Time to start a new chapter and seize the day!

Every Fall for 7 years, Ev and I packed our clothes, 50 pounds of goalie equipment, along with 1 angry orange cat, and moved. We moved to England. We moved to Texas. We moved to Scotland. We moved to Florida. We moved to Mississippi. Moving was our thing. It was an adventure.  Looking back, we were pretty brave - or blissfully unaware. It wasn't a conventional life. Evan's career as a hockey player was extremely stressful and unpredictable. It was harsh. It was exciting. In one year, Evan was fired mid-season due to the team's slipping performance ("Someone had to go!"), in the next, he was MVP and an All-star goalie.  Life was never still - never predictable. Towards the end of Evan's career, we both longed for some consistency. We watched our friends get married, secure "adult" careers, buy houses, and have children. We wondered if we were missing out on something, yet we were reluctant to throw in the towel on this adventurous lifestyle. I couldn't make the decision. After enduring 2 trades in Evan's last (painful) hockey season, Evan was the one who applied to the Calgary Fire Department and moved us to Calgary to "settle down."

7 years later,  and a move to my hometown of Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, Evan and I live a very consistent, predictable, happy life. Although the last 2 years have been a wild ride due to my knee surgeries; overall, we are very comfortable and content. We have wonderful friends, we both enjoy our jobs (Evan truly loves his gym and the people he works with) and, other than the harsh Saskatchewan winters (this was THE WORST WINTER EVER!), we have "settled" quite nicely. To be honest though, I frequently find myself fantasizing about Evan walking in the door and announcing, "we've been traded!" The thought stirs up excitement and creates butterflies in my stomach. Evan has admitted that he feels the same way. If this thought is so appealing to us, then why are we sitting around and talking about it? It's time to act.

So, in classic Evan and Kirstie style, it's time to shake things up a bit and embark on a new adventure.

I've been "traded" to a tropical island. Well, not exactly, but I did secure a job as a Speech-Language Pathologist in the Cayman Islands. Google map it. It's a tiny tiny island (population: 60,000) south of Cuba (1 hour flight from Miami) in the middle of the Caribbean. We've never been there, but it looks like a pretty great place to go.

Can you spot it? 

The Coles notes version: I saw the job posting, I applied, I  interviewed via skype (the dog and cat started mauling each other loudly in the background during my very formal interview - the horror!), I possessed the "international experience" they were looking for, and was offered the job.

For 3 weeks, Evan and I painfully went back and forth on a decision. I met with Dr. M, presented a pro/con list and with a fine toothed comb, he read and dismantled every con on my list, "What if I re-injure my knee??? Um...what if you DON'T re-injure your knee? Take it off the con list. Besides, heat and salt water can only be good for that knee!"

One night, 2 days before the deadline to respond to the Cayman Island job, Ev and I laid in bed, turned to each other and said, "We have to do this."

Decision made.

We will be moving August 10. Evan will continue to own his gym, Saskpro - his pride and joy. Over the last year, he has been able to step back and run the gym "behind the scenes," simply because he has amazing people working for and with him. He will fly back once a month to ensure things are running smoothly at the gym, but he can definitely spend the 6 or so hours he currently spends on the computer in a different location...preferably a white sandy beach.

I am unbelievably excited. I am curious. I am uncomfortable. I am a little bit scared - Ok, a lot scared at times. But, overall, I feel that this was an opportunity that we couldn't refuse. The timing, given that my confidence is returning and my health is improving, and the fact that Ev and I have longingly watched every episode of House Hunters International, is ideal. We are well aware that this is not the conventional next step in the lives of 30-somethings - but you know what? - that's what makes it just a little more bold and exciting.

My job consists of a  two year contract with the Cayman Government, with an option to renew every 2 years. We'll see how it goes. I have no idea what the future holds. I do know that I receive 5 weeks paid holidays, so summer vacay at our "happy place" at Candle Lake is still a possibility for us.

The house is for sale, 2 vehicles are for sale - I'm taking offers on boots, shovels, and winter coats (haha). Biloxi, the cat, and Dundee, the dog, are coming along for the ride. Poor Bilox has now lived in 7 states, the United Kingdom, Alberta, and Saskatchewan. If he could speak English, I'm almost certain he would say, "For F sakes, people, Stay in 1 Place!!!" Poor cat. Dundee, on the other hand, is pleasantly confused at all times. He will be fine.

 Reading back through my first blog, "Seize the day," I feel nostalgic. Seize the day, a tribute to our friend Ryan, definitely inspired me to take some risks - to try new things, and never pass up an opportunity. I really learned a lot about myself during that year. I still think about Ryan, especially now that we're "seizing the day" with this move to a tropical island sight unseen. He would be stoked. He would definitely support our decision, and I'm almost positive that he would have been one of our first guests.

 "I found this Humerus," on the other hand, has been a very different blog. Faced with adversity, it was a place to share my fears, feelings and struggles - the light, airy, fun Kirstie you met in Seize the Day was replaced by a more thoughtful, serious, tense Kirstie. Although it has been the most challenging few years of my life, I'm happy that I documented it - it was honest - through the good, bad, and the ugly....lots of ugly. I feel light, airy, happy, fun Kirstie slowly returning - this time with more conviction, clarity,  and zest for life.

So given that I'm about to start a new chapter in the Cayman Islands, I think a new blog is in order. Time to put this story to rest and start a new book! Time to chronicle our life on a tiny tropical island. I can't wait to see which direction the new blog will take. I have no idea....which is incredibly liberating. I'm ready to buckle up and enjoy the ride. Stay tuned!

Then: 2004

Now: 2014

Future? eeeekssss! Must wear sunscreen.

Happy Anniversary to my cartilage!

"Hey Dr. M, what are you doing?"

"I'm forming the walls. The cartilage will sit in the hole, touching all surrounding walls."

"Are you making nice vertical walls?"

"Yes, Kirstie. Nice vertical walls."

I recall that conversation in the operating room one year ago like it was yesterday. Although slightly stoned on Versed, I was very much aware and actively participating in my cartilage transplant surgery. Having watched the surgery on youtube multiple times prior, I considered myself practically an orthopedic surgeon and insisted on talking Dr. M through the entire procedure. I'm sure he was thrilled. 

I can't believe it's been a year. 

I remember mildly enjoying my surgery, cracking jokes as Dr. M placed the cartilage implant in my medial formal condyle, as I teased,"No one's ever touched me there before, Dr. M!" and I remember the fear when the anesthetic began to wear off. 

I remember feeling the worst pain I've ever felt in my life hours after my surgery, "It's a 10! I know patients lie all the time, but I'm telling you, it's a 10!" and I remember the security I felt when Evan and my mom held me tight and comforted me that I would be OK. 

I remember coming to the realization that I was physically addicted to painkillers and I remember Dr. M assuring me that I was strong enough to stop. 

I remember the agony of withdrawal as I weaned myself off of those painkillers and I remember the pride I felt when I didn't need them anymore. 

I remember thinking that the world would be a better place without me and I remember realizing that the world wouldn't be the same if I wasn't in it.

I remember the frustration of trying to steer my damn wheelchair and I remember showing off my fabulous crutching skills.

I remember taking my first shaky steps in Dr. M's office, like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time, and I remember wondering if this was as good as it would get.

I remember doubting that the surgery was successful and I remember praying to God that it was. 

I remember trying to take things day-by-day and I remember secretly forecasting and wondering what my status would be in a year's time.

I remember crawling, hopping, limping, walking.

I remember surfing!

I remember the fear, the pain, the doubt. I remember the pride, the excitement, the hope. 

What a year it's been. Happy first anniversary to my cartilage transplant. We are the perfect match, and although we have our struggles, I am confident that we will share a lifetime of happiness together :)

Cheers to my family and friends who have supported me. Cheers to Dr. M for persevering in the search for a solution. Cheers to everyone who makes the choice to donate their organs/tissues. I feel incredibly grateful to have received such a life-changing gift of both the cartilage and the experience, which will forever impact the way that I live my life. 

Rockstars get hangovers too

Last we spoke, I admitted that I had just turned 35! 35! That just sounds unreal to me. I made an executive decision to party hard this year, given that I missed out on 2 years of celebrating due to the angry knee.

So on Saturday night, awesomeness gathered at the PA Brew Pub for a celebration. What a great night -  I had so much fun! I danced all night. I probably didn't need to jump each and every single time Kriss Kross instructed me to do so. I probably didn't have to shoot the Burt Reynolds (what was in that shooter, by the way?); however, in the moment, nothing hurt and life was gooood. I was a rock star.

mature young ladies

lookin' good

things begin to deteriorate

I did wake up at 6am Sunday morning feeling less than awesome. Realizing that Biloxi, the cat, was licking my armpit and my calves were seizing from dehydration and reckless dancing, it occurred to me that I am definitely NOT 21 anymore. Oh well, I told myself, that was totally worth it.

So I couldn't walk for a day. No biggie. Totally worth it. So my head was pounding to the rhythm of Jason Derulo's latest hit. Totally worth it.

But then 3 days later I got strep throat. I'm presently laying on my couch, swallowing razor blades with my NeoCitron and the fabulousness that was me on Saturday night is a distant memory. A very distant memory.

Yes, yes - thank you, body. I hear you loud and clear. Got it.

Moral of the story: You're never too old to party like a rockstar. Just be prepared for an armpit-licking cat, immobility, and strep throat.

Yo Shorty....It's My Birthday

It's my birthday! I've always loved birthdays and I find birthdays the perfect time for reflection. Let's be honest, my last 2 birthdays, although filled with well wishes and love from friends and family, kinda sucked. On my 33rd birthday, I was preparing for my first surgery - a simple meniscal repair - or so I thought. Little did I know that in few weeks time, Dr M would discover that my cartilage was a mess and life, as I knew it, would change. I had no idea what was in store for me, nor did I have any interest in finding out.

A year ago, on my 34th birthday, I had just underwent my 3rd knee surgery and was gearing up for the "experimental" cartilage transplant, which was slated in a month's time. The reality of my situation had completely sunk in and I felt totally dependent on my mom, Evan, and Dr. M to lead me through. I was slightly hopeful; however, I was heavily medicated and, to be honest, didn't feel much other than pain and fear. It was overwhelming to me that I was a whole year older, yet life seemed to be whizzing past me as I hobbled around on my crutches and my cane.  I felt like I was behind left behind. It makes me incredibly sad to think about it, so let's move on to this year ASAP (Tears are rolling down my face..must. move. on. to. next. paragraph!)

Today (phew!), I feel pretty damn good. I am 35. I can walk. I can dance. I am getting stronger. I am happy. My confidence is improving daily. My head is clear. I am hopeful. The future looks bright. I've come so far!

I was tested. My marriage to Evan was tested. My relationships with friends and family were tested. Although I wouldn't choose to relive the last 2 years, nor would I wish them on anyone, that was the path that I was placed on and I was in the right place at the right time to cope with the challenges I faced. Five years ago, Evan and I made a choice to move back to Prince Albert. It wasn't our fantasy. It wasn't glamorous to relocate back to our "hometown," but we decided that it was the best place for us at that time. Little did we know that our decision to move back was going to be critical in the years to come. Having my family close, my therapies department co-workers by my side, and finally, finding Dr. M, my trusty surgeon and confidant, were vital to my recovery.

I don't know what the future holds. At some point I will be tested again... but the fear that once consumed me is dissipating. I'm stronger than I ever thought I could be. I'm realistic that I'll continue to face knee struggles along the way - but it no longer dictates my choices or prevents me from living and loving life. I fell hard, I fought hard and am presently being rewarded with happiness and opportunity. Bring on 35!

Can I get a hell ya?

Long time no see! Wow, I haven't posted in a while. As far as the knee goes, I don't have a whole lot to report. I have good days and I have not so good days. I had a little slip outside my shower last week that resulted in a lot of tears, a question of whether I need "Life Line" installed,  and perhaps a slight overreaction that I would never walk again...but the knee pulled through and within a few days, was back to it's regular so-so self. You know, it's almost been a year since I received the cartilage transplant, and I'm coming to terms with the fact that this will be a chronic condition that I will manage for the rest of my life. On "bad" days when I'm limping around with pain,  I do feel sorry for myself, but then I have to remember just how far I've come. I can take my pup for a walk around the block, I can work a full day without being heavily medicated, and I can travel and participate in activities that make me happy (walks on the beach, the occasional surf - booya!)  Overall, I'm a lucky chicky and  I see a bright future - a year ago, thinking about the future made me freak out. This is progress.

I've recently returned from a Speech-Language Pathology conference in Nashville. My expectations of Nashville weren't high to begin with - I'm not much of a country music fan and, upon glancing on a map, I didn't expect any trips to the beach or exceptionally hot weather. I asked my mom to join me and decided to make it a mother-daughter trip...and you know what? It was awesome! We had a great time and Nashville is definitely now on my top 5 list for "Cool US Cities You Should Visit:" 1) Austin 2) Charlotte 3) New Orleans 4) San Antonio 5) Nashville

As we arrived at the Nashville airport and were surrounded by young women 6'4 and taller, we soon realized that the Final Four for NCAA was taking place in Nashville that weekend. Wow! College basketball is like a big deal. A really big deal. Go UCONN! (I don't know that team, but everyone seemed to be cheering for them, so I'm hopping on that bandwagon).

We stayed at a hotel called the "Gaylord Opryland Resort and Convention Centre," which was a tourist attraction in itself. With 3000 rooms, a dozen restaurants, bars, and shops, and a flippin' river that runs through the hotel, one could definitely spend a week wandering around looking for their room (Ok, it took mom and I about half an hour, but seriously).

This is just a portion of the "lobby" Can you say overkill?

My conference was incredible! I learned a ton. However, the one thing I noticed when I looked around at my fellow speechies was the lack of scarves. I'm not sure if these Speech Pathologists didn't get the memo, but SLP's are SUPPOSED to wear scarves. It's like an international rule. That's just how we do things. 

Although I did have the opportunity to live in the south for a few years - Ev played hockey in Mississippi and Georgia, which I would consider to be the "deep south," I kinda forgot that things are just a little different down there. For one, southern folk have a special way of disguising things to sound friendlier than their intended meaning. A southerner could totally throw out an insult but you wouldn't  realize it. For example, a common southern phrase is "Bless her heart." For example, "Bless her heart, she got lost in that big hotel!" With that singsong lilt and soft Nashville twang, it actually sounds quite lovely. What it actually means is: "She is a friggin idiot and has no sense of direction." For real. Those southerners are on to something. The have perfected the art of dissing. We could learn from them. 

Little Jimmy Dickens - all 4'11 of him!

Southerners are also much more passionate than we are. During our conference, our speaker, a Speech-Language Pathologist from Alabama, would deliver a strong statement and then follow it up with a "Can I get a hell ya?" Amazingly, the room would erupt in "Hell ya!" What the hell ya is going on here? As I looked around the room at my scarveless counterparts, I wondered if I had been transported to an alternate universe. However, by the 12th hour of lecture, I was right in there like a dirty shirt, throwing my hands up in the hair and hollerin' "Hell Ya!" Awwww....bless her heart. 

While I was attending my conference, my mom took in the Country Hall of Fame and a few other tourist attractions and then we met up for a few days of mother-daughter time in Nashville. We attended the Grand Ole' Opry, which was quite the experience. Given that it was the Country Music Awards weekend in Las Vegas, all the "big" country celebrities were out of state that weekend, so we settled for the "grand-daddies" of country music. We laughed as each performer seemed to get older and older until we were finally graced with the presence of Little Jimmy Dickens, a 4'11, 94 year old country star who is a popular presence at the Grand Ole' Opry. His cowboy hat was bigger than he was, but the guy could still perform! 

Mama and I also toured downtown Nashville, which was the highlight for me. The downtown core has super cool party vibe, with tons of bars and restaurants  - and unbelievably hot talent performing around the clock in every bar. These country singers have come to Nashville to make it big time, and the streets are filled with performers walking around with guitar cases, just hoping to be discovered. I don't wanna brag or anything, but a dude who works at Coyote Ugly asked if mom and I would like to dance on the bar. No big deal, but we decided against it. Next time, mom. Hehe. 

The final awesome thing about Nashville was this:

Yes! It's a bar on a bike. Incredible! Get in shape while you drink! This "Pedal Pub" drove up and down the streets of Nashville, blasting country tunes, while happy patrons simultaneously got drunk and burned calories. Genius. Can I get a hell ya?! HELL YA!

Overall, it was a great little trip to Nashville and it was so wonderful to spend some time with one of my favourite people in the whole wide world. Without complaint, Mom has spent the last few years recruited back as my caregiver. She's been there for me - caring for me and cheering me on through all 4 surgeries and recoveries. I don't know what I would do without my mom. Now we can get back to spending time together as friends - enjoying each other's company and experiencing fun places together again. I am so grateful for my mama -  Love you, mom!

A selfie at the Grand Ole' Opry 

I'm Kirstie, the movie star. I will be your Speech Pathologist today.

So I haven't posted in a while...I've been pretty whiny lately and I thought you'd appreciate it if I kept the whininess to myself for a while. But, I've called a WHAmmmbulance and am feeling much more like myself today, so I will attempt to provide an update without too much whine.

It has been a tough few weeks in terms of knee pain. The last time we chatted, I explained how I really believe that  my pain is neuropathic - my brain is interpreting threat and sending amplified pain signals to my knee. It was enlightening to gain awareness and accept that my knee is likely structurally as good as it will ever get; however, it's frustrating when you understand why and where the pain is occurring, yet feel helpless to make it stop.

Anyways, I ended up taking some time off of work in an attempt to settle down this pissed off knee. It was ok for a few days, but by day 3, I was losing my marbles, ready to kill Dr. Phil and his messed up guests, and really eager to get back to the hospital - easier said than done. Because of some checked boxes on a form, I was told by HR that I could come back to work as long as I didn't sit, stand, or walk. Um? Ok? How's that gonna play out people? Speech therapy via stretcher?? Luckily, my family doctor is a very accommodating man and he was able to meet me in the operating room before he performed surgery just so he could uncheck those pesky boxes so that I could return to work. For real. Awesome system.

Although I am frequently experiencing pain at work, I find it much easier to distract myself in that environment. When you're dealing with people who've just suffered a stroke, or a family who is questioning how to keep a loved one comfortable at the end of life, you gain perspective and spend a lot of energy attempting to reassure and comfort patients. You also get to chat with families, hear about the patient's wedding in 1945, the new great-grandchild, and discuss current events. There is no doubt in my mind that I get my energy from people. I really need to be surrounded by people, especially when I'm struggling. I am also very lucky to work with really fabulous co-workers. They sense when I'm having a rough day (most of them are physios, so they can spot an "off" gait anywhere!) and are so supportive and kind.

One of my fabulous co-workers, Kelly, has begun acupuncture with me. Kelly is one of those people who is constantly observing, processing, and problem-solving. She came up with a great plan: we're going to pair my acupuncture session (in which I should feel relaxed and pain-free) with music. The idea is to classically condition myself, so eventually, if I am feeling pain, I can listen to a specific song/songs and instantly feel relaxed. You know, just like Pavlov's dog. If "Pour Some Sugar on Me" suddenly makes me excessively salivate, you'll know we've gone wrong somewhere. Haha. It's totally worth a try and I'm open to everything right now.  In addition, I'm trying a new medication that targets nerve pain. I'm crossing my fingers that this combination of therapy makes a difference for me. I just really want to be happy and pain-free again - consistently.  Fake it 'til you make it has some merits; however, it's exhausting to constantly be smiling through clenched teeth.

Yesterday, for example, around 2pm, I had hit my limits for the day. My knee was aching, the "shocks" were starting up again, and I felt old and disabled as I limped into my patient's room. My 75 year old patient with dementia, who had been in the hospital for over a month, was facing the wall in his wheelchair as I entered the room.

"Mr Smith? Hello! I'm Kirstie, the Speech Therapist."

Mr. Smith turned his head slowly and his eyes widened in surprise, "Wow! You look like a movie star!"

A huge grin appeared on my face and I instantly felt...well, I'm not gonna lie - I felt awesome.

"You have no idea how great that makes me feel,"  I responded, "Are you getting tired of being in the hospital?"

"I'm in the hospital? Jesus, when did that happen?" he responded.

Oh dear. He was definitely confused. He was confused, but man, did he ever make my day.

...And someone will mistake you for a movie star. 

Pain is Painful

"On a scale of 0 to 10, 0 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain you've ever felt, please rate your pain right now."

Ugh.

I hate that damn pain scale. I understand its merits. It helps patients think more objectively and rationally about their pain. It also helps health professionals determine the effectiveness of treatments. But, it kinda sucks. Whenever I'm asked this question, I go into a long complicated self-talk session before giving away my response, "Like 10 minutes ago, when I had a shock, it was a 9, but then the shock settled and it's a 5...so I do I take the average? I don't want to overestimate my pain, but I need my doctor to know that this legit pain. What do I pick? aggggghhhh!"

If I am in quite a bit of pain, I usually go with a 7. It's a solid number. It gives me room to grow - you know, if the pain gets worse - In retrospect, 7's a good call. I have vivid memories of laying in room 406 of the hospital yelling, "It's a 10. The pain is now a 10 people. For real!"

Sometimes, I hear outpatients in our therapies department, patients who've dressed themselves, driven themselves to therapy, and participated in idle chitchat in the waiting room respond with outrageous pain claims.

"Oh the pain is terrible. I'd say at least a 15."

Ok. Wait just a minute. 15 is not an option. And if your pain was worse than the worst pain you could ever felt, than how the hell did you just scarf down that Tim's breakfast sandwich? Ya, I saw you. I call bullshit. Funny enough, that statement is usually followed by, "And I have a really high tolerance for pain." REALLY? And who decided that one?

But maybe that person actually believed his pain was 5 points worse than the worst pain he's ever felt? Who am I to say? Pain is personal. Pain is subjective.

This past week, I've been struggling with pain. "The shocks" came back with a vengeance. They caused me to drop my clipboard, grab my knee and yell, "SHIT!" on an hourly basis. Super inconvenient. I finally gave up on attempting to be a productive member of society and went home and laid in bed for a week. It sucked. When I began feeling a bit better later on in the week, I decided to sort out why the hell this is happening. After numerous knee inspections by both my fabulous ortho and my stellar family doc (both of whom I trust completely), it would appear that although my knee is swollen and slightly "angry," all the tests that indicate my cartilage is damaged, a tear exists, or anything really sinister came back negative. Which is a relief; yet, makes me question why I am feeling such intense pain, and how the hell do I ease this debilitating pain (other than drugging myself into that drooling, mindless state).

Then I saw a video. It was a really awesome explanation of pain and the brain's role in pain. You see, the brain is smart. Duh, it's a brain. When something is aggravated in your body, your peripheral nerves send a message to your brain, "Hey, brain, we've got a situation here. The knee is angry. Please advise." The brain's job is to collect all the information - it evaluates every piece of credible information including past experiences - to determine if you are in danger. In my situation, my brain would see that in the past, an angry knee indicated danger, typically resulting in ripped cartilage and surgery to repair. My brain immediately sends a message back to my peripheral nerves, "This is bad! I repeat, bad. THREAT!" (After all, it's in my brain's best interest to keep me safe and alive). My nerves respond by sending the message back to my knee, resulting in a sharp, attention-getting pain. My brain wants me to notice so it's amping up my signal!

So simple, yet so complicated. My brain is conditioned, given my past experience, to signal severe pain when my knee may just be slightly angry.

I'm not saying that the pain is "in my head." That's not the message here. Oh, I can tell you that the pain is real. It causes my teeth to clench and my eyes to tear. What I am saying is that although my brain is merely trying to protect me, it's a bit misled...and I have the power to help change that. And anything that puts the control back in my corner is music to my ears. But..it's easier said than done. I can't just tell my brain to stop, although awareness is definitely a good first step. My anxiety has definitely decreased simply by knowing that my knee cartilage is fine and that I do NOT require more surgery.

The literature recommends that you create a "safe" environment for your nervous system. Initially, it sounded like a bunch of hokey bullshit to me, but hey, I have nothing to lose. I determined that for whatever reason, heat eases my knee pain. So I've taken approximately 12 hot baths this week (sorry environment!) and constantly keep a heat pack on my knee. Basically, I'm telling my brain, "Heat helps. We're heating. We're safe."

Haha, you think I'm crazy, don't you? Ya, so the big question is: Has it helped? Is this helping?  Um....not, yet. But I'm gonna keep going with this. I'll let you know. I mean, the brain's not a dog. It can't be trained in 3 days, people!

Now when I receive "the shocks," not only do I drop my clipboard, grab my knee and yell, "SHIT!" but I also follow it up with, "Brain, we're safe. This is not a threat. I repeat, this is NOT a threat." Oh man, I'm gonna get locked up for sure.

Anyways, it's an interesting theory and worth a good 'ol college try (what does that mean? Did you try harder in college? I didn't.)

I highly recommend that you check out this video. Not only is it extremely informative if you are experiencing pain or living with someone in pain...but it's pretty entertaining as well (and I love a good Aussie accent!)