Biloxi, the cat, takes on a fox - gangsta' style

My name is Biloxi. I know Kirstie has written about me before her in blog. Don’t believe everything you read – she embellishes. A lot. But Evan seems to love her so I choose to tolerate her.

I cannot be contained.

I grew up on the streets of Biloxi, Mississippi. My mama was a 'nip addict. I was a catnip kitten. Times were tough. My life changed forever on that day in January when my soulmate, my idol, Evan Lindsay, walked through the door of the pet store and selected me to be his life buddy – after I crapped in his hand (I was so nervous).

As Ev’s life buddy, I sacrificed my dreams of starring in a Disney movie to follow him around the world in support of his hockey career. We moved quite a bit.  I love that dude, but man, he got traded a lot. I blame Kirstie.

Although I lived in 8 states and 4 countries (including Scotland and England), I never actually went “outside.” That’s when I became known as “bubble boy.”  Kirstie and Evan doted on me, yet attempted to shelter me from the dangers of the outside world. Although I was issued a European union passport, the only memories of Europe I have are from the inside of hotels, apartments, and the dogdamn cat carrier. I didn’t enjoy being “bubbleboy,” but to be honest, it kept me off the streets, off the catnip, and enabled me to have some killer pre-game naps with my life buddy, Ev. Did I mention that I love that dude? There was the London Heathrow “quarantine issue” of 2003, but I don’t particularly like discussing that one. Despite whispers of catnip baggies under my tail, the officials concluded that the quarantine was a result of a failed deworming pill administration. Let’s stick with that story.

This was attached to my "carrier" - great idea, Kirst, like this didn't make the custom's officials want to beat me up...

This is how I saw Europe - awesome trip, guys

Once Ev retired from hockey, we settled down as a fam in Saskatchewan. Things were pretty great until they brought home a dog. A dog?!!! The only dog I kicked it with was the Snoop D O double G.  They called this white fluffball dog “Dundee.” I renamed him “Dumbdee.” This goofball strutted into MY house with his cute little black nose and floppy dumbass ears thinking that he ran MY show. What a dork. Anyways, although Dumbdee needs to be put in his place from time to time, he has grown on me, he occasionally cleans out my litter box (If he's purebred, I'd like to see what a street dog is like!), and he is a part of our family now. Just as Ev and Kirst have done for me, I now feel the need to protect him from the evils of the outside world. He is just a kid, after all. 

Please eat me. I taste sooo good. 

That’s why I knew that I had to take care of Sly. Sly’s the leader of the Fox Gang here at Candle Lake. I noticed that Sly’s been keepin’ an eye on Dumbdee – salivating over him through the patio window in the early mornings – mouth watering as he surely pictured Dumbdee as a marshmallow roasting over a fire. Dumbdee didn’t make matters any better – tilting his huge white fuzzy head with that dorky expressionless face of his. It was only a matter of time before Sly and his gang took Dumbdee down. Something had to be done.

On Saturday morning, while Evan slaved at work and Kirstie left to spend his hard-earned money (she just doesn’t appreciate him like I do), I decided to sneak out and teach Sly a lesson. And boy, did he learn a lesson.

Sly was injured from a bar fight the night before but that didn't stop him from movin' on my crib. 

Check out the vid. Needless to say, we don’t need to worry about Sly returning to the Lindsay residence anytime soon. Just try to contain Bubbleboy. 

Best Shark Week Ever.

I saw my Orthopedic Surgeon last week for a follow-up appointment. He's a unique individual, to say the least. He speaks in code. Not like Orthopedic Doctor code, but some strange code of riddles that I can never quite decipher. Case in point, immediately after my surgery, I asked my him if I could drive. 

"Do you have children?" he responded.

"No," I answered, hoping that would sway him towards allowing me to drive whilst donning a brace from hip to ankle.

"Do you like children?" he continued.

"um....most children," I countered, now extremely confused.

"Well if you drove right now, you would probably just hit and kill all the children in the streets."

"So are you saying that  I CAN'T drive then?"

Wow. A simple "no" would have sufficed.

Nevertheless, as you all know, I have made it my life mission to impress this man with my miraculous healing and rehabilitation abilities (recall the persuasive letter I wrote to him?) My goal was to become the fastest healing, most motivated post micro fracture surgery patient he had ever encountered. As soon as I entered his office, leaning slightly on that one damn crutch, it became apparent that he was just not all that impressed.

"Why do you still have a crutch?" he inquired.

"Because by the end of the day, my knee starts to buckle and I walk like a 16 year old who just consumed their first 2 litre Rockaberry Cooler." I responded (Do you remember the Rockaberry Cooler? That drink was unreal - until you woke up with the worst headache ever.)

My surgeon did not even break a smile. 

"I'm frustrated by the speed at which I am progressing," I explained. "The pain is interfering with my ability to push myself in physio."

"You're progressing like the average person would after this type of surgery. You're going to have pain. You might always have pain. Just push yourself harder." he responded slightly sympathetically, yet...not really.

"I was hoping that I wouldn't be your "average" patient. I was striving to be "exceptional." I explained stubbornly.

"Well, I guess you're just not exceptional," he snickered.

WTF?

With those four very harsh, hurtful words, I made an executive decision to take a few days off of work, head to the lake, and go on a two day bender celebrate shark week. 

So that's what I did. 

Boy did I ever celebrate shark week. I celebrated Bull sharks, Tiger Sharks, Great Whites. I even celebrated the lesser known Shortfin Mako shark of Argentina. I celebrated sharks with wine. I celebrated sharks with margaritas. I celebrated sharks with the best group of friends I could find. 

With each celebratory drink, the pain dissipated, and "fun" Kirstie shone through (yes, I am much more fun with a little alcohol. Don't judge me). It was the best shark week of my life. I sang, I laughed, I danced (quite poorly on one leg, I realized once I saw video footage). And you know what, I was exceptional.

I love sharks, but ouch, my knee hurts

We love sharks...the pain is going away

Thathey loves sharks too...what pain?

Sharks are my favorite! I had knee surgery?

Best shark week ever. Such an exceptional group!

The time Evan taped me to the couch

Don't lie. You're wondering if this post is kinky, aren't you? Against everything in me, everything I stand for, I'm reading the "Fifty Shades of Grey" series. I know, I know. First Twilight, then Fifty Shades? I'm disappointed in myself too. With each page turn, I grow angrier and angrier with this story. Christien Grey possesses every quality that I loathe in a man. He's possessive, whiny, and controlling (much like my asshole crutches). I cringe each and every time a sex scene begins (always with Ana "moaning" as he tears open the "foil packet"), and I cannot stand the redundant "erotic scenes" -  i.e "I moaned loudly as he touched my sex." First, does he really have to touch her "sex" 4 times in each chapter? Second, what the h is her "sex"? Are those her lady parts? Seriously? Perhaps I will contact my physician and see if I can make an appointment for an examination of my "sex." Ugh! Yet, here I am a third of the way through book 3 and discussing it on my blog. E L James is obviously doing something right (and likely is a hornball).

My rehab is going well - the knee seems to be progressing, and my Physio is impressed with my "moves" (I can do 1/16 of a squat!). I anticipate the crutches will be dust within the next few weeks. On the other hand, I've also gained a whole new appreciation for those peops addicted to painkillers. With a dull constant pain shooting down my shin and into my foot, I've been popping extra strength Tylenol every 4 hours for the past two weeks. It doesn't seem to be working so I'm thinking of switching to Oxycontin. Just jokes. I watch Intervention. I know what will happen. Next think you know I'll be prostituting myself out of a 7-11 restroom and living under the bridge. When they interview me, I'll say, "It all started with a bad knee." Shit. I'll stick with the Tylenol...and perhaps mix it with some wine :)

Once a "summer partier" (one who gains stamina and endurance to party early into the wee hours particularly during the summer season), the pain has forced me to succumb to "winter Kirstie," falling asleep on my couch at the lake whilst watching "Say Yes to the Dress" on Friday night. Falling asleep on the couch is something I've done my whole life. I come by it honestly. My sister falls asleep on the couch. My dad falls asleep on the couch. My Gido (Ukrainian Grandpa) falls asleep on the couch. It's in the Tycholiz gene. It's who we are. Although annoying to others around us, we've all discussed the quality of sleep we receive while snoring away as the TV blasts loudly in the background. We all agree. Despite what the experts say, some of the best sleeps of our lives have been on that couch, TV blaring in the background.

Exhibit A: My dad

Screw the couch!

Nope, the couch doesn't actually have to be in a house

Exhibit B: Me & Biloxi, the cat (who promotes my bad habit)

shhhhh....can't you see we're busy!

just checkin' my eyelids for cracks. Don't worry about it. 

I didn't realize how much this habit annoyed Evan until our first year living together. One afternoon, Ev sat down with me and explained how aggravating this was. Not wanting to leave me on the couch, he would attempt to wake me and waking a Tycholi (I enjoy pluralizing my maiden name) is dangerous business, my friends. You see, like my sister, dad, and Gido, I awake from the couch in a belligerent, confrontational state.

Finding me asleep, neck creaked to the left, leg falling off of couch, night after night, Ev would gently nudge me awake.

"Kirst, it's midnight. Come to bed."

"What? I'm watching TV. Gawd!!!! I'm watching something really important!"

"...ya, an infomercial for phone escorts" (OMG, do you remember that commercial from the '90's? The one with the skanky chicks whining, "Pick up the phone" I'm attaching it here because it's way too funny!)

Although I'm usually fully aware that I have fallen asleep on the couch, and I completely understand that it is in my best interest to go to bed, upon being awakened, I become embarrassed and then feel the need to vehemently deny this act has occurred. I've done this my whole life. Sometimes I even convince myself...until I have no recollection of watching skanky escorts on TV for 3 hours. Oops.

Whoa. This bad habit did not fly with Ev. It drove him nuts that I couldn't just go to bed with him like a normal person, yet he adamantly refused to tolerate my agitation upon awakening. So one day, he created a plan...

One night, as I slept soundly on the couch, Victoria Principle's infomercial blaring from the TV, Ev crept downstairs and carried out his plan. He hockey taped me to the couch. For real. The tape wasn't actually touching my skin. He simply wound it over me, across the couch - like a spider's web - to create a barrier. Two hours later I woke up and attempted to climb off the couch in the dark. Horrified, I realized that I was trapped to the couch. I wasn't able to even sit up. Confused and unable to comprehend why this was happening, I began to cry. Yep, I cried. Ev heard the commotion and came downstairs to remove the hockey tape trap. Upon seeing how upset I was, Ev stopped chuckling and realized that his little prank didn't quite have the desired effect.

"I can't believe you taped me to the couch!" I yelled angrily and stomped up to bed.

The next day, I began calling my friends to tell them what a jerk my boyfriend was. As I relayed the tale to each and every friend, I was met with the same response. Uncontrollable laughter. My friends thought this was hilarious. Really? Hmmm....come to think of it, frick it must have looked pretty funny - Ev winding that hockey tape around and around like spiderman and my overreaction of tears and anger. Once the anger dissipated, I had to agree that it was quite clever. Thank goodness Ev eventually became a shift-worker. I now fully take advantage of those night shifts and sleep peacefully without the fear of being taped to the couch.

The Hockey Wife Food Chain

Wow! It's been a busy week! First, I've begun on the cool "Ryan" project and I hope to have input from all of his friends so that I can complete it by the end of the month.

Secondly, the horrid brace is officially off of my leg! Can I get a whoot whoot?! I contemplated burning it in some type of "cleansing ceremony" or perhaps drifting it to sea like a fallen sailor. I couldn't do it. As I stared at those happy tropical fish and the encouraging, "Good Job!" stickers, and smelled the blood, sweat, tears, and tequila, I realized that it's officially a keepsake. We didn't have "good times" together per se, but we certainly did have "times." I will have it vacuum sealed and placed in a box with my wedding dress. Well, no, I won't actually...but I am keeping it. The crutches, on the other hand, are still a big part of my life, damnit! I am ready to violently destroy those assholes once I have clearance from my Physio.

threatening the brace...just jokes. We have an understanding.

Thirdly, I was approached by a fantastic writer and blogger by the name of Amy Vansant. Her blog www.kidfreeliving.com contains a special series called, "Be More Interesting." Guess what? She thought I was interesting and interviewed me! So awesome... check out her fantastic blog (it always makes me laugh) and the interview here.

Finally, I am still meditating like Julia Roberts in "Eat, Pray, Love." (I admit it, that movie bored the h out of me -  I totally fell asleep during "Pray," and only awoke for the "love" segment). I'm up to 10 minutes per day! I'm also responding to deep, mind-blowing questions from my Master on a daily basis. I'm still stuck on one very important question, "Who are you?" It continues to stump me.

My problem is that for many years I defined myself by a category, a role and/or the people that I hung out with. "I am a school athlete." "I am a Speech Pathologist," or for many years, "I am a hockey girlfriend."

Thank goodness I now have the maturity and insight to realize that although my friends and family have shaped the person I am today, I most certainly am much more complex than just one that fits neatly under a category.

This reminded me of another hockey tale that I promised I would share with you. This story is an explanation of the hockey wife food chain that I perceived when I found myself defined as "hockey girlfriend." It's entitled: The Hockey Wife Food Chain.

In nature, the food chain is a quite predictable linear sequence of links where large vicious animal (i.e. tiger) eats docile animal (i.e. zebra). It’s brutal but it’s nature, and it’s survival of the fittest.

The hockey wife food chain is also quite predictable and sequential; however, it takes a bit of time to navigate when you first enter the jungles of hockey life. Although every hockey team provided a different experience (some teams much “friendlier” than others), and, overall, my experiences were positive, a hierarchy certainly exists and must be learned.

My first exposure to the hockey wife food chain occurred at the ripe old age of 16. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this early experience would shape the rest of my “career” as “hockey wife.”

The Prince Albert Raiders of the WHL were given complementary tickets to each hockey game. How they decided to use these tickets was up to them. Generally, if you were attempting to impress a girl or perhaps get past first base, it was wise to pass along a comp ticket.

The comp seats were predictably in section 11, directly behind the Raider goalie during the first and third period. During each and every hockey game, if you looked up at section 11, you would see, at a glance, who was currently "with" a Raider. 

Occasionally, a girl would be spotted in section 11 one week, only to be demoted to a paid seat a week later – indicative of a break-up.  I’m not going to lie, that happened to me on a few occasions.

Once I started dating Evan Lindsay; however, I was flung into section 11 and remained there for four years. I watched girls weave in and out of section 11 as new relationships started and old relationships ended (occasionally limited to several days). I became a fixture in section 11, perhaps resulting in a wee bit of cockiness on my part.  Stable relationship for 3+ years with one Raider had sprung me to the top of the hockey girlfriend food chain in the WHL.

What I didn’t realize was that as Evan entered the world of professional hockey, I would drop to the bottom of the big girl hockey wife food chain.

My very first professional hockey game experience was in Tallahassee, Florida. Evan had signed with the Montreal Canadiens of the NHL and was sent to their affiliate in Florida to “gain experience” (AKA: "we have no faith in your ability and have nowhere else to send you").

I soon realized that on every team, there is at least one hockey wife who takes pity on the visiting girlfriend and offers to drive her to the game and introduce her to the other women. Thank gawd for that one compassionate wife. As I took my seat next to the other hockey girls, it became apparent that I was much too low on the hockey food chain to be acknowledged by many of the women. Dressed to the nines in namebrands I had only heard of (Gucci, Louis Vutton), I felt quite out of place in my gap sweater and Aldo boots. A series of questions would establish my rank in the food chain:

“How long have you been together?”

“4 years.”

“Are you going to move to be with him?”

“No. I’m in University right now.”

“Oh….” (knowing glances…wha? Has Ev already replaced me?)

Occasionally, some advice would be offered by the much more experienced women who had managed to “land” their hockey player for life,

“You need to get a ring.”

The ladies' attention would soon divert to another section where the “groupies” sat (AKA: women who sleep with players, yet have no formal relationship status).

“Oh gawd, she needs to give up. He’s just using her.”

Phew. At least “visiting hockey girlfriend with no ring” trumped “groupie.”

As I sat with the ladies, desperately trying to hide my spastic reaction to shots on goal, I soon realized that even within this group, there was a very distinct hierarchy. The wife holding the baby donned in daddy’s jersey obviously commanded more respect than “live-in hockey girlfriend.” And “hockey wife without children” certainly trumped “engaged to-be hockey wife,” and so on. It was apparent that I would have to put in my time, get that ring on my finger and bear Evan’s children in order to make my way up that damn food chain.

During one season in Scotland, I was introduced to a new and very terrifying link on the food chain: “visiting girlfriend of cheating hockey player who currently also has local girlfriend.” Yikes. As I sat in between two young ladies, both blissfully unaware that they were dating the same player, I contemplated spilling the beans. But who was I to spring this news upon them? I barely knew either one of these ladies. Certainly they would figure this one out. Both girls jumped to their feet as their boyfriend scored the winning goal. As they celebratory cheered each other with their cups of beer, it was apparent to me that it could be worse. I decided to embrace my current status as “girlfriend to faithful hockey player.”

If Only...

Some people believe that everything happens for a reason. I’m not sure if I buy that. I’d like to think things don't just "happen." I'd like to believe that I have a little more control over my destiny. I picture my life more as a complex series of intersecting paths. You make a decision; you end up on a path. You make another decision, you switch paths. Things can go one way or another based on what decisions you make in life. We are constantly switching our paths or routes in our lives with each decision that we make. Some decisions seem "big" ("Yes, I will marry you!"), whereas other decisions seem "small"  - so small that we aren't even conscious that we are making a decision (stopping to send a text). Sometimes this seems fair. Sometimes it appears as though we have control over which path we end up on – you work hard, you make “good” choices, and you end up on the path that you desired. However, sometimes it seems to make no sense at all. You leave your house two minutes late because you responded to a text, placing you on the road at the exact moment that a drunk driver swerves in front of your vehicle. How could you have known that taking those two minutes to respond to that text would change your life forever?

I guess my path changed as soon as I injured my knee. I had intended to learn how to sail this month. Perhaps that uphill run I took in March was the deciding factor. Perhaps that was the moment when I tore my cartilage, leading to this challenging path that I'm currently on. I certainly wouldn’t have chosen this path, but now that I’m on it, I made the decision to remain as positive as I could (difficult!) and investigate the opportunities that were available to me (NOT sailing or unicycling as planned). So those decisions lead me to meditation. I don’t think I would have willingly chosen to meditate unless I was forced into this sedentary state. I was looking for something more adventurous. As it turns out, meditation and mindfulness month is exactly what my mind and soul needed at this pivotal time in my adventure. 

In the last 3 weeks, I’ve been enlightened with regards to this entire year-long experience – and the decisions that I am making in my own life. This month of meditation and self discovery has forced me to sit still and think about things. This is exactly what I feel I needed to gain insight and closure after a fabulous and exciting year of new experiences. So although I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, perhaps that cartilage tearing uphill run and the decisions I've made since have placed me on a path that was difficult, yet important and necessary for me to navigate.

man do we miss this face

One year ago today, we lost Ryan. Ryan made a series of decisions and choices throughout his life that somehow placed him on that river on July 31, 2011. For the past year, I have replayed that day and the series of decisions that were made. I recall each and every single detail of that day – the way the air smelled, the wind blowing across the river, and the frantic shouting that ensued when Ryan didn’t surface. These memories evoke anxiety, fear, overwhelming sadness, and incredible guilt. These memories haunt me in the middle of the night, prevent me from "seizing the day," and cloud the positive memories of Ryan. I’m tired of replaying these memories. I don’t want them anymore. I want to remember “Holowaty’s hotdogs,” the unicycle, and Ryan’s exuberant “HOLA!”

During the past month, I’ve finally came to the realization that it’s time to put the bad memories to rest so that I can clear room for all of the positive memories I have of Ryan and all the lessons that he's presently teaching me. I’ve replayed a list of “if only’s” in my mind now for one year: If only it hadn’t been windy that day – if it wasn’t for that damn northwest wind we would have been on the lake instead of the river. If only the river wasn’t so high – the land was flooded, creating intense undercurrents. If only Ryan had been wearing a lifejacket – would that have saved him? If only Ryan wouldn’t have jumped at that exact moment – what if he would have waited 1 minute, 30 seconds? If only I would have taken the situation more seriously – I was sure Ryan was pranking us, “He has to be somewhere, you guys!”  If only the guy with the green shorts on the riverbank had been Ryan – I was sure it was Ryan! (“Look! there he is! I am going to strangle him for scaring us so bad!”) If only Ryan had surfaced like each of us who jumped in the river that day. We will never know what would have happened had Ryan or any one of us had made a different decision leading up to that moment. I understand that it’s not healthy to dwell on those “if only’s” anymore. In order to truly honour Ryan, it’s time to stop replaying the events of that horrible day and focus on simply remembering our friend Ryan.  

This past weekend, as Ryan’s friends and family organized and attended a memorial day for Ryan at Candle Lake, it was apparent just how many lives Ryan has touched in his short 31 years of life. We all gathered to remember and celebrate Ryan – his enthusiasm, his originality, and his love and zest for life. The qualities that made Ryan, “Ryan”, are the thoughts and memories that are important to hold on to and remember. Those are the thoughts and feelings that I need to expend my energy on. I feel incredibly lucky to have been a part of Ryan’s life. I feel incredibly lucky to have memories of those experiences that I shared with such an unique and vibrant person.

This journey is coming to a close. I can’t believe it’s been a whole year! During the month of August, I have one last project that I’m creating for Ryan and I’m determining exactly how to organize my thoughts to fully explain what Ryan has taught me during the past year.

So today, as you carry on with your daily routine, take the time to tell a special person just how awesome he is and how much he means to you. Although I didn’t get the chance to tell Ryan (If only!), I know that he was with us on the island this weekend, totally psyched that his friends and family gathered in his favourite place to celebrate and honour him. 

Oh Ryan! You always made me laugh!

I love you...but right now, I hate your face

After the Hunger Games experience, things could only get better...and they did! I had a really good week and had some wonderful "Full House" moments (you know, when the sappy music comes on and DJ learns a valuable lesson about respect, or whatever - man, I miss that show). Once I received some good news from my surgeon ("cartilage growing is complete! Time to start weight-bearing and rehabbing!") the angry dark cloud that was ominously following me for the past 2 months disappeared, the sun shone through, and my mind became clear - which is exactly what is necessary for meditation/self-discovery month.

Here's what I learned this week:

1) A fabulously decorated knee brace will take you places, my friends
As Dr. M. hummed and hawed over my chart, debating whether or not I was ready to begin rehab, I proudly showed him my brace covered in tequila, sweat, sand, and inspirational sayings. Although he appeared perplexed by the tropical fish swimming happily along the side of the brace, I could tell that deep down inside, he was impressed.

"Well, I guess it's time to start phase two," he stated. "Rehab will take about 4 months," he continued.

"It'll take me 2," I replied confidently.

"Well, I've never seen anyone cover their brace in stickers before, so I wouldn't be surprised."

Yes! Mission accomplished. Dr. M. is impressed. I'm completely convinced that, if given the opportunity, Dr. M would rate me as his most compliant and motivated patient ever. Ever. If he could grade me, I'm positive he would deliver an A+ (or perhaps a 4.0 if he adheres to US College requirements).

2) You CAN push yourself too far
Once I had the go-ahead to weight-bear and begin therapy, Dr. M. assured me that there would be much pain as my muscles learned how to operate properly and my new cartilage settled into its role. He also assured me that, at this point, I could not destroy what had been done (unless I placed a lot of force on it). He said, "Go for it!"

He obviously does not know me well. Oh I went for it. 6 hours after he uttered those words, I was cockily strutting down the hall with no crutches. The pain was almost unbearable and the concentration it took to prevent my right leg from buckling was intense; however, I instantly observed a shift in my friends/co-workers facial expressions that pushed me further -  that look of pity was gone. They were impressed. Boo-Ya! Watch me! Watch this! Unfortunately, once my knee exploded to the size of a bowling ball (5 pin, not 10 pin, thank god), it was apparent that I was pushing myself too fast, too soon. After a good chat with my Physiotherapist (cue sappy music and a Danny Tanner hug) it became apparent that I was really only impeding my progress if I worked myself to the point of excruciating pain and swelling. Lesson learned.

mmmmm....

3) I prefer Sauvignon Blanc to Pinot Grigo
I thought I was a pinot gal, but I changed my mind. I prefer Sauvignon Blanc. It's crisper. It's fresher. My taste is maturing (I've come a long way from my days of ordering the "vodka special." ) That's all.

4) I understand the purpose and steps needed to properly meditate!
Yay! This is my big accomplishment of the week! I received a comment on my blog encouraging me to contact a young woman in Prince Albert by the name of Cherish to help with my meditation goal. I checked out Cherish's website and immediately felt like she could help me. Not only is she a yoga instructor, a Registered Massage Therapist, and a doula, but she has years and years of meditation experience. Upon contacting her for advice, she generously offered to come to my house and show this young grasshopper the ways. Although I was very excited to meet and learn from Cherish, I was a little nervous that I would have a tough time relating to her. I'm not gonna lie, I pictured a hippy-ish looking lady wreaking of incense whilst speaking in Haiku. Cherish is nothing like that.

Cherish sat down with some notes, inquired about my meditation difficulties, answered all of my questions, and offered me a step-by-step process to succeed with the meditation. She was calm, cool, and completely down to earth. She made me feel at ease. My kind of girl!

Cherish explained that there are many different schools of thought regarding meditation - it's easy to get lost in the worlds of chakras, chanting, and religion behind the meditation. She sees meditation as a tool to discipline the mind so that you are able to live in the moment. Ding! Ding! Ding! This is the purpose - the basis behind my entire year - seize the day! Epiphany! (Oprah would define this as un "uh huh" moment).

She explained that the mind becomes so full of dialogue - reenacting scenes from our past (usually the unpleasant ones - why the h would we want to revisit those bad feelings?), worrying about the future (silly! We have no way of knowing what tomorrow will bring!) and rehashing conversations with others (should I have said that? What did he mean when he said that?). With our brain so full of useless chatter, we fail to observe that which is surrounding us - The air feels and smells so humid today! Look at the contrast of that awesome canola field with the bright blue sky! I love the feel of my husband's bristles after a haircut. This is the sweetest watermelon I have ever tasted!

Meditation allows you to open your mind to embrace the here and now. Does that make sense to you? It makes perfect sense to me! Part of seizing the day is fully attending to what you are seeing, tasting, touching, hearing, and smelling - in that moment. That's certainly a goal that I want to accomplish.

So now that I know why I want to meditate, I just need to practice. I'm currently striving to sit and breathe for up to 5 minutes without my mind "wandering." It's ok if my mind ponders something in that moment ("I have a bum itch. ooooh - there, all good"), as long as I readjust and focus back on my breathing and counting.

I've been meditating for 4-5 minutes every day and I've begun to crave it. I feel fantastic afterwards and I'm beginning to notice myself attending to more things in my environment. I walked (well...crutched) into a patient's room today and was struck by the smell of fresh roses at her bedside. As I breathed in the fragrant scent, I wondered if I would have noticed this smell a few weeks ago or if I would have entered the room with swallowing assessment protocol on my mind - all business. That being said, I also was acutely aware of baby Sutter's stinky bum today (BFF Janna's sweet little boy) - so heightened senses are not always a good thing!

Thank you so much, Cherish, for your tips and guidance - much appreciated!

In other news, I am happy to announce that I am now an independent bather. Yep, you heard correctly. I am showering by myself. Assist of zero. This is very good news for my and Ev's marriage. 2 weeks ago, he "forgot" me in the shower. After desperately screeching his name repeatedly with no response, I actually scooted myself out of the shower and across the cold tile floor on my bottom. My naked bottom. It sucked. The situation prompted me to use Lawyer's brilliant line (which should definitely be on a T-shirt): "I love you...but right now, I hate your face."

Now it all makes sense...

Warning: This post contains the word "nipple." It also contains needless violence. If you can tolerate the "nipple" and the violence, you are in for a heart-warming ending. 


It was a rough weekend. I am entering my 7^th week as a non-weight bearing, asshole crutch using, sweaty knee brace wearing, non-driving, dependent bather. It’s getting old. Really old. The events of the weekend; however, completely sent me over the edge. Luckily, the events could be considered entertaining. At least it makes for an interesting blog post.

Saturday was a beautiful evening at Candle Lake. Sitting around the campfire with 10 fabulous friends, we drank margaritas (I told you, I’m drinking again. Screw balance) and enjoyed the warm, mosquito-filled evening. Propped up on a chair in front of me, even my angry knee was in his “happy place.” Suddenly, a spark popped out of the fire, landing on my “bad” foot. Jerking my leg away instinctively, my knee locked up, causing instant excruciating pain. Let me tell you, nothing dampers the mood of a friendly gathering quite like a hostess screaming bloody murder whilst writhing in agony on the grass. Tears streaming down my face, I assured my guests (who were now staring at me in horror) that the party should go on; however, I would be removing myself to privately tend to the horrific cramping I was now experiencing from thigh to ankle. As I looked down at my knee is despair, I was, at least, comforted by this:

There is NO weakness left. I give! I give!

The next morning as I sat sipping my tea on our deck, contemplating the events of the previous evening in my Tylenol 3 induced fog, I was shocked as a wasp flew into my bikini top. Unable to flee, I swatted at my top, trying to free the insect from my “booby trap.” AAAAGGGGGHHHHH! It was too late. The angry wasp stung my….well…my…nipple (I’m sorry, I promised never to speak of “lady parts” again – but a nipple isn’t really a “lady part” is it?). Yep. It stung my nipple. As I painfully attempted to squeeze the stinger out, I couldn’t help but think that other than the size of my right nipple (which was growing exponentially), things were deteriorating rapidly.

Picture of stung nipple here. What? it didn't load? Damnit. 

The realization of what was happening hit me that night as I awoke in an itchy frenzy. A heat rash had developed under my knee brace, causing me to lose my mind, scratching like a maniac until my skin began to bleed. As I scratched manically, my calf began cramping. Alternating between scratching and screaming, it suddenly became apparent. It all made sense. Of course! I am a participant in the Hunger Games. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? If you’ve read the Hunger Games, you will know exactly what I am talking about. If you haven’t, go read it NOW. It’s awesome. Basically, the premise is that participants in these “games” are being tortured/killed for the amusement of the spectators. I immediately searched the ceiling for signs of the elusive cameras that were obviously tracking my every torturous experience. “Send in the tracker jacks!” I yelled, “End it now!”

Good Gawd.

So now that I’ve gotten to the bottom of things, I’m looking for a Hunger Games sponsor to graciously float a gift my way as I navigate through this treacherous games arena. I’m looking more for comfort type gifts (magazines, booze); as opposed to offensive weapons (lasers that shoot out of my crutches).  Thank you. May the odds be ever in your favour.

This just in....went to see my Orthopedic Surgeon today and I now have the go-ahead to weight-bear! It seems my cartilage-growing is complete. This is fabulous news! Obviously, I had to hit rock bottom first as a Hunger Games participant. Bring on the rehab - Dr. says 4 months; however, he has no idea how awesome I am (and how badly I want to ditch my asshole crutches). I give it 2.

Sayanora asshole crutches!!!!! (once I can safely weight-bear, of course)

Surprise Surprise... my mind is drunk

I’m really trying to embrace “meditation/mindfulness” month. I am. As far as the meditation goes, I have the breathing down extremely well, if I do say so myself. Although I’m struggling with sitting comfortably to meditate (you try with a giant leg brace and 15 degrees of bend in your knee), I am now capable of sitting and eliminating all distractions and focus on my breathing for 3 minutes straight. 3 whole minutes! I think that is impressive. My "Master" sends me web lectures every day. I’m actually really enjoying them. It’s forcing me to think about things that I’ve never thought about before. He tells me that the next step in reaching a meditative state is to stop thinking about my breathing and clear my mind. He tells me that my mind is drunk, which really doesn’t surprise me, given the amount of margaritas I consumed this weekend (yes, I’m drinking again. Screw balance). My mind is full of too many thoughts and ideas. He refers to this drunkenness as “a fever.” I kind of like this concept. It makes sense. Each and every thought that runs through your brain contributes to a fever (How the h does a fax machine really work?  Seriously, what are the words to "Informer"? Is it wrong that I want to sleep with or at least cuddle Justin Bieber?) There is just too much non-productive mind chatter . As long as that chatter runs through your mind, you are not able to truly relax and just be "in your own mind". I’m struggling with this next step. After 3 minutes of breathing focus, I attempt to stop thinking about my breathing and just “be.” I can last about 2.8 seconds until random thoughts begin transmitting between my synapses. My latest challenge has been inhibiting songs which suddenly begin playing in my brain. Seriously, why the h is Corey Hart interrupting my meditation and why do I have No idea what the actual words are to “I wear my sunglasses at night.” See what I mean? My mind needs to besober. I need mind AA.

Every day my Master also sends me an assignment. You all know how much I love assignments! Unfortunately, no one is grading me, which certainly detracts from the fun.  My Master sends me a video and asks me to contemplate a very difficult question on a daily basis. For example, He asked, “Who are you? How would you define yourself?” Ummm….I quickly jotted down some notes and realized my response read like a singles ad: “33 year old woman. Loves fun and walks on the beach.” Boo, Kirstie. Think. Who are you? Tough question. You try it.  He also asked me “Where are you going? If you continue on the same path you are currently on, where will you end up? Are you Ok with that?” Frick No! This question actually resulted in much anxiety and If I could actually figure out how to meditate, I would and make that anxiety go away. Although I’m generally happy with my life on a day-to-day basis, the thought of everything remaining the same (same job, same house, same city, same, same same) causes me to freak right out. I don’t want to stay on this path; yet, I’m uncertain as to what direction I want to head in. I want more. I want different. I want diversity. Shit, now my mind is super drunk. My mind just downed 10 shots of tequila. Thanks Master! The last assignment then required me to answer the question, “What do you want?” Ok, that’s easy. I want to be healthy and I want a giant check. You know those giant checks that golfers win in the PGA? I want one of those. I don't care how much it is worth, I just want the check. I would then wait in line at the ATM and watch other's reactions as I try to deposit it. Bahahaha. Easy. Done.  Oh wow. These questions are really forcing me to look within myself.

All I want is world peace....and a giant check. 

In other news, Evan selfishly pulled his groin whilst wake surfing. The groin pull was a recurring injury when he played pro hockey. Evan used to impressively stop pucks in the splits position, much to the delight of the crowd, but occasionally resulting in a nasty muscle pull. I recall the other hockey wives winking knowingly at me when Ev sprawled spread eagle in front of his net, “wow, you’re a lucky girl!” I would wink back and smile wondering how exactly I should be benefitting from Ev's impressive flexibility? Perhaps I need to read "50 shades of Grey"???

All mine, ladies. Not sure what to do with that, but it's all mine

Calm the Eff down!

I was an angry child. Very angry. Upon hearing the word, "NO," I abruptly fell to my knees and began hammering my forehead on the floor. I did this so often that I spend the majority of the 2nd year of my life with a black bruise on my forehead. Most people claim that they have no memories until about age 4 or 5. Not me. I remember banging my head on the floor. I recall being so unbelievably enraged that someone had placed limitations on what I was able/allowed to do that the only way to possibly vent my anger was to throw my little forehead against the cold, hard floor and bang away. Take that!

Fortunately for my poor parents' sanity (my mom used to lock herself in the bathroom to escape my madness - once I punished her by throwing a chair through the bathroom door) and the integrity of little forehead, this horrid behaviour abruptly stopped by age 3 when I turned into a somewhat normal human being again.

Unfortunately, at age 33, 31 years rage-free, the anger has returned.

Although I haven't actually started banging my head against the floor, the frustrations associated with this past month have caused me to react irrationally, shouting f-bombs as I throw my asshole crutches across the room, uttering threats to the pen that dares to fall out of my hands, onto the floor suddenly out of my reach, and angrily screaming Evan's name repeatedly when I'm ready to be removed from the shower (yes, I'm still being bathed - week 5 UGGGGGHHHH!!!)

My face turns red, the nervous/angry rash appears on my chest, and I lose complete and utter control. I'm turning into a complete spazz and it's apparent that I need help.

For this reason, I've decided that July will be "Meditation/self discovery" month. I was referred to a website where a little Indian man by the name of Dhyan Vimal, otherwise known as "the Master," sends me daily "mindfulness" assignments, shows me how to breathe (I was mistakenly under the impression that I have been breathing just fine) and discover my "true" self. Apparently, my current self is false. Thank god because she is a raving lunatic.

Kirstie. Breathe. Calm the Eff down!

I have zero meditation experience. The closest thing is a relaxation tape that my mom bought for me in the 6th grade. A bundle of nerves, I was an incredibly neurotic 12 year old who suffered from insomnia. My mom would place the relaxation tape on, I would focus on squeezing, then relaxing each and every muscle in my body, and just as I was about to drift off to slumber, the melodic voice on the cassette tape would declare, "You do not want a cigarette."Apparently it was a stop smoking tape. It never did help me fall asleep; however, I have never craved a cigarette.

Now I'm ready for the real deal. Enlighten me! Enlighten me! I'm ready to cleanse my chakras (I seriously don't remember those from anatomy class), release the anger, and embrace my true self. I hope she's awesome.. and not a fricken spazz.

See how much I'm learKNEEng!!!

Today I'm taking the time to sit on my deck, sip a little wine and perrier (the perfect summer drink) and reflect on the past month. I didn't learn how to ride a unicycle as I had hoped. I didn't get the opportunity to spend time with an "expert" learning a new and exciting skill as I have each and every month leading up to June. I have; however, learned a lot about myself this month (good and bad). I suppose that's really what this year is all about. I wanted to challenge myself - to push myself beyond my limits, and although I would never have chose "function on one leg whilst enduring the worst physical pain you've ever experienced" as a monthly goal, it was chosen for me. I can grow from this. I can learn from this, dammit!

Here's what I've learnt:

1) As an injured person, you are the #1 target for injury sharing


It seems as though once those crutches are spotted, you become a target. People are magnetically drawn to you. There becomes this imperative need to share their personal injury experience. To be honest, it is occasionally interesting and helpful to learn how people have coped with braces, casts, and crutches for an extended period of time and I am grateful for tips on how to function with day to day tasks. What gets me is the number of people who immediately create a competition entitled "whose injury is worse?" Recalling blood, guts and gore, these people want me to try (I dare you!) to one-up their horrid knee injury from 1982 (or whenever). I give. You win. Yours was worse. I do not have a screw sticking out my kneecap nor has my knee filled with radioactive pus. Yes, I am extremely lucky that I live in an age with orthoscopic surgery and was not sliced from hip to ankle by my orthopaedic surgeon. You win. Now please, leave me alone.

I also stumbled upon a forum for people living life after knee surgery. It's quite comical, to say the least.  There are specific forums for each and every knee surgery known to man. As I entered the "micro fracture surgery"discussion group, I was inundated with personal stories of recovery from the surgery. Keeping in mind that the majority of these people are off work, I wasn't surprised at the detail that was shared. I was; however, surprised to see the conflict and arguments that were occurring on this forum.

KneeNewb: "Hey guys, just had micro fracture surgery - what can I expect as far as recovery?"

KneeSurvivorman: "Welcome to the forum, KneeNewb. It's a gruelling recovery. Physio is long and painful. Don't expect to return to any of the approved activities/sports for about 6 months. Good luck!"

Speedyhealer 32: "KneeNewb, my recovery was quick! 2 weeks and I was jogging again. It's not a big deal at all!"

KneeSurvivorman: "Speedyhealer, identify yourself and the specifics of your surgery. All you are doing is creating false hope for our group!"

Speedyhealer32: "I had my meniscus repaired in '07 and have had no complications - ran a marathon 3 weeks post surgery."

KneeSurvivorman: "speedyhealer32, you're on the wrong forum. Get off immediately and go to "meniscus repair". You don't belong here. Get a brain!"

Suzykneecheese: "Ya, speedyhealer32, get off you big jerk!"

Ouch. Tough crowd.


2) Puppy dog eyes - Ugh!


It's the look that people get when they're observing a litter of puppies frolicking about. The lips get pouty and the eyes turn down. With puppies it means, "isn't that the sweetest thing ever?" With humans, that look can only mean one thing. Pity.

I'm not going to lie, I do not mind being the centre of attention (a fact that you should all know by now if you're following my blog). I'ver realized; however, that I much prefer the "look at that super cool chick!" attention versus, "look at that pathetic girl" attention. I'm over it!

Perhaps that puppy dog pity look is good for me. My initial reaction is to defend the injury, "It's really not that bad, you know. " "It could be way worse." "It's healing extremely well."  Stop picking on my damn knee! I don't want to pitied. I want to be admired. This is difficult, especially given that I've been throwing my own pity party from time to time (guest count: 1). No one wants to attend a pity party.

This experience has made me much more cognizant of my own reaction/response when dealing with the injured. I will definitely be more aware of the balance between compassion and motivation when I am working with my own patients who are facing adversity. I realized how well our rehab team at the hospital creates this balance when I returned to work this week. As each therapist stopped in my office to chat, they acknowledged how difficult it must be, than quickly began discussing how ripped my upper body was becoming and how happy they were to see my face back at work. It made me feel good. Yay rehab professionals! It's a tremendous skill that few possess.

3) Beyonce never sang about the "dependent woman"


I pride myself on being an independent woman. I earn enough to maintain the lifestyle I desire. I have the ability to walk into a room full of strangers and make friends quite quickly (unless I'm in Calgary - for some reason, I struggled there), and I feel secure and completely comfortable with who I am as a person. This has all been tested in the last month.

I HATE having to create lists for my husband (Don't forget to feed the dog and cat! - seriously, he needs me to write it down?). I HATE having to ask my mom to drive up from the lake to sit at my bedside because "I feel pukey." I HATE having to line up rides from friends and family so that I can return to work. I am incredibly grateful for all the assistance that has been provided - especially to my mom who has been unbelievably helpful. But it certainly changes the dynamic of your relationships. Up until now, Ev and I have been flourishing in our chosen roles as husband and wife - he works hard, I work hard, we meet up and play hard on a regular basis. It works for us. Suddenly I'm texting him to request that he can come home ASAP to bathe, dress and feed me. It's certainly not the norm for us and neither of us are happy with the new setup, but, thankfully, it's temporary. It causes me to reflect on all my stroke patients throughout the years who suddenly went from "husband" to "patient" in a matter of minutes. How difficult and humbling it must be navigate those new roles...especially for older men who have traditionally been the head of the household. I recall scoffing at a male patient who refused home care to aide with bathing. "But you need the help," I argued. What a stubborn man! Now, I completely understand. Not just anyone gets to bath me!

Pinterest Project #3: Bedazzle your knee brace - why not?

My fabulous sister, Kayla, and I decided to trick out my knee brace. Now covered in inspirational sayings and sparkly fish, turtle, and jewels, it has been transformed from fun inhibitor to PAAAAAARTY TIME!

suck on this, Pinterest

Wow. I don't know about you, but I'm inspired

Danger! Danger! 

rough water ahead!

This was super inspiring at 2am when I thought my knee was exploding

Thanks, Kayla! 

July was supposed to be "learn how to sail" month and I'm incredibly disappointed that this is no longer an option. Any ideas for a sedentary goal that I can accomplish? I'm tapped out of creative ideas!