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!!

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.