '23 treating you so far?

Last we chatted, my second knee replacement had been postponed due to a late Covid flex 3 weeks post illness, I wallowed in the depths of despair for a bit, and mom and I enjoyed some Xmas-y island activities before she left to spend her winter in California. 

Ev and I flew out Christmas day for our RV Southeast coast adventure. We managed to experience Florida's "coldest Christmas in 15 years!" Lucky us! I know my fellow Canadians would look at the temps and think, "+6 is like a beautiful spring day here. What could they possibly be complaining about?" I was not prepared for was the lack of heating inside Florida businesses. The airport was freezing. The train was freezing. The restaurants were freezing. People in Florida don't use heaters on a regular basis, so when faced with suddenly switching from air conditioning to heat, many homes and businesses had huge issues. Luckily our sweet little RV had a kickin' furnace, which ran full blast the first 4 days of our vacation!

We picked up our RV rental in Jupiter, Florida. It's a beautiful little town in Palm Beach County (North of Ft. Lauderdale). Ev's newly acquired gym, MADabolic Jupiter, is located here and we were able to stop by and meet up with his partner, Zac, and his wife, Bonnie, and daughter, Mackenzie. It was great to finally meet up after hearing so much about them. We ate brunch, donning toques, mittens, and scarves! haha. Poor Mackenzie, aged 3, had never been so cold before!

We jumped in our 30 ft "tenement on wheels" and began our drive up the east coast of Florida. 

Here's the thing. I was not feeling well. I sustained a hamstring injury doing my second 20 lb hamstring curl at the gym - yes, for real. That's how 43 year old knee replacement recipients injure themselves these days (at least I wasn't tying my shoe!).  Although my physio assured me that my prosthesis was fine, Courtknee, who is obviously a team player, felt such terrible sympathy pain for my hamstring that she freaked out. To say that she put on some Christmas weight is an understatement! She was so hot, swollen, and painful that I was just kinda...bitchy. So you know, I wasn't at my best. The first thing I noticed about our new abode was that the bathroom was TIGHT - like the door wouldn't quite close unless my knee was bent at a solid 90 degrees whilst sitting on the toilet. This was upsetting, as Courtknee was not into bending...at all. So, whatever, we had an open-door bathroom policy for a few days. It was fine. Everything is FINE. 

Side note: Courtknee sets off the airport metal detectors! When I explained to security that I had knee replacement, he looked at me in disbelief and patted me down like I was packing heat.

We drove north to St. Augustine, a historical city on the northeast Florida coast, claiming to be the oldest city in the United States! Who knew? We did a modified tour of the downtown area - which was really cute cobblestone streets and quaint little shops. We then drove north to Georgia and spent two days in Savannah. I've been to Savannah before, and always thought that it was a cool place. In Savannah, we found a beautiful state park campground filled with massive oak trees donning the ghostly gray hanging Spanish moss. Although it was freezing (literally, it was below zero), we enjoyed a campfire outside in our layers of clothing and Courtknee remained as hot as an iron, keeping me warm and toasty. Thank God for Courtknee (dripping with sarcasm). 

Although our RV had 2 large slide out smart TV's, we were either without wifi or did not have a strong enough connection to stream shows. But...get this - we had a DVD player. Remember those? Magically, Redbox DVD rentals STILL EXIST. For real. So, we pretended it was 2001 and rented DVD's on a regular (begging them not to skip). Very nostalgic. 

We caught the hop-on, hop-off tour in Savannah. If you ever visit, I highly recommend the tour, as the city is very spread out. Our guide was really interesting, and you can sip a little wobbly pop whilst enjoying the history of Savannah. Ev and I eventually found a section of hotels on the river that had roof-top bars and created our own rooftop bar hopping event. Thankfully, all of the rooftops had heaters and it was great location to check out Savannah views. I LOVE a good cocktail on a rooftop bar!

Our plan was to continue north to Charleston, North Carolina, but I looked at the forecast and could see that it was warming up in Florida. We forego the Charleston adventure and decided to head back towards warmer weather. 

I really enjoyed driving along the A1A ("BEACHFRONT AVENUE"🎵). We meandered through coastal towns, hugging the Atlantic Ocean the entire way. We stopped when we wanted to stop. We didn't have to use public washrooms, and I may have snuck some wine in my travel Yeti while enjoying the view. It was a good solution, given that I wasn't very mobile. 

There were a few hiccups along the way. Our slide-outs (you push a button and the RV expands), stopped working and Ev had to manually push our RV back together. I pushed the button while Ev alternated between leg pressing the wall and yelling "Stop! Go! Stop!" That was fun. Also, the one day Ev left me alone to work at his gym, I locked myself out and had to climb through a window, while the seniors at the RV park speculated that I was a hoodlum. Other than those incidences (which are funny now), it was a great little trip. 

My favorite part of the trip, however, was the hockey game. Can you believe it?

I've watched my fair share of hockey games over the years. I remember thinking, "When Ev retires, I will NEVER go to another hockey game ever again."

So, you know, I took like 20 years off, and now I'm ready to throw myself back in the game. Cue the Kirstie comeback tour!

We saw the Panthers play the Rangers in Sunrise, Florida (near Ft. Lauderdale). We attended with Zac, Bonnie, and their friends. It was so much fun!

To be fair, I spent most of Evan's games locked in the bathroom, as I couldn't bear to watch Ev get scored on. It was a huge problem. Although awesome, Ev often did get scored on at least once in a game. Those were very stressful days, as losing a game could mean a trade, a loss of a job, or a loss of a contract. Games were not "fun," my friends. This time, however, with nothing on the line, I stayed in my seat the entire time and thoroughly enjoyed the entertainment! Cheer dancers! Live interviews! Incredible 90's jock jams! Strobe lights! This place was lit! 

I immediately recognized the name of the Rangers goalie - Halak. Ev reminded me that Jaroslav Halak attended training camp with him back in the day. "Wait a minute? This guy is still playing? He's pretty old to be butterflying about with 37-year old hips!" 

And then it happened. My irrational hatred of the opposing goaltender reared its ugly head. 

You see, when Ev played, I HATED every single opposing goaltender. In my mind, regardless of who he was, I envisioned him as a puppy-kicking, wife-slapping, tax-evading jerk. When the opposing goaltender so much as touched the puck, my internal filter failed miserably and I vomited horrible things out of my mouth. 

"Garand - You're full of holes you f#$king sieve!"

"You're a F#$ing loser, Murphy!"

"You are a piece of S#$T on the bottom of my shoe, Bronsard!"

I know, I know. Embarrassing. I couldn't help myself. I don't consider myself an angry person, but those goaltenders made me see red. Watching another goaltender make a save caused a volcano of emotions to erupt in the form of horrible insults (In retrospect, I probably need therapy for this). 

So, you know, I did what I do, and I began sputtering insults at Halak. 

"Shoot low! He's too old to go down!"

"Don't hurt yourself, Halak!"

Evan looked over at me in shock.

"Kirstie. What are you doing?"

"I don't know. I can't help it!" I replied, covering my hand over my mouth while realizing that I might be embarrassing myself in front of my new friends. 

I managed to tone it down a bit and, despite the Panthers loss (Old man Halak is still pretty good!), I really enjoyed myself! I will definitely be attending more hockey games in the future (Ev may not agree?) Haha. 

So, overall, it was a nice little trip. I needed a change of scenery, and I got that daily on my vacation by simply looking out my window while Ev toured us around in the RV. 

I'm now back at work until the rescheduled knee replacement on March 7. Although my endurance is not what it used to be - it's challenging to navigate pain, decreased mobility, and a demanding cognitive load - I feel like being back at work is really good for my mental health. I forgot how fun the kiddos are. I'm enjoying being reunited with my fellow Specialists, and it's a good distraction from the knees. I'm sure you are all SOOOO sick of hearing about my knees, and trust me, I'm sick of thinking about them! 

Cheers, friends!

Knee Purgatory

 

Hey friends,

Last we spoke I was on the "final countdown" to my 15th and last-ish knee surgery for ever-ish. I was dreaming about a life with two solid knees - booking an Easter vacation in Europe, looking to adopt a dog in the spring, and considering an online University course in February. For the first time in a long time, I began making plans. 

Aside: When my Grandma used to tell stories that began jubilantly, we anticipated that the story would often end in tragedy: "They were such a nice little family in a nice little house and they had just a beautiful new baby...and then Bob was suddenly run over and killed by his combine."

(Can you sense the foreshadowing?)

Well...

Things didn't quite go the way that I had hoped. AT ALL. 

Despite having Covid in early November, the Anesthesiologist cleared me for surgery a week prior, and I was healthy, and ready to go. Unfortunately my pre-op Covid PCR came back positive the day before my surgery and the new knee was canceled...about 12 hours before my surgery.

Our PCR tests on island provide us with specific numbers - cycle thresholds that indicate how much virus is actually in your system. The higher the number, the less "sick" you are. You need a number of 35 to be considered Covid-free. My number was 32.5. I was not contagious; however, the virus was still detectable in my body - nearly 3 weeks after I had been sick. 

I pleaded with the Unit Clerk over the phone, "Please! I'm not even contagious. My mom flew in from Canada to look after me, I have no symptoms and anesthesiology cleared me! I just really Kneed this knee!"

No dice. 

Oh my God, to say I was disappointed is an understatement. 

I can't express just how upsetting it is to be completely and totally mentally, physically, and emotionally prepared for something only for it to dissipate with 2.5 Fu#$ing Covid threshold units. I had been "training" for this surgery for months. I was so ready to move on. I was so excited to start my new life. 

There were tears - the kind of tears that make you choke because you can't really inhale anymore without sucking up your snot. You know those ones? Ugh. It was ugly.

Thank God my mom was here. She just held me while I cried and poor Ev looked on in disbelief (trying to figure out how to "fix" the problem, I'm sure). 

Two days later I camped myself outside of my surgeon's office and waited patiently to plead my case. 

My Ortho was also disappointed that my surgery was canceled, and explained that it was simply a checkbox item - I had failed to meet the pre-op requirements. No exceptions made. He offered to place me on cancelation list for a week,  but warned that the OR schedule was very busy, and that after a week he was heading on holidays over the Christmas break. 

I held out a tiny bit of hope that perhaps I could still get in for surgery prior to Christmas, which would only delay all my hopes and dreams by a week. 

Like 16 year old Kirstie waiting for Jason Issel to call her back (he did.. eventually, and broke up with me), I waited on pins and needles, glued to my phone. Finally 5 days later, I received a call from a hospital number.

My hands shook with excitement as I frantically answered the phone (imagine being excited to get your knee chopped off?) 

"Hello. This is the Cayman Islands Hospital calling with a short survey about your surgery experience last week."

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU## right off. 

Like salt in my massive gaping wound. 

Spoiler alert...I did not get my Christmas miracle, I am obviously on the naughty list because Courtknee now has to wait until MARCH to get a new friend. That's THREE months away. 

UGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH. It's all just so unbelievably disappointing. 

In a fit of defiance, Courtknee blew up with this news (I had promised her a friend that she was no longer getting), and for the first time since my knee replacement, I began struggling with swelling, and stay puft marshmallow Courtknee could barely bend (she's a bit of a drama queen). 

You see it? You see it?

So I was sad, swollen, and defeated. 

My wonderful Mom let me be miserable for a few days, encouraging me to help her decorate the Christmas tree, bake some cookies, and watch Christmas movies. It was so comforting to have her here. 

Once I processed the news and "accepted" my new reality, I tried to focus on just enjoying the time with mom during a really nice time of year on island. The Christmas breeze is blowing strong, the roundabouts are all decked out in blinking lights, and tropical holiday music plays in every store. Cayman is a beautiful place during the holidays, and it was really nice experiencing this with my mom (We also snuck in a decadent night at the Kimpton). 

But...I find myself back in a place where I had hoped to never be in again. 

I will be returning to work after the holidays with one good-ish knee and one knee that randomly locks and gives out on me. I will need to begin everyday with a strategy. How do I limit my number of steps? When can I take a pain-killer to ensure that I'm alert to see my students? How will I carry all my supplies to four different schools? What will I do if my knee locks up and I am unable to unlock it? In addition, I'm navigating physiotherapy challenges as progress with Courtknee is now limited by my broken knee. The right knee was ready and poised for retirement, so it's really not fair to her either. This was not the plan, dammit!

My dreams of touring Europe at Easter are over. The dog will have to wait. I will not be well enough to take write a university final exam in March. Everything has been pushed back and placed on hold - like the last 10 years of my life. I am well aware that this is really minor compared to what so many are going through right now. I will be fine. I know this. But I'm just so tired of being resilient. I feel so tired, and I think I'm going to feel sorry for myself for just a bit longer while I sit here wallowing in knee purgatory (currently with a pulled hamstring to add insult to injury...or injury to injury or whatever). 

Mom left this week and I miss her already. She and Lenny put their plans to travel down to California on hold so that she could help with the surgery that never happened. She will do the same for me in March. She is such a good mom. I am very grateful. 

Evan has wisely decided that a change of scenery will do me good, so he's booked us a flight to Miami on the 25th. Typically I plan all of our travels, but I just didn't have it in me, so he's in charge this time. I know that we are visiting his new Florida gym, I know that there is an RV involved (yes..an RV!), an NHL hockey game,  and a stop in Savannah (Georgia, not Cayman).  I'm not exactly sure what's happening, but I'm looking forward to getting a break from the island. I think it's really thoughtful of him to recognize that I need this right now. It's pretty great that people still love me even when I'm miserable and difficult to love these days. 

Cheers, friends. Wishing you all a Merry Christmas!

The "final" countdown...

"Where does your tongue need to be when you make your snake sound, Zachary?"

"In the front."

"That's right! And where are you blowing your air?"

"Out the middle of my mouth."

"Awesome! Let's give it a try. Smiley face. Tongue behind your teeth. Blow straight out the front!"

"SSSSSSHSHSHSHSHSHSSSSSSSSHSHSHSHSHSH"

I cringed as Zachary's lateral lisp hijacked his perfect /s/ positioning. Just as I was about to correct it with a verbal cue, I watched in horror as a giant wad of iridescent saliva exited the sides of Zachary's mouth, soared directly towards me, and entered my open mouth.

That's right. I swallowed Zachary's lateral lisp saliva. 

Occupational hazard of the speech-language pathologist. 

The next day, I received an email from Zachary's teacher, informing me that Zachary had tested positive for Covid and would be out for the next week. 

I mentally prepared myself for the fact that I would soon contract Covid. I mean...I had swallowed saliva infected with the virus! Certainly it was inevitable. It was halfway through a very long spring term. Half of my co-workers were in covid isolation. I was exhausted. A small part of me was secretly anticipating a little time at home for a week.  However, the positive test never came. Day after day, I tested negative. I had (somehow!) outran the 'vid. 

I had to assume that I was immune?

Fast forward ahead nine months. I'm home on medical leave, rehabbing Courtknee. I rarely leave my house, except to be tortured by my physiotherapist. I say "tortured" with respect, of course. I have many physiotherapy friends, and they truly are a helping profession, but a part of me suspects they were the kids who pulled wings off of insects at recess. I digress. I wake up one morning with a sore throat, fever, and severe aches. I call to cancel my physiotherapy session and am informed by the receptionist that my physio tested positive for covid. I swab my nose and 2 bright menacing lines immediately appear on my covid test. I had caught the 'vid! And in an ironic twist of fate, it wasn't from the hundreds of infected children I had been exposed to for 2.5 years, but in fact, it was contracted from my physiotherapist, the person who makes sick people cry for a living.

Disclaimer: My physio is a good guy. He's been immensely helpful in this recovery, and I appreciate him very much, Covid and all. 

Thankfully, it was quite mild and short-lived. I spent a few days shivering/sweating in bed, lamenting about how unfair the universe was, while Evan passed me food with a stick. Miraculously, he did not catch it!

There was speculation that my upcoming surgery would be postponed, but luckily the Anesthesiologist deemed me healthy and fit for surgery - so all systems go.

My right knee will be replaced on Tuesday. I am waiting to assess her personality before I commit to a name - but I do have a long list of very creative pu-knee names, as supplied by you guys! Thank you. I'm also going to to gently request that my surgeon at least attempt to make her look a little more attractive and composed (can we try for a straighter cut?) We'll see how that goes over, as surgeons are generally very open to feedback ;) 

"Stevie," our blind foster, enjoys tripping Courtknee. We call it "agility training."

Overall, I am moderately satisfied with Courtknee at the 2-month post surgery mark. I think the 'vid might have been good for her. After lying in bed for 3 days straight, I walked to the kitchen for some water and my gait was miraculously corrected! I stopped analyzing my hip hitch and just utilized Courtknee to get from point A to point B, which is what she was technically designed to do. Perhaps I was over-thinking things? NOOOOOOT MEEEEE ;) 

I'm in the gym daily, riding the bike, ellipticalling on the elliptical (what does one "do" on an elliptical?), rowing, and am even squatting and lifting weight again. I have been eating, breathing, and sleeping physiotherapy - man, I've worked my ass off the last two months - literally. Due to weight loss and muscle wasting, my ass has been reduced to a few bony bits connected by muscle knots. Courtknee still aches, and feels quite stiff, but she is stable. I've never had a stable knee before, so this is good. At least one of us is stable. I woke up a few days after the 'vid and couldn't remember if I was 42 or 43 years old. Evan informed me that I'm 43 and I cried. So...you know...I'm fragile.

This will be my 15th knee surgery. This will be the last knee surgery I will undergo in (hopefully) about 20 years. I will be closing a massive and challenging 10+ years chapter in my life, and starting a brand new chapter! Although it's dim, I can see a faint light at the end of this dark tunnel and am beginning to allow myself to fantasize about what lies ahead. I dream about taking a vacation where I can tour - like actually walk around a city. I dream about getting another dog and taking him for walks on the beach.  I dream about taking pilates classes, maybe swinging a golf club again,  and wakesurfing Candle in the summer. It's close. I can taste it (I didn't lose my sense of taste, thank God). 

This guy has been coming around lately - I feel like it's a good sign!

But first, I need to get through the whole chopping off of the knee bit. I'm mentally prepared for the bed pans, the puke, the tears, the broken CPM, the horrible hospital roommate, the barbaric first few physio sessions - even the blood transfusion if needed.  I can do this. Right? Yes! I CAN DO THIS.

Mom arrives on Sunday - what would I do without my mom??? I am so so so grateful for her! I'm sure she LOVES spending her time on a tropical island in the coldest, dankest, noisiest hospital on Earth. Yikes. That being said, I'm looking forward to watching Christmas movies together and maybe enjoying a modified pre-Christmas celebration together, once the dust settles after surgery. 

Cheers Friends - see you on the flip side!

Thankful for Mom 

Out on good behavior

Warning: I've just re-read this and realized that I've inserted a few f-bombs. I think they serve a purpose in this particular post, so I'm opting to leave them. You've been warned. 

Hey friends,

Well it's been an eventful month. I had my first knee replaced a month ago. Overall, it was Ok-ish. I dunno, it was my 14th knee surgery (hopefully the last on the left knee for 20 years), and I just had to get through it. 

My last 8 surgeries have been in Philadelphia, so this was my first experience having surgery in Cayman. As expected, it wasn't quite as...um..."refined" as my Penn Med experiences. When I was told that I would remain in hospital for at least 5 days post surgery, I already began dreading the experience. No one actually wants to be in the hospital, but the thought of 5 whole days in our island hospital definitely filled me with anxiety. 

I don't remember any of my surgery. As I was being wheeled into the OR, I asked the anesthesiologist to give me Propofol (it makes you forget). 

He responded, "Now?"

"Sure, why not?" Who wants to remember any of this shit? And with one push into my IV line... poof...I was out for the count. 

My first night in hospital sucked as I was not allowed to ambulate until an x-ray had been taken. Read: bed pans! Ugh. It wasn't great. However, the pain was not nearly as bad as my cartilage transplants had been. I took 2 hits of morphine and quickly decided that I didn't need the narcotics, which was a relief. 

I woke up at 7:30am to find five men standing at my feet, staring at me expectantly.  

"Oh hey.... I wasn't expecting company!"

I took a quick inventory of my appearance. I was a mess. I sheepishly tucked my boob back into my hospital gown, hoped that they couldn't smell the pee (there was a bed pan incident), and attempted to sort myself as best as I could. 

Once I put my glasses on and focused on the entourage standing at my bed, I realized that It was the whole HSA Orthopedic team. Wow. Good morning! How can I help you gentlemen today?

"How are you feeling?" asked the surgeon who sawed off my knee, as he roughly removed the blanket, revealing a gory blood-soaked bandage.   

"A little pain," I responded, now attempting to sit up and simultaneously cover my hoo-ha which was greeting the five surgeons at the foot of my bed. 

"Yes. You will feel pain now for 3 months!" he responded cheerfully, "She's had lots of surgery. Like 10 or something," he explained to the rest of the team.

"14!" I interjected. "I've had 14 surgeries." Don't freakin' underestimate what I've been through!

After efficiently changing my dressings he stated, "Ok. You do the physio. It will hurt. You rest. You have very soft bones. We'll see you tomorrow."

Good talk. 

By the way, "soft bones" is not great news. 

I soon began the excruciating task of physiotherapy. I've never participated in physio so soon after an operation, and my God, did it hurt. I'm not going to lie, I cried. But I powered through. I did everything she told me to do, tears streaming down my face the entire time, jaw shaking as I gulped back the tears. It F#CKING hurt. It blows my mind how you just suddenly can't do simple tasks like lift your freaking leg. I tried showing the left leg how easy it was by demonstrating with the right. "Look! It's not that hard!"

It soon became apparent that I needed to get out of that hospital as quickly as possible.

I had the roommate from hell (doesn't everyone end up with the roommate from hell in hospital? Wait, was I a roommate from hell too?" Ugh).

This woman was loud. Her TV was loud. Her visitors watched Tik Toks/IG stories on the loudest volume possible. All I could hear was constant streaming of Tik Toks (from 3 different phones!) and Judge Judy shows on full blast....not to mention religious sermons at an unacceptable volume when her mother came to visit. Mom and I tried to distract ourselves, but things just got worse. A maintenance man then entered my room and began drilling holes in the wall - like with an actual drill. To top it all off my IV ended and began to beep. Despite calling the nurses multiple times, no one came to replace or turn off the beeping IV.

Finally I snapped. "Mom!!! I can't take it. Do something!!!" I was so completely overstimulated that I had resorted to placing a pillow over my head, with intent to suffocate myself. 

Please kill me now.

Poor mom. "What should I do?" she asked. 

I unhooked the IV pole from my IV site and shoved it away from the bed.

"Just put this pole outside!" I demanded.

Mom obediently pushed my beeping IV pole (past the man drilling my wall) into the hall.

A few minutes later, a nurse exclaimed, "You can't just put this here!"

Ya ya. Ok. 

Ugh. It was the most disturbing few days of my life....and not at all conducive to healing. 

I began to concoct a plan.  A prison-break of sorts. 

The next morning when my entourage of bone-splitters stood at my bedside, I was a little more prepared. My boob and hoo-ha were safely put away, my hair was brushed, and my teeth were clean. 

"When can I go home?" I implored my surgeon.

"How much are you bending the knee?" he asked.

"I'm at about 45 degrees," I responded.

"If you can get it to 90, you can leave tomorrow. But our patients typically stay 5-7 days."

Ya ya. Ok. 

When my physio arrived a few hours later, I pleaded with her to help me get to 90 degrees and break out of this place as quickly as possible. 

She had one solution. But it was risky. 

"Have you ever heard of the CPM?" she questioned.

Have I? Have I? Oh man, visions of sitting on the knee bending torture device for months after my cartilage transplant flooded back to me. Anyone remember the #neverbendingstory of 2017? I spent 6 hours a day on this machine for 3 months straight. LAWD JESUS.

"Let's do it!" This was my hail Mary.

My lovely Physio, who makes sick people cry for a living, soon wheeled in the Continuous Passive Motion (CPM) device. This thing was ancient. Like from 1984. 

"Sometimes it doesn't work. It's old," she warned.

We strapped my knee in it, turned it on and began the arduous task of bending the knee.

Mom and I soon realized the glitch of this ancient machine. Imagine trying to play Smurfs on Calecovision circa 1982. Every 10 minutes or so, the machine would stop, but only when the knee was at its most uncomfortable point at peak bend. I would scream and mom would unplug it as quickly as possible, and then re-plug it in, hoping that the knee would then begin it's journey out of the tortuous bend. Sometimes she would have to re-plug it multiple times. Good F#cking times. I sat on the CPM for about 3 hours, stopping and starting every 10-20 minutes when it glitched.  

The good 'ol CPM circa 1985

That night, I hatched my ultimate plan to spring loose. I got Mom to lay out some respectable clothing, and place my makeup and toothbrush by my side. I set my alarm for 7am and then laid in bed all night listening to my roommates TV blaring at 80 decibels. 

The next morning I carefully dressed myself (even donned a bra!), and dragged my wretched body to the chair beside my bed. I applied some lip gloss, brushed my hair and eagerly awaited my ortho entourage.

By the time the surgeons arrived, I was seated in my chair, hair neatly placed in a not-so-messy bun, eating eggs, and performing heel slides which displayed my incredible range that I had acquired on the CPM the night before. It was the performance of a lifetime. 

My surgeon took one look at me and stopped suddenly in his tracks.  I saw his eyebrows raise in surprise, and in that moment I felt completely vindicated (Side note: I am fully aware that I have created an imaginary war between me and my ortho, to which he knows nothing about). 

"Oh, you're up. Any pain?"

"I've had worse. Can I please go home?"

"Did you hit 90 degrees?"

"F#ck ya!" (Okay, I didn't say the "f" word, but you can imagine that I said "yes" with as much gusto as a patient who recently had a knee chopped off and hasn't slept for 2 days could possibly say it with).  I gritted my teeth and forced my knee to a perfect right angle, hoping that he didn't see the tear slip down my cheek. TA-DA!

"Well, Ok. I guess you can go home," he replied, "Most knee replacement patients don't go home this early. It must be because you have such a great surgeon," he continued cheekily. 

ya ya, ok, buddy. It's all you. I know this game. 

I silently high-fived myself. My plan had worked! I was soooo awesome and confidence was high. 

Just as they were discussing my discharge, the nurse entered with my latest blood work results.

"Her hemoglobin is very low. She needs a blood transfusion."

SHIT.

There was no way that I could fake high hemoglobin. I begged and pleaded with the hospital staff to let me go after the transfusion. They agreed.

I didn't foresee it taking 7 hours to get the transfusion. But I finally got some fresh blood. And I went home...4 days post surgery. So, you know, not that it's a competition, but it is ... and I won. 

I have never been so relieved to be back in my own house. 

It's now been a month. My life revolves around physio, naps, and visits. In an ironic twist of fate, my knee is bending beautifully but cannot fully straighten. Who saw this plot twist? I'm stuck around 3-4 degrees, and it's definitely affecting my comfort - especially with sleeping. I have various tortuous exercises that I faithfully perform multiple times a day to straighten the knee. I lay in the "torture hang" (I named it), and cry, hoping this will all pay off and I'll get closer to 0 degrees. Other than the straightening, my knee is doing well. She's walking quite nicely, and even had her first legit jump yesterday! I've named her "Courtknee," in hopes that it'll feel less like a corpse attached to my body and more like a real knee. Unfortunately, the surgeon was unable to save my patella (it was too diseased), so none of my original knee remains. This can make proprioception (knowing where my knee is in space) a little more tricky.  It feels strange. It's hard work, but it's currently my full-time job. I've had little control over this rotten disease the past 10 years, but I do have control over how hard I work to rehabilitate this new one. I have no other option. 

Nothing to see here - just a torture hang

Straightening Courtknee into submission

Recovery is lonely. I've been here so many times before. I am dedicating my entire life right now to getting Courtknee as close to normal as possible before they chop off my right knee at the end of November. It's physically, mentally and emotionally exhausting. I am so thankful for visits from friends, texts, lunches, etc. Thank you friends! I was also very fortunate to have my mom here for 2 weeks post surgery as well. My mom knows exactly what I need and how to make me feel better. In addition, I've got my Ev, who knows the drill, and does his best to keep me comfy and entertained while working long days. Unfortunately Ev gets to experience the worst side of me during these times. It's not easy. I'd also like to give a special shout out to my island fam who showed up to my blood transfusion with wine in hand ("I'll take a bag of B positive, please!"). They knew that I was at the end of my rope, it was Friday, and it was happy hour. Thank you. I am a lucky girl. 

I'm also currently surrounding myself with random cats. That's right...cats. I'm desperately missing Biloxi. He was always such a comfort to me during recovery, and I find myself inadvertently looking for him multiple times a day. After my super bud, Stacey, watched me pathetically try and entice feral cats into my house, he began kindly lending cats for me to "petsit" during my recovery. Unfortunately I am fragile and vulnerable, and I keep breaking the cardinal rule of petsitting by developing deep feelings for each and every one of them. We currently have "Stevie," a sweet little blind kitty who is winning over my heart. When I lay awake from 3-5am, she nuzzles her face into mine and I profess my undying love for her in the darkness. I'm beginning to think that I may be too needy for her. Thank god I'm not single right now. I'd be a dating disaster. If a boy so much as touched my hand, I would be wedding dress shopping. Love me!!!!

This woman is soooo needy

Thanks for all of the support. I appreciate each and every message and kind word. It really helps. 

I go in for the other knee on November 29. I am currently accepting applications for knee names...Haha! I am hopeful that this will be my last knee surgery for 20 years. Can you imagine?  I can't. Man, I hope hope hope that number 15 is the last...for a very long time. 

Cheers friends!

Most crooked scar ever. Was my surgeon like, "time me!"??