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!)

Frostbite? No thanks, had that for breakfast

Warning: this is an overly dramatic post because THAT's the kind of mood I'm in. As I write this, I am eating raw brownie batter from a bowl and drinking wine out of a box - I may have mixed a painkiller in there as well...You have been warned. 

So it's cold. It's so cold that it's completely necessary and appropriate to use the "f word" in all caps as an adjective to describe the cold. It's really FUCKING cold. For those of you who don't live in a bitterly cold environment, it's difficult to communicate to you just what -60 degrees Celsius with a windchill feels like. Let me try. Ever hear of frostbite? You know, where like your face or toes freeze, turns blue, and falls off. Frostbite is not even the main concern anymore. Frostbite is imminent. It's a daily occurrence. It's just a way of life, "Hey Bob, looks like you got a little frostbite walking from your car into work. Might wanna get that looked at. Frostbite amputations are at 10 this morning in the boardroom." You see, at -60 degrees what we should be worried about is the state of our internal organs. Don't they stop working when the temperature is no longer safe for human habitation? Like, humans can't survive on Jupiter, right? "Someone" deemed Jupiter unsafe. What makes us think we can survive this? Don't quote me on that one, but I swear to god, I felt my right lung freeze up yesterday when I attempted to inhale this so called "air" (Is it really oxygen anymore if it's frozen?) So you catch my drift - it's FUCKING cold and at this moment, I have NO idea why I make a conscious decision to live here. Obviously, I am an idiot.

You know who else really hates the cold (other than Dundee, the dog, who is now on a pee strike until the temp warms to -30)??? My knee cartilage. The poor cartilage is so traumatized that we are living in such an abrasive climate, that it has begun shocking me again with the tazer-like vibrations that run violently under my kneecap and almost cause me to pee my pants every 20 minutes. And I can't even blame the Biebs this time. Shitty. It's especially frustrating because the knee was so solid on our holiday in Bali. It loved the hot, humid weather. It walked, it swimmed, it climbed stairs, and I even took it surfing! It felt great and did wondrous things for my confidence. It has the potential of being a really stable, dependable knee. I just need to sort out the recipe of climate, activity, and diet (perhaps?), that maximizes its potential. -60; however, is not conducive to healing/functioning/thriving of any sort for man or machine.

To my fellow Saskatchewanians  Saskatchewanites friends from Saskatchewan: Congratulations on continuing to function - working, buying groceries, breathing, etc despite the fact that if NASA landed here, they would deem this arctic tundra "unfit for human habitation." Carry on. Good luck. Stay warm. Only 78 more days until the May long weekend.

Do NOT smile at the monkeys. Ever.

We're back from Bali! It was incredible. What an amazing place. The Balinese people are wonderful. I've never encountered such gentle, lovely people. I have tons of stories and thoughts to share, but to be honest, I'm currently not feeling too articulate. I'm definitely feeling the effects of the 40+ hours of travel and 12 hour time difference. My head is fuzzy, my tummy is upset, and it appears as though I've developed narcolepsy - I seem to fall asleep randomly and suddenly - while sitting on my couch, at the dinner table, on the toilet, and embarrassingly, almost at a work meeting yesterday. I suppose that's the definition of jet lag. So I'll take the next few days to sort this all out and try not to make any important life-changing decisions or share any deep thoughts until my head has cleared.

But, I have to share one memorable tale from our holiday ASAP - it's too sweet not to share.

When I was at my lowest last winter/spring, whilst heavily medicated and miserable, I had this sudden overwhelming desire to own a monkey. I know I know, it sounds crazy. I think I saw a picture of a monkey walking a dog on Pinterest and my effed up brain thought, "If only I had a monkey! My monkey could take Dundee for walks and fetch my pills! Brilliant!"I harassed my poor mom, sending her pictures of cute little monkeys daily - "Mom, I want a monkey. Can you find me a monkey?"

Thankfully, as I returned to my coherent self, I realized this monkey business was just...well...monkey business (See - I suck today.)

Well on our 2nd or 3rd day in Bali, Allicia and I were absolutely thrilled to spot a monkey on the side of the road.

"Pull over! Pull over!" we pleaded to our driver.

We quickly scattered out of the car (the boys remained inside) and began taking pics of this cute little guy, who sat quietly on a ledge scratching his belly and gazing curiously at us (likely thinking, "What are these little yellow-haired creatures with high, screechy voices?")

As we admired our cute little monkey, more monkeys began to congregate. Out of the jungle came 6, 7, 8 monkeys - all lining up on the ledge to inquisitively peer at us and scratch their bellies. Allicia and I marvelled at our little gang of monkeys - this was adorable! We beckoned to the boys to join us. This was more fun than a barrel of monkeys. Our boys remained in the vehicle, watching intently through the window.

Suddenly, a big, angry monkey joined the crowd. Sitting himself in the middle of the line-up, it was difficult not to notice that this giant, irritated monkey was sporting a...well...a boner. Yep, a big monkey boner.

Now, it's important to mention at this point in the story that monkeys come with warnings. Every website or book you will read about monkeys cautions you: "Do NOT smile at monkeys. Monkeys interpret teeth as a sign of aggression."

Tell me...how the hell do you NOT smile at a giant monkey with a big monkey boner?

Allicia and I burst into laughter. Oh my god! Do you see what I see?

In retrospect, it's quite apparent that a big, angry monkey with a stiffy is obviously going to be aggressive. Duh....and to be fair to the monkey, I can't imagine that any male would be thrilled with anyone mocking his boner.

As Allicia and I laughed hysterically, the big angry monkey did something utterly horrible. He scrunched up his little monkey face, opened his mouth, bared some major monkey fangs (I swear, there was still blood on those viscous monkey fangs from the last tourist he consumed), and hissed and screeched at us! It was like a monkey horror movie! He then raised his giant monkey arm and started waving it aggressively at us. If he could talk, I'm positive he would have been shrieking, "I'll get you my pretty!"

Allicia and I freaked! Screaming, we ran to the car, "Open the door! Open the door!" The boys, of course, were laughing hysterically at our predicament (which pissed us off - never bear your teeth at a terrified blonde).

Alarming. That, my friends, is what nightmares are made of.

That experience definitely put a monkey wrench in my plans of monkey adoption. Don't mess with the monkeys.

Bali and the Biebs

So it's all coming together now. I see a definite connection. My knee shocks are directly related to Justin Bieber's criminal activity. Obviously. There's a pattern. Biebs gets busted for throwing eggs - knee freaks out. Biebs gets arrested for drag racing - knee has a conniption. Damn you Justin Bieber. My knee aches, obviously mourning the loss of his innocence. I was just about to send out a tweet to the Biebs: "@justingbieber Stop breaking the law you little prick #kneekiller" but then I had an appointment with Dr. M, who confirmed that, no, it is not Biebs' fault.

As it turns out, I seem to have a piece of scar tissue that's rubbing against my meniscus and perhaps stimulating a nerve(s), causing, "the shocks." Not much I can do about it, but I do have piece of mind that my fabulous cartilage continues to appear intact. Dr. M reminded me that although we definitely improved the situation with the transplant, my knee will never be normal. Flare ups are going to always be a part of life. Bummer. I was feeling so awesome that a part of me thought that this was all over. I kinda expected to walk into my 9 month follow-up with Dr. M, hug it out, and break up for good. Nope. There is no finish line. We'll be seeing each other for a while. That's OK, I guess. He's the best and he gets me and knows exactly how to talk me off my ledge. He reminded me that I'm still "me." I've been striving to be the Kirstie that I used to be - the active and happy person of 2011. I'm still Kirstie, but I'm a new variation of "me." I've changed - physically, emotionally, and mentally - which is what we're supposed to do. That's life. We're constantly changing and growing. This experience just kicked it up a notch...but I haven't lost "me." I'm still here. I need to sort out what my daily activity level is going to look like. It won't be what it used to be - that's unrealistic. I need to determine a level that my knee can maintain, without continuously crashing.

Apparently I can massage the knee scar to prevent it from getting worse...but who wants to massage their own scar? I thought I'd enlist the help of Evs so I set the mood: you know, had a shower and applied smelly lotion to my legs and so on.

"Hey...Evvy. Wanna rub my....scar?" I inquired seductively (ha! As If I know how to talk 'seductively')

Initially, he may have thought that "rub my scar" was code for something sexy. It wasn't. I literally just wanted help breaking down the scar tissue in my knee. Needless to say, he was uncooperative. And disappointed.

So despite the continuation of the "the shocks," I feel ready to embark on our great adventure. We leave Sunday morning for Bali. It only takes about 39 hours to get there, so we'll have lots of time to mentally prepare. Yikes. We're also battling with a last-minute conundrum - how to import our booze to Bali?? The hard alcohol in Bali is taxed at a very high rate, so a 26 of vodka can cost about $80! They recommend that you don't buy mixed drinks in bars, as some businesses in Bali are concocting their own versions, sometimes with methanol, to avoid paying the heavy prices. The methanol drinks have killed a few tourists, so that's not ideal. At all. We want to bring our own, but are struggling with the decision to purchase duty free in Minneapolis and pay duty twice, or hope that a duty free is open in Singapore between the hours of 12 am and 5am (our last layover). So, you know, we have a first world problem in a third world country. Haha.

But, honestly, I'm so looking forward to life in Bali for a few weeks. Every one of my friends who has been there has described it as a peaceful, spiritual, magical place. It'll be nice to slow down, enjoy great company, and have lots of laughs. I'm also looking forward to being underwater again, consuming my oxygen at lightening speed. What can I say? I love breathing.

Cheers!

Fear: It'll make you sh*t your pants

Ugh.

What else can I say?

Ugh.

I had a shitty week. I crashed. That's the only way to describe it. I was flying high...and then I crashed. I can't pinpoint a specific moment, but my downward slide definitely began about 9 days ago. I had a crazy day at work - I was on my feet all day, pushing a poor man in a wheelchair around the hospital (long story, but I'm going to go ahead and blame a Doc for mistaking "Speech-Language Pathologist" for  "Porter"). I got home, laid on the couch, and haven't really gotten off of it since. I got Nancy Kerriganed. It started with all-over aches and pains in my knees and hip, and then moved to "the shocks." "The shocks" have riddled my knee since the beginning of this whole knee fiasco a year and a half ago. I've never been tasered, but I would imagine that "the shocks" feel much like someone is directly tasering my knee. Picture a dog, donning a shock collar, who has just left the boundaries of his yard. That's what I look like. I yelp, jump a bit, lick my butt, and then carry on. It's exhausting. The one thing I've found that reduces the intensity is Tramadol. Do you recall the Tramadol? That's that pesky drug I became addicted to last spring. Tramadol is effective in reducing my pain; however, it causes me to drool and lay lifeless on my couch. Yikes. Unfortunately, that's what my week looked like. I limped around the hospital, wide-eyed and screeching in pain occasionally, then crashed on my couch in a puddle of drool at 4:30....and the bad dreams returned. You know the frustrating dreams where Dr. M is my volleyball coach? This week he benched me and yelled at me in Afrikaans. I don't speak Afrikaans. It sucked. It reminded me of where I was. I thought I had this. I thought I was in control. I'm not. Perhaps I never will be.

Physio saw me pathetically limping around and suggested that I start temporarily using the cane until this "flare-up" diminished. The practical side of my brain understands why I would benefit from the cane for a few days. The practical side of my brain realizes that I'm not helping myself by limping around the hospital. The emotional side; however, had a very strong reaction to that suggestion.

"NO!"

I have created this negative symbol in my mind. To me, the cane represents "broken." I know it's wrong. I'm a rehabilitation therapist for God's sake. I know better! But the thought of using that damn cane again freaks me right out. When physio suggested the cane for a few days, I felt my chin quiver and my eyes well up with tears. I HATE that cane. To be completely honest, it's mostly superficial. I hate the way people look at me when I'm on that cane. The "Awwwwww's" and pity in their eyes makes me feel this big (I'm gesturing teeny tiny with my thumb and index finger right now). On the other hand, the practical side of brain tells me that I'm not fooling anyone right now with that awkward limp anyway - the people who notice know that I am struggling right now...cane or no cane.

We leave for our big holiday in 1 week. We are going to Bali - definitely a "bucket list" trip. In my mind, this vacation was planned as a victory celebration - successfully making it through the most challenging few years of our life. This set-back is so disappointing but I'm presently glued to my couch, leg elevated and heated, pampering this knee to prepare it for a big adventure. I'm presently off of all physical activity - no physio, no yoga, no weights, and no drunk dancing. I'm worrying about this knee settling down - I honestly thought that I was over the worst and this whole challenging journey was coming to an end - an end with a fairy tale ending, of course :) I'm hopeful that this is just another minor set-back and learning lesson in this ride that I'm still very much on.

Finally, motivational posters are annoying me this week. I posted a few on my wall - you know "Never give up," "Stay strong," blah blah blah. They aren't helping. So I took some time to find a few of my favorite DEmotivational posters. Enjoy.

Firsts

2013 was a year of "firsts" for me - but not the kind of firsts that most peops would consider desirable. In 2013 I had my first major breakdown in a Doc's office (Sorry Dr. M!), went on my first anti-depressant, ended up in emerg with my first diagnosis of serotonin syndrome (oh, google it, it's a hoot!), depended on a cane to walk for the first time (UGH!), experienced my first legit 10/10 on the pain scale, suffered through my first drug withdrawal, and finally, received my very first knee cartilage transplant. I'm all for trying new things, especially as we age and complain, "I'm too old to experience anything new," but c'mon....those "firsts" sucked the big one.

Although it's only January 11, I've already experienced 4 major "firsts" in 2014 - good, solid, happy firsts. As my last post described, I rang in 2014 with a huge first - my new cartilage rocked out on the dance floor. That was definitely a turning point in my recovery. In addition, in just the last week, my new cartilage has participated in its first ever yoga class (I love tree. Solid pose), completed its first CrossFit workout (modified, but legit), began briskly walking on the treadmill, and officially entered 'Phase IV' of cartilage implant recovery. I recall laying on my couch post-surgery, reading the phases of recovery, sent to me from an Orthopedic clinic in New York who had some experience with patients like myself. I remember thinking that I would be stuck at Phase I forever: non-weight bearing for 8-10 weeks. It's hard to believe that I've made it all the way to the second last phase of recovery. This phase is characterized by strengthening the knee and building endurance. The thing that excites me the most about this phase of my recovery is that I'm only about 4-6 months away from Phase V: participating in regular sports and activities. Wow. A year ago I was struggling to accept that I may never be able to walk "normally" again and now I'm training with a goal of returning to the regular activities that I participated in pre-knee fiasco.

In addition to all those fabulous firsts, I also have another exciting announcement to make: I have chosen my fight entrance song! Yes! Can you believe it? Right now you're thinking, "What the hell is she talking about?" Well, I'm not really into watching the "fights," per se (like UFC, MMA or even boxing matches),  but I do really enjoy the moment right before the fight, when, tunes pumping, crowd cheering, the fighter enters the ring with his/her posse. Usually, the fighter looks super cool, and I always imagine the adrenaline rush that fighter must experience in that moment. I usually tune out once the fight begins and then contemplate, "If I was a fighter, what song would accompany my awesome entry into the arena?"

Well this week, it suddenly came to me whilst listening to Songza's, "Belligerent Party Rap" playlist. I have it...Ludacris. Obviously. It's badass. It says, "I'm about to kick some ass, in a super cool, I don't really give a damn, kinda way....so get back get back you don't know me like that." I imagine that my UFC/MMA entrance would look something like this (Warning: bad words. Lots of bad bad words)

You better move. You better Dance - Kei$ha knows

We've had an awesome holiday season! Ev and I flew out to Phoenix on xmas eve and spent a week with Ev's parents in retirement heaven - Mesa. I hafta say though, travelling during the holidays is a bitch. As we raced Evan dragged my sorry ass across the Denver airport, we realized that with 5 minutes left until departure, our current location of Gate B85 was still 73 gates away from our departure gate of B12.  I seriously contemplated giving up and draping myself and my angry knee across the moving walkway. The airports were chaotic!

Once we arrived (actually, approximately 22 minutes after we arrived), we settled nicely into retirement life. We drank wine, ate tons of Ev's mom's amazing homemade treats, and lounged/napped by the pool. I have never been so full or relaxed for 5 consecutive days in my life. Proof: I ate so much that the nice little butt I've worked so diligently to "build" has officially overlapped onto my back (AKA: back fat). Dammit. Whatevs. It was so worth it! Proof: One day while snoozing by the pool, I was awaken suddenly by someone's loud snores. I was mortified to realize that it was, in fact, me who was snoring! Now that's relaxation at its finest. Yes, it was fabulous.

In addition to rest and relaxation, my knee hit 2 major milestones in the past week. The knee: 1) ran (like for real this time) and 2) It danced. Extremely exciting.

The run was not intentional. Like my last "rimping" experience, the run was a result of basic human survival instinct. This time it wasn't to escape the frigid air. Nor was it to flee a rabid dog. The run resulted from basic human instinct to score the best deal possible on a purse. You see, there was this lovely black leather Coach purse that I had my eye on. I knew that I would be able to hit up the Coach store in Phoenix, so I had every intention of buying it while I was down there. We found the purse at the Coach store, paid full price for it, and wandered through Dillards on our way to the parking lot. To my dismay, there, in Dillards, sat the exact purse that I had just purchased - 30% off! Dammit! Because they were on sale, they were non-refundable. The purse I had just purchased; however, was refundable. We were in a bit of time crunch, so I advised Ev to pay for the purse at Dillards while I returned the full price one at the Coach Store. Once I got to the store, The saleslady assured me that she would price match Dillards. Shit. I had to get back to Dillards before Ev put that purse on our credit card; otherwise, I would have 2 identical pricey purses.

So, I did what any woman would do in a purse emergency. I ran. This time, cognizant of my form, I was actually able to inhibit the one legged long jump and sorta kinda run like a normal person. Sweat pouring down my face, the urgency of the situation driving me to persevere, I ran with desperation into Dillards. Like a slow motion scene from a movie, just as Evan was about to slide that credit card through the machine, completing the fatal transaction, I hollered,

"EEEEEEEVVVVVVVVAAAAAANNNNNNN   NOOOOOOOOO!"

I saved the sale. It was pretty epic. Thank you, Coach kiosk in Dillards for helping me run again. I am forever indebted to you. To show my appreciation, I vow to purchase a new Coach purse every season.

As if that wasn't amazing enough, something totally and unbelievably awesome happened on New Year's Eve. At a cold little hall in Lily Plain, Saskatchewan, I danced. I legit danced for the first time in 19 months. The cartilage was in it's finest form, ready and willing to rip up that dance floor well into the new year. The knee poured some sugar on me with Def Lepoard. It Thriftshopped with Maclamore, it smelled the whiskey burnin' down Copperhead Road with Steve Earle, and it S & M'd with Rihanna. No crutches. No cane. No walls to hang onto. It was independent, legit Friday night Muchmusic Electric Circus-style dancing. Luckily, the DJ, donning a classic Bill Cosby sweater, was on the brutal side. When he slid in lame-ass songs (How the hell do you dance to "wrecking ball"?) I had a chance to take a break, have a seat, and numb the knee with vodka. It was an awesome night! Although I woke up the next morning with a bit of a hangover (OK, a bad hangover), the knee wasn't even swollen or angry. Confidence is high, my friends. What a great way to ring in the new year!

Thank you, Lily Plain Hall, for helping me get my groove back. Fantastic.

I clearly recall my feelings of fear and hopelessness one year ago when I worried what 2013 had in store for me. How things can change in a year! I am one lucky girl. I can't wait to see what 2014 brings. Happy New Year everyone!

My dancing buddies!!