Perspective

This will be my 5th Christmas season working at the hospital and although I know what to expect, I still find it the most difficult and heartbreaking time of year. Like most workplaces during xmas, our hospital is decorated with festive cheer, there are boxes of chocolates, xmas treats, and radios softly play Boney M and all the xmas favorites as we work away. We try our best to emulate the excited Christmas buzz that you feel in the air when you're out in the community during this special time in year, but it's certainly not the same. As soon as you step off the elevator and onto the ward, it feels especially somber. For some patients in the hospital, this will definitely be the worst Christmas they've ever experienced and perhaps a xmas that will haunt their families for years to come.

As healthcare workers, I think that we all struggle at times to "leave work at work" and not allow the sadness to creep home with us at the end of the day. You have to. Although we've all shed a fear tears, especially during the holidays, we would go crazy if we let every diagnosis, every death affect our mood once we leave the workplace. On the other hand, as difficult as it is, I also think it is valuable to "feel" with our patients and families. It certainly puts things into perspective. For example, I stormed into work on Friday morning upset because Evan had eaten all my Lindt chocolates. The same Lindt chocolates that I was planning on giving out as gifts. His response when I called him out? "You're pretty." Seriously? That's all you got? I angrily relayed the story to my co-workers. Now I had to leave during my lunch hour to buy new chocolates. What an inconvenience! 15 minutes later, I was standing in a patient's room as he and his family received the news that he had suffered a stroke and it was evolving. "So we just have to wait and see if it disables him?" inquired the patient's wife, as she lovingly stroked her husband's hair. I nodded quietly and recalled my squabble with Evan. How silly. How lucky we are. I wanted to get in my car, cover Evan with kisses and tell him to eat as many fricken Lindt chocolates as he wants.

The holiday season at the hospital is also a time for fabulous people to shine. You catch co-workers going the extra mile this time of year to make life just a little more joyous for our patients. Last week I watched 3 nurses wheel a lonely and confused patient to the nurses desk. While they charted away, they tried their best to cheer up their patient, who was visibly upset.  As the poor old man uttered, "I'm such a bother," I saw the Nurse take his hand in hers and reply, "No you're not. We love having you around!" I've also watched my fellow therapists stand outside in the -30 degree weather to organize and determine the safest mode of transferring a patient to and from a vehicle - all so the patient can enjoy a few hours in his house on Christmas day. A lady from housekeeping took a break from sweeping the floor to fetch a glass of water for a thirsty patient - not her job; however, she was more than happy to take a few minutes out of her busy schedule. Our fabulous social worker, Gord, came into work on his day off so that he could accompany us on his guitar while we sang Christmas carols throughout the wards. It's nice to see. It restores your faith in humanity. It makes me proud to be a healthcare worker and I feel blessed to work beside so many kind, compassionate people. Keep up the good work, peops!

Run, Kirstie, Run!

I can walk. I can squat. I can even lunge (boo ya!). But I can't run. Yet. I had never actually tested the whole running theory until today. I definitely do not have clearance from my Physio to run at this point in my rehabilitation. A year ago I questioned whether or not I'd ever be able to run again. Now, given my sweet cartilage and the progress that I am making, I am optimistic that some day I will run. Not like in a marathon or anything, but that has never interested me. I just wanna have running as an option - you know, like if someone is chasing me or whatever...for survival. That's how I realized today that running is not yet a verb in my knee's vocabulary. My survival instincts kicked in. I wasn't being robbed. I wasn't being chased by a rabid dog. I was; however, being attacked by a rather brisk -40 degree celsius windchill in the hospital parking lot. I was heading to my vehicle, frigid wind whipping at my face, when suddenly instinct took over, and without even considering my knee, I began to break into a run. Well, my brain thought that I was running. I wasn't actually "running," I was kinda...well..."rimping" (run/limp). About halfway to my vehicle, I became cognizant of what my body was doing - a left legged long jump with speed - I was even pumping my arms with each "stride." Oh dear.  I stopped suddenly, wondering if anyone in the hospital had witnessed my pathetic attempt to reach my vehicle without freezing to the cement. Embarrassed, I adjusted my scarf and continued the rest of my journey with a super cool saunter.

So... lesson learned. My body forgot how to run. We will have to work on that. How strange to realize that something that was once so automatic is temporarily out of commission. Apparently my vision of suddenly breaking into a perfect stride is not realistic. Damn you, Forrest Gump, for painting an unrealistic view of rehab.

Baby Got Back

I've been pretty candid with you guys regarding the absence of my ass. To my dismay, it disappeared over a year ago when my workout routine was rudely interrupted by my angry knee. With each surgery and recovery, I watched it fade away until I was left with a loooong back that eventually attached to a pair of atrophied thighs. It was upsetting. Some may scoff at this and say, "I wish I could lose some of my ass!" Trust me. You don't. The butt is a beautiful thing, people. And aesthetically necessary. You see, all pants have a special place for a bottom. No bum? Tough luck. Your pants look stupid. I recall shopping for dress pants with Lawyer's hubby, Darren (because he will tell you exactly what he thinks) and he strongly suggested that I sport skirts until something that remotely resembled a rear end appeared on my body. Having no butt made me feel weak, unhealthy, and Justin Bieberish.

Since I've received clearance from physio in early October, I have made it my mission to get my ass back. It even made #7 on my "cool shit I will do once my knee works" list.  I decided that it was time to boost this booty. Tighten the tush. Junk up the trunk. Bring back the badonkadonk.

The bottom line (no pun intended): I've been working my butt off ON.

I wish I had a proper before and after shot, or even some legit measurements. I don't. But being that I am very familiar with my ass (we've known each other intimately for 34 years), I can guarantee you that although it's no Kim Kardashian or J-LO, there is now visual evidence that a legit bum separates my lower back from my thighs. Whoot Whoot!

Obviously, I couldn't have done it without my new cartilage. You rock, cartilage - thank you! In addition, there are a few key players that I'd like to thank:

1) Cafeteria lady at the hospital- Thank you for that extra large serving of cheesy lasagna, cheesy macaroni, and cheesy pizza. I'm certain that all that cheese contributed to booty. I do; however, have terrible acid reflux and will be avoiding you from now on.

2) Dr. Phil - I made it my goal to hold a 30 second hip bridge every single time the camera panned on Robin (Dr. Phil's wife) making a shocked/dismayed/yet attractive facial expression during the 60 minute show. It happens a lot. Trust me.

3) Sir Mix-a-Lot a lot via Evan Lindsay's cell phone - Thank you, Ev, for changing your alarm to the classic tune, "Baby Got Back." Waking up every morning to "Oh my god, Becky, look at that butt..." seriously inspired me on a daily basis.

So Ladies! (yeah) Ladies! (yeah) 
You wanna roll in my Mercedes?
Turn around, stick it out
Even white boys gotta shout
Baby got back. 

Shooting fish oil and droppin' it like it's hot

I feel incredibly happy. Yes, I'm bitching about the -30 degree deep freeze we are currently experiencing and that stupid mayor from Toronto who is an embarrassment to all Canadians, but honestly, I just feel giddy with excitement - about nothing in particular - just life. I don't recall ever feeling this content with where I'm currently at - and I've spent so much time in the past 2 years worrying about my future that I really just want to take an opportunity to enjoy and reflect on this wonderful feeling. Perhaps it's the "honeymoon phase" of being a functional walker again? I'm not sure. But it's great. I have never laughed so much. I have never sang so much (particularly bad-ass Snoop from the 90's), and I have never danced so much (I drop it like it's hot at least 3 times a day. Why? Because I can. Boom).

I ran into Dr. M in the hallway at the hospital last week and he posed an excellent question: "Do you think that characteristics of the person who donated your cartilage were transplanted along to you with the cartilage?"

"YES!" I exclaimed, "That's it!"

All I know about my cartilage is that it came from a someone under 12 years of age.  I often think about that child and that family. They made a decision. Knowing their child would not recover, they made a decision to donate their child's organs and tissues to people in need across North America. Someone may have received that child's lungs. Someone may have received that child's kidneys. I received a very very small part of that child, yet that tiny part, in 6 months, has changed my life. It's humbling. I feel a great sense of responsibility to care for this gift. It's incredibly powerful and I am eternally grateful.

I can't prove that a piece of cartilage that now compromises about .000005% of my total mass (I totally made that number up) can really transplant elements from the donor's character, but I think it's a really cool premise. I imagine that the donor of my cartilage was exuberant - full of energy and joy. My donor was playful and delighted in the smallest of things. I'm sure of this because this is how I presently feel on a daily basis.

I'm not sure if the "transplant theory" holds true, but one thing that I can say for certain is that my "personal age" (the age that I feel) is now significantly less than my chronological age. For about 18 rough months, I felt like I imagined an unwell 90 year old woman would feel. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a haggard, sick, old woman. Presently; however, I look in the mirror and I see 23 year old Kirstie - lively, happy, and fun. I mean, I'm not like shotgunning beer and doing headstands on tables (Yes, I did THAT), but I DID take my fish oil shooter-style this morning and laughed my ass off when I slammed the bottle down afterward.

I don't know how long this feeling will last, but I'm soaking it up. So many of my blog posts documented the pain, fear, and anxiety that I was experiencing. I've come to realize that now is the time to document and celebrate each and every victory - no matter how trivial it might seem. So here it goes. Evidence of newfound youthful "personal age":

1) 90's music: I have become obsessed with the fabulous tunes of the 90's. Every morning, I wake up, select the "Singin' in the shower 90's edition" playlist on Songza and dance. George Michael tells me "I gotta have Faith," as I apply my eyeshadow, TLC warns me, "I don't want no scrubs," as I select my pants for the day, and Blackstreet sings, "I like the way you work it...no diggity," as I perform my daily squats with a cup of tea in hand. I look forward to my mornings now - the routine of getting ready for work has become one of the highlights of my day.

My lively morning routine; however, may be just a little too much for my quietly focused hubby. The other day, as I entered the kitchen with my laptop on my shoulder, boom-box style, I said to Ev (who was sitting at the table on his computer), "Hey Evs! Don't you just wanna get up and dance?"

"Nope."

"Never? Come on. Sometimes? Don't you ever just have an undeniable urge to get up and groove?"

"Never."

Well, Ok then. To each his own. Haha.

2) Silly Games: I find myself creating little personal contests for myself on a daily basis. Examples include: Catching the microwave at the :01 mark, filling the gas tank to the perfect dollar, and holding a plank for an entire commercial break. When I "win," I quietly celebrate with a fist pump and an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

3) Cereal Obsession: Screw the unreal sugar content, I just really want a bowl of cereal! Breakfast, Supper - I don't discriminate. I recall this phase in University when I had no time to cook, no money (I had spent it all at the bar and hair salon) and consumed 3-4 bowls of cereal a day for approximately 2 years straight. Yummmm! Although I now have a steady income and the ability to purchase "real" food, lately, I've passed up the pork chops and shrimp scampi for a delightful bowl of cereal. It's even better when consumed in front of the television, whilst watching "The Flinstones." Why not?

4) Evan is hot stuff: I find myself "checking out" Ev more frequently. I mean, I've always been attracted to this guy - I fondly remember waiting outside the dressing room for Ev after games, and marvelling at how handsome he was when he emerged from the dressing room. It's pretty cool that after 17 years as a couple, I still find this guy smokin' hot. Seriously, have you seen this dude's body? He looks after himself..and he's mine. All mine. Bahahaha (evil laugh). To quote Salt-N-Pepa,  "You're packed and you're stacked, 'specially in the back brotha I wanna thank your motha for a butt like that." :)

Dress to impress?

My nice little groove of writing and sharing my blog posts on the weekend was interrupted by a most unwelcome guest. Sleeping soundly in my bed Friday night, I had no clue that I would soon be struck down for 36 hours by.....dun dun dun... the "Which End?" flu.

Do you know that flu? At the risk of grossing you out, I'll present a brief description: You're suddenly overcome with nausea/upset stomach and you race to the bathroom because stomach disaster is imminent. Once you get to the toilet; however, you have approximately 3 seconds to assess the situation: will you be sitting or will you be kneeling? It's like the Russian roulette of stomach viruses. It's horrible. It's gross. No one wants to be your friend. I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy (well, maybe one of those Kardashians - they're so flippin smug). Anyways, that was my weekend. My entire fricken weekend! I'm pretty sure that I lost at least 5 lbs (from my boobs and butt, of course) and given that my "last meal" before it hit was sushi, I'd say it's safe to say that I will never eat Sushi again. Ugh.

Prior to that, I was having an exceptional week. The knee was performing at it's highest level in over a year and I was feeling like I had officially turned a corner with all this knee business. On Wednesday, I decided to showcase the knee in a pair of sweet tall leather boots that were given the shaft last winter due to the pink knee brace. As I strutted around the hospital in my tall leather boots, my confidence high with every non-limping step, I felt like "me" again. Just happy Kirstie, headed to rounds, wearing a sweet pair of leather boots. When I got upstairs to level 5, I ran into Lawyer's hubby, Darren, a Nurse on the unit. Darren is notorious for commenting on my wardrobe - good or bad, he'll tell you exactly what he thinks.

 "Oh my god, KL! Where is your horse?" he exclaimed.

"Darren, these are totally trendy right now. You're an idiot," I fired back.

About an hour later I was confidently strutting back to my office when I ran into Dr. M in the hallway. I smiled, sure that he was completely impressed with my fabulous gait.

"Wow. Nice boots. Where's your horse?" he commented sarcastically. 

OK. that's 2 encounters with 2 men (there's like 5 men in our whole hospital) and 2 negative man reviews of the boots (Although, I must say, I received numerous compliments from women).

This lead to a great discussion with some girlfriends after work, over a glass of wine (of course): What kind of clothes do men prefer to see women wearing? Do guys "get" trends?  and Who do you dress for? Yourself? Other women? or do you dress to impress men/a special man in your life?

The consensus at the table was that although we would like men to find our attire attractive, we typically dress for ourselves or to impress our female peers with our style sense. In addition, we decided that the average dude doesn't really appreciate the trendy/fashionable items that women may find stylish. Given our small sample size, we can't verify that this is the norm, but it certainly seemed to be the case with the men that we knew. We came up with a few examples of styles that our men poo-poohed, despite Pinterest informing us that they were super cool:

1) Ruffles/lace: Lawyer has a few beautiful ruffly blouses (I think they're fabulous) Hubby thinks she looks like a "clown." Boo hubby!

Oh, are you doing a children's party today, dear?

2) Flowers (both the floral pattern and the "brooch" flower that people sometimes wear): Colleen donned a flower brooch one day and boyfriend pointed and exclaimed, "What the hell is that?" I wore a flower-patterned top once, to which Darren commented, "That looks like my grandma's couch."

Now don't panic, but there's something attached to your shirt!

3) Stylish hats/touques" - I sported the slouchy touque that sits on the back of your head. It was cute. Ev immediately pulled it  forward on my head, "It's not a touque if it's not even covering your ears!"

Your touque's falling off. Let me fix it for you.

4) Anything outside of the norm: Examples include: a) a new hairstyle ("What's going on with this curly stuff? Is that a wig?") b) Glam makeup ("I don't know what a "smoky eye" is. All I know is it looks like someone beat you up.") and c) funky jewellery ("Why are you wearing anal beads?") and yes, Lawyer's hubby actually said that to me once while donning a cool chunky wooden necklace!

call 911! Who did this to you?

So what do men prefer? My buddy and co-worker Heidi summed it up perfectly, "I think all guys like women in ponytails and high heels." Hmmmm....interesting. And incredibly boring. I think I'll continue to dress to impress myself and my female peers. Horse or no horse, those high leather boots made me feel invincible. 

Fondue: just like having a baby

The knee had a really good week. The swelling finally went down and I was crutchless and relatively pain-free every day. I noticed; however, that whenever I praise the knee on social media, it backlashes. That being said, this is the only paragraph the knee gets this week.

I was in a celebratory mood so I was tickled pink to see that I had been invited to an "event" via facebook. Interestingly enough, as I read through the invite, promising "Oktoberfest beers of the world and bratwurst," it occurred to me that this party was being held at my house! Yep, Ev had planned a shindig. Good on Ev. We built our current house with a fabulous basement bar, with every intention to put that bar to good use as frequently as possible. Unfortunately, the knee put a damper on that plan, and to be honest, given the long flight of stairs, I've probably been in our basement less than 5 times in the last year. Squatters could be living down there, watching my big screen TV and drinking my booze from the lovely boozy carousel for all I know. It's definitely time to start realizing the full potential of that basement bar.

Since Oktoberfest was the theme, there was a beers of the world beer tasting contest, lots of bratwurst and sausage, and cheese fondue. I was in charge of the cheese fondue. I envisioned the occasional stir throughout the evening, but was shocked to find that cheese fondue supervision is a actually high maintenance activity. The flame was too high - the cheese began to separate. The flame was too low - the cheese began to clump. As I scurried back and forth trying to keep the fricken cheese happy, I commented to a friend, "man, it's just like having a baby." Haha. I could tell by the look she gave me that no, it was actually nothing like having a baby. We had a good laugh and it occurred to me that although I can imagine what it is like to have children, I truly have no idea.

Ev and I do not have kids. Things may change - I can't see the future, but today, we do not have kids. When we first got married, people would nag us constantly, "When are you having kids?" "Better get to it!" or the most cringeworthy question, "Are you trying?" - Um, you just asked me if I am having unprotected sex. Awkward. And then I noticed some people were just downright mean, actually trying to scare us into having kids? Not having kids? I didn't get it. "Oh, you better enjoy sleeping now because once you have kids, that'll all change!" "Oh, must be nice to work out and get your hair done, just wait - once you have kids you will have no time for yourself!" Well, gosh, that doesn't inspire me to "start trying."

Now that we're well into our 30's, most of our friends have young families. And although I can definitely see that our day-to-day lives are very different, we can certainly all get together, have a great time, and still have plenty to chat about. Sometimes I feel like there's this club that everyone belongs to except for Ev and I. As I sit back and listen to moms discuss the art of potty training, I nod and smile and have absolutely nothing to contribute other than sharing stories about changing cat litter (fyi: people with kids don't appreciate your comparison of your 10 year old cat's bowel movements to their 2 year old child). But, for the most part, I take it all in, consider what life could be like with children, and continue to enjoy my quiet life with Ev and the animals. As an outsider to this world, I observe  how unbelievably frustrating and difficult it is to raise these little people, but I also see how much love and pride people have for their own children. Although I love my animals and Evan more than words can express, I really don't know what it feels like to love my own child. But, today, I'm ok with that.

One thing I've come to learn is that people with children require a lot of notice before they can leave the house. It kind of annoyed me and I didn't really get it until I watched my sister attempt to wrangle one of her children to the door after a visit with aunty Kirstie. Keep in mind, this was 1 child! I can only imagine what 2...or even 3 would be like!!!! As I watched in dismay, I couldn't help but recall an instance in University when I had to remove my drunk buddy from a  bar. It looked like this:

Bartender: "Is that your friend? (pointing at drunk buddy who just dropped and broke glass bottle) You need to get him out of here."

Me: "Drunk buddy, let's go. You've had a good night, but it's time to go now."

Drunk Buddy: "NOOOOOO. I'm having so much fun. I don't want to leave!"

Me: "You're breaking shit. Let's go."

Drunk Buddy: "K, but I'm going to the bathroom first."

(wait outside bathroom for drunk buddy. 30 minutes later find him on floor playing with something he found on floor)

Me: "What are you doing? Put that down! That's gross. Come on!"

Drunk Buddy: "But I can't get my coat on!" (has head in sleeve)

(help drunk buddy get coat on...then help drunk buddy put shoes on correct feet. Finally get drunk buddy to door while attempting to remain calm and patient.)

Drunk Buddy: "I'm just gonna go get something that I left in the bathroom"

Me: (now pulling out stern voice) "Hurry up. You've overstayed your welcome here - they won't let you back in here if you keep acting like this!"

15 minutes later Drunk Buddy emerges from bathroom with his hat.

Drunk Buddy: "See, I told you I left something behind."

Me: "Ok, time for you to go to bed. Let's go."

Drunk Buddy: "But I'm soooooo hungry! I need to eat now."

Me: "Well I'm just never taking you out again if this is how you act!"

Ok, now go back, re-read that script, but change location to Aunty's house, change "me" to "mom,"  and wherever it says "Drunk Buddy," insert "3 year old child."

And that is why people with children require a lot of notice before leaving the house. I get it now. If you have children and are running behind today, that's totally cool with me.

This comedy sketch is hilarious - I think both people with and without children will appreciate the humour in it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFQfylQ2Jgg

Happy Halloween!

Since we last chatted, the knee became very angry, swelled up, and I was ordered back on the damn crutch. I've been on physio rest for a week and, I'm not gonna lie, it's been a bummer. In fact, I may or may not have consumed 30-some mini chocolate bars whilst wallowing in my self-pity last night on my couch...and due to excessive sugar intake, I may or may not have had to wear my glasses for the last few days because my eyes were too swollen to wear contacts. But Dr. M says this knee reaction is "normal." The knee will go through some rough phases - I've named this phase "the angry teenager" because the knee is overly sensitive, overreactive, and bitchy - just like I was during those horrible teen years. If the knee starts stealing/refilling my vodka bottles with water then we are done. Done!

But...it is one of my favorite days of the year today so screw the knee - let's discuss Halloween!

Halloween is such a great time of year. I love being someone different for a day and I enjoy seeing people's creativity shine. Yay for original costumes!

I do have one Halloween pet peeve, however. My H'ween pet peeve is....the sexy costume. You know - "sexy insert any person or object here"

Fine. If you're dressed up as a person who is just naturally sexy (like Britney Spears or Brad Pitt) then you go for it. You be sexy!

If you; however, are sexifying your costume to fulfill some void - sexy maid, sexy devil, sexy angel, sexy cat etc, then, sorry, but you kinda suck. You are not creative. You are abusing this special day and are simply looking for an excuse to dress like a skank. Not cool in my books. But perhaps I'm biased because I've never been able or confident enough to pull off the "sexy" look.

I didn't realize the extent of the sexy H'ween costume until I attended a H'ween dance a few years ago. I was super pumped about my costume that year. Check it out:

"What the hell are you?" you're asking. Why I am a "party in my pants," of course. See? Giant pants full of party paraphernalia? Kinda brilliant, no? As I attempted to dance (with balloons overflowing out of my ass) next to sexy vampires, sexy nurses, sexy cops, and...what? Is that a sexy slice of pizza? (You've got to be kidding me!), it occurred to me that Halloween had turned into a skankfest. Brutal.

Ok, I think I've made my opinion known. Less skank! More creativity!

Last year, due to my extensive experience in orthopaedics, I decided to dress as an Orthopedic Surgeon. It went over pretty well at the hospital. When I showed Dr. M, my Orthopedic Surgeon, he replied, "I find it humerus that you're actually holding a femur." Oops. Silly bones. Cant' win em all.

This year, I decided to work with my injury and go as "cat with broken paw." (It's incredibly difficult to eat, drink, walk through doorways, and lick your butt while donning the cone of shame, by the way)

Ev says, "Arrr matey!" Dundee says, "F you. This is dumb."

A few brave souls from the Therapies department came to work dressed in costume. This was brilliant, actually. Colleen (Occupational Therapist) and April (Physiotherapist) decided to dress up as Speech Pathologists - me and my co-worker, Heidi, to be exact. I thought they looked fabulous! April even curled her hair and donned not only high heeled boots, (I wore high heels back in my heyday) but she even limped on a crutch all day - now that's dedication!

Finally, not to be outdone by Dundee, Biloxi, the cat, decided to don a costume this year as well. He's a sexy lion, of course. Purrrrrrrrr. Happy Halloween!

I will never ever ever forgive you. Ever.