#GoodbyeGallbladder the post-op update

I just woke up with stabbing pains where my gallbladder used to be.

Ouch.

Today is my fourth day of being gallbladder free. After nearly nine months of agony, I finally had a laparoscopic procedure to remove my gallbladder last Friday.

While I'm glad that the faulty organ is gone, I'm surprised as how uncomfortable my recovery has been.

I have staples in my stomach, bruising around my wounds, and gas in my joints. I walk slowly and hunched over, and I nearly die when I'm a passenger of a car that hits a bump or a pothole.

At the risk of sounding naive, I didn't expect the aftermath to hurt as much as it does. In fact, I envisioned myself picking up right where I left off on Friday morning, before I headed to Grace Hospital for my "day surgery."

I thought taking a week off of work was being generous.

I waited so long for this procedure that I forgot to take into account that I would require healing time. Nothing, I thought, could be more painful than the nasty gallbladder attacks that I had grown somewhat accustomed to during the extended wait. This part was supposed to be smooth sailing.

Every single person who shared their experience having their gallbladder removed expressed how much relief this procedure brought them. Most told me that they were back to normal sooner than later. While it's only been a couple of days for me; and I am getting better every day, sans this stabbing setback that woke me up this morning, I just thought I'd be back to normal at this point.

I have taken up residence at my mom and dad's place since I had my surgery. I feel like a teenager again; reliant on mom and dad for everything. I don't even have my car right now, but I'm OK with that. I don't feel like going anywhere anyway; I feel and look like I've been through the ringer, and I have been wearing different variations of pyjamas since I've been here.

All of my complaining aside, I'm glad this procedure is far less invasive than it used to be. Back in the day, my mom told me they would have to cut a person extensively to remove the toxic organ. Recovery time was a lot longer, and far more painful. I'm lucky.

For the non-squeamish, here is a picture of my post-surgery torso. It looks gross, but ironically, one of the most painful and uncomfortable aspects of this process is probably the carbon gas that they pumped into me, that has settled into my body.

If you've ever had gas in your shoulder, you understand how uncomfortable that can be!

Belly button. Makes me want to barf.

Thanks for all the well wishes; I'm excited to heal and not have to worry about my darn gallbladder anymore! Most of all, I'm excited to get back to the gym!

Bloated. Bruised. Broken.

Find a Nice Man: Insightful tips from my 93-year-old grandma.

I went to visit my grandma at her nursing home yesterday; we had a lovely time with a couple other family members, just talking and eating Icelandic cake. When it was time to leave she hugged me and whispered in my ear “make sure you find a nice man.”

Oh amma.

While I am used of this type of family encouragement, yesterday’s sound advice was a little more poignant than usual because it was the only familiar aspect of our entire conversation. In spite of her dementia, my grandma still remembered to tell me that I need to find myself a nice fella. It was hilarious and comfortable.

It’s been years since I’ve brought a man I was dating to meet my grandma, and in turn, it’s been years that she has been telling me to find myself a nice man. In those years my grandma has even made an effort to help me find Mr. Right by telling any and every man she encounters about me; her single granddaughter. 

Ah yes, the orderlies and doctors at her nursing home; waiters; clerks; other people’s grandchildren; and even the paramedics who have helped her when she has landed in the emergency room for dizzy spells and heart palpitations; they’ve all heard of me. What’s more, is that sometimes I have even been with her when she has told these men about me. To date her efforts have been awkward and futile, but her persistence is admirable. 

My grandma really wants me to find Mr. Right... Or, just Mr. Anybody. I’m not even sure anymore.

While I used to get annoyed at these constant suggestions (My grandma isn’t my only family member who wants me to find Mr. Right), I now find myself looking forward to this suggestion; it’s one of the only familiar things left we have to talk about. Her dementia has stolen so many of her memories, making her thoughts colourful and not always coherent, and yet her mission to find me love is still in the forefront of her mind.

At the end of the day, I will take her advice. When I do find myself a nice man I will make sure that she is one of the first to know. 

Mom...

Mom & Me Mother's Day 2013

I used to have this reoccurring nightmare when I was a little girl; A green-faced witch, much like the one in the Wizard of Oz, would snatch me out of my bed and carry me away from my family. Over and over again this cackling voice would recite the same phrase; “Witches are taking you away, witches are taking you away...”

It would scare me so badly that I’d wake up and creep into my mom and dad’s room. It was the only place I knew I’d be safe from the predator. I’d snuggle in with my mom, and practically dare the witches to try and snatch me away from her side. 

Back then my mom was like my armor, she protected me from all the evils that I knew, and could make everything better.

As I grew, my mom’s ability to make everything better started to diminish. Not because of her, but because as I grew, my world got bigger, and she was no longer up against scary figments of my imagination. No, she was up against the very real experiences, emotions, and people that were expanding my world.

My adventurous childhood turned into my tumultuous adolescence. The older I got, the less I felt I needed my mother. Yet, she still hung on (sometimes to my dismay) and continued to protect me, even when I didn’t want her to. 

But like I said, she couldn’t protect me from everything, no matter how badly she wanted to or how hard she tried. Time and time again, like all of us in life, experiences, emotions and people would hurt me; some leaving deep battle wounds that my mother would have to tend to.

If she couldn’t protect me, she certainly made up for it in helping me mend my wounds and move on.

To this day my mom has a mantra that she lives by; “Forward Focus,” or “F Squared” as she sometimes calls it. She’s a firm believer in moving forward in life, and never stopping, no matter what obstacles stand in your way. 

She is strong, determined, and resilient. She is the type of woman who literally makes lemonade out of the lemons that life dishes out. A perfect example of this is when she was diagnosed with MS a few years ago. Rather than get lost in this disease that has no cure, she took her new reality in stride and used it as motivation to start running. Her logic, that she may one day lose the function of her legs, was enough to make her do something she’d never done before, but had always wanted to do.

She started running and eventually signed up for a 10k race, which she completed like a champ.

I’m lucky to be my mother’s daughter. While I learned a long time ago that she can’t protect me from the evils of life, she can certainly help me see these people, experiences and emotions for what they are; character builders and chances for new opportunities that we never knew we wanted, or that we never thought we could accomplish until we were forced to. 

My mom stabilizes me and is constantly reminding me that we are not defined by the things that happen to us, rather these are just defining moments that we accept and move forward from. 

Forward focus.

In a sense I guess my mom is still protecting me, just in a different way. 

There is no resolve in being angry...

Photo Source: http://jumpthecurve.net/

For a long time I was mad at someone; furious even. I wandered around with this burden on my shoulders, letting it eat away at me and eat away at me. It was something that I just couldn't let go of. I felt entitled to it.

While the rest of my life seemed to be heading in an amazing direction, I was lagging behind in my anger, almost oblivious of all of the good things that encapsulated me. This isn't to say that I didn't enjoy my life, because I did. But at the end of all things good or bad, crept those venomous feelings.

It was so easy to be mad, natural even, but my anger had lived on a lot longer than the reasons behind it. 

This went on for months, until I finally came to this point where I realized that I just couldn't be mad anymore. It was exhausting and toxic, and the only person it affected was me. Nothing would change the past, and as time evaporated so did the meaning behind the apology I so desperately wanted.

I was angry at something that didn't even matter anymore.

The person I was angry at hurt me, and while I spent much time trying to figure out why, it dawned on me that there wasn't a good reason why I got hurt. Sometimes the people we love hurt us, and the reasons behind it have less to do with us than they have to do with the other person. That’s just how it goes sometimes.

With that revelation, the crushing weight of my anger began to lift. I was free from a past that I let haunt me for far too long. I was able to enjoy all of the things in my life that made me happy, without the burden of my anger hanging over me like a dark cloud. I could finally accept and appreciate the past in a logical light and move on from it.

It was liberating.

None of us are exempt from being hurt; we're all human and sometimes we do things that will hurt others. Sometimes it's intentional, sometimes it's not. There is power in letting go and moving on; if not for the other person, do it for yourself. There is no resolve or closure in being angry, it only hinders our ability to enjoy life.

Sometimes the biggest impact a person will make in your life is when and how they leave it. The biggest impact you will make in your own life is how you handle these people and situations.

Anniversaries are good reminders...

Note: I wrote this post yesterday. I was unsure if I wanted to post it, so I slept on it. This morning I decided that the message was poignant and important to share. SC xo

This day is the reason I '11:11' It's just a personal symbol for me.

Today marks the anniversary of one of the worst days of my life. 

I’m not going to talk about it though, because it is the past and I am OK. Like all experiences in life, it was something that has shaped me and helped me grow; something that I have learned from, something I have accepted, and something I have made peace with.

This day is a poignant reminder of the incredible journey I’ve had over the last 365-days. It is a reminder of my strength and endurance, and my ability to look back with acceptance and a broader understanding. This day is one that changed me, but will not haunt me.

What a difference a year can make. 

None of us go through life unscathed, that’s not how it works. Like any adventure, we are met with situations and circumstances that we can’t control, or that we didn’t plan for; and in the end it is our attitudes that determine the outcome every single time.

Accepting the bad things in life means that you accept the opportunity to learn and grow; It means that you are willing to admit that you were defeated, but that the fight isn’t over, and you’ll get back up it again. Accepting the bad things in life means that you can let them go, and they can’t hurt you anymore.

It’s OK to go through the motions when life throws you down; anger, sadness, bitterness, and the inability to forgive are important for self preservation, but they are also meant to be temporary.

Life will fail you; people will fail you; you’ll fail yourself, but in the end it’s how you recover that really matters. 

The best first date ever...

*Please note that I am breaking my own rule of talking about the 'dating' part of my personal life because this story is so epic and I can't not tell it. Also, I asked the guy permission to write this post, and he said yes.

Game Day selfie: "Duck Lips"

Last night I went out with this guy I met on Twitter. We've been following each other for awhile, and text every now and again. He calls me his "Twitter Crush" and I think it's cute. 

Anyway, a little while ago he asked me if I wanted to go to a hockey game with him, and I said yes.

“OK,” I thought, “What the heck…”

To be honest, I didn't really believe that he was going to follow through on our hockey date; tickets are expensive and hard to come by, I didn't think that he would take me if he got his hands on a set. But, I figured, there was no harm in just going with it. Maybe he was really going to take me...

Like anyone else who follows me on Twitter, the guy knows how much I love Claude Noel, the head coach of the Winnipeg Jets. I don't exactly remember how it happened, but the guy texts me a few weeks ago to tell me that he sort of knows the coach, and that he was going to text him and ask if we could meet him after the game.

“Suuuuuuure,” I thought. "You know the coach. Right."

But again, I went with it. Maybe he really did know the coach...

It's not that I thought this guy was a complete liar, he actually seemed really nice and somewhat genuine. I suppose I'm one of those skeptical people who takes everything people say with a grain, maybe a scoop, of salt. 

Anyway, game day comes and the guy drives into the city from his home, a few hours away. We meet at the City Place Mall, in front of Boston Pizza at 6 p.m. -- It's always interesting meeting Twitter people in real life; it's different than online dating, because you've conversed with these people in real time and with others... Hard to explain. I suppose it's almost just more comfortable for me to meet people from Twitter, as opposed to dating websites, in real life. 

We start walking to the MTS Centre and  he tells me the coach’s wife called him while he was driving to tell him what section she was sitting in, and that she would meet us after the game. 

Actual text between me and the guy yesterday

I still didn't believe him. (OK, to be honest I was starting to wonder if he was a serial killer, luring me in with a promise of meeting Claude Noel. I even asked him a few times. He assured me he wasn't, and I took him at his word.)

Just in case though, I told him that I gave all of his information to my sister, in case he really is a serial killer and he gets any bright ideas.

"She'll find you," I warned him.

The guy was a good sport about my threats and accusations. 

We did all the traditional Jets games things; spent a lot of money on concessions, took selfies, walked around the concourse, bought a 50/50 ticket (and pinky swore to get married if we won. Why not, we only met a few hours ago, it would be a fun way to cap off the night! haha), we cheered and chanted and made friends with all the people around us. 

It was a good time.

The game went into overtime, followed by a shootout. The Jets pull out a win, and it’s literally the best night ever.

“OK, Lynda says that she’s wearing a grey sweater and that she’ll be waiting for us at the front doors by the elevators," he says to me. 

Still skeptical, we push through the throngs of people, head down to the main floor, and make a run for the coveted meeting spot. When we walk in, my eyes dart around the room, and low and behold I see a woman in a grey sweater waiting by the elevator, looking down at her phone.

Could it be? 

Are we really going to meet the coach? 

Lynda?

We walk up to the woman and introduce ourselves. She is Lynda Noel!

Turns out the guy wasn't lying. 

The hallway to Joyland.

Right off the bat Lynda was friendly and tells us to follow her. We went through a security guarded door, down a long corridor. She tells us that she's going to take us to the 'Wives Lounge' to wait for Claude to finish his post game interview. 

We sat in the Wives Lounge for a few minutes. There were a few other people there (wives and girlfriends I'm assuming) and we watch the post game interviews on a TV mounted to the wall, and we chat.

At this point, though I can't speak for the guy, I'm pretty sure we're both in a weird state of disbelief. 

When Claude is done, Lynda takes us to his office. 

Before we get there though, Claude Noel comes out and we're all standing in this big corridor area near his office. All around us are the players of both teams packing it in for the day. Mark Stuart was talking to one of the guys from the Lightning, Kane was walking around, Thorburn was leaving, Stamkos was getting on the bus… And then Buff came out and I nearly peed my pants with excitement.

Me and Buff

Before I made a complete fool of myself, I asked Lynda if it was OK that I approach him. She said it was, so I walked up to Byfuglien, said something ridiculous and likely non-sensible and then asked him to take a “selfie” with me. 

He did, and thus, I can now scratch "selfie with Byfuglien" off my bucketlist.

The guy brought the coach some fishing hooks, and they instantly started talking about fishing. Buff soon joined in on the conversation, and I just stood there, in awe, like a star-struck idiot.

Claude Noel took us to his office, then to the Jets locker room, where someone took our picture with my iPhone. He made sure the picture was to our liking, and explained to us that “Nobody steps on the logo” on the centre of the carpet in the room.

As we leave, coach tells the guy that he’ll call him soon to set up a weekend that they can go fishing.  I BEG the guy to let me come. He said maybe...

Walking up the stairwell to get out of the MTS Centre we ran into Mike Santorelli, who also took a selfie with me.

It was a super rad night, and probably the best first date ever.

I wonder what we're doing for date number two?

The guy, me, and Coach Noel in the dressing room.

Boston.

SOURCE/ ABC News

It’s hard to understand tragedy like the attack at the Boston Marathon yesterday.

Violence and terrorism happen all over the world, but, like many, I am sheltered from the bloodshed and fear that grips entire communities when they acts are carried out. I see glimpses on TV, or read about it online, but I have always been far enough away from the destruction that it seems like I am in a whole other world.

I have been privileged with safety and peace thus far in my life. Something I often take for granted.

I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t know enough about the emotion or politics behind these hateful acts. I can’t understand what would make people and groups carry out such merciless and cowardly attacks on innocent people.

Details are still coming out about the Boston bombing, so far there have been three lives lost and nearly 150 people seriously injured. Outside of the physically scarred, there are countless people whose lives have been forever changed. This bombing has instilled a great sense of fear in people; it has shattered a part of their belief in humanity.

Yet, out of tragedies like these, heroes emerge.

SOURCE/ UK Telegraph

Yesterday, as I scoured the breaking news stories, I read about marathoners who continued to run from the finish line to the hospital to donate blood. I saw images of people carrying others out of the chaos. There was footage of people, tending to the wounded on the blood stained sidewalks...

And while the world watched, there was a tremendous outpour of grief and support from people outside of the chaos; horrified at the tragedy unfolding in front of them.

There is no sense to what happened in Boston yesterday. There is no sense to this type of carnage and violence that happens all over the world. This is the purest form of cowardice and evil carried out by people who, for lack of a better term, are just bad people.

The world is sprinkled with bad people who will terrorize innocents, and carry out attacks such as yesterday’s bombing, but they are few in comparison to the majority of the population. In times like these, when we question humanity and the world around us, it’s the heroes and the innocents we need to remember.

My heart goes out to the people of Boston. It goes out to all people affected by this kind of violence.

Turns out happiness isn't in my pant size...

The Winnipeg Free Press published this post on April 14, 2013 

I used to tell myself "If only I could lose xx pounds, everything would be better..."

I lost those pounds and life is better, but not because I lost the weight. In fact, the weight loss has very little, if anything to do with my happiness.

I'm happy because I have come to a point in my life where I accept myself and all of the things that make me 'Flawsome' (Note: That's a Tyra Banks term, and I think it's perfect.) I'm happy because I love myself.

I had a revelation last summer while looking at myself in the mirror. As I stood there examining all of my flaws, I saw the person staring back at me as someone I had bullied and berated for years. The reflection was one that I had picked apart a million times because it didn't have the curves I wanted, or because it wasn't thin enough, or pretty enough. Staring back at me was this abused part of myself that I took for granted and under appreciated. It was this person that I have said the meanest and most hurtful things to, routinely, without ever apologizing and sometimes without even realizing.

It was this lightbulb, life-changing moment that I realized I was in a toxic and abusive relationship with myself. This sounds really cheesy, but I never fully realized the extent of how harmful my thoughts and words were, especially to myself.

I didn't want to hate myself anymore.

It wasn't an easy feat to stop berating myself. The years and years of negative self-talk was programmed into my brain, it came as naturally to me as breathing did. It took a conscious effort for me to correct myself when those ugly words or thoughts formed.

For my whole life I fantasized about being thin. I kept telling myself that one day it would happen, but I kept failing at every diet or "lifestyle change" I tried.

I was sick and tired of failing, and decided to just stop. Stop the dieting, and stop trying to be something that I wasn't. I wanted to live my life without my weight and diet taking centre stage every single day. I wanted to enjoy food without feeling guilty, or trying to justify it to myself and others. I just didn't want to obsess anymore.

That forced me to really look at myself and my body and realize that I'll never be 'skinny,' my body isn't made that way. This is not to say that I can't lose weight, but I had a picture in my head of what I wanted to look like, and I couldn't see or accept anything other than that.

At first I found that it was easier to call myself down than to accept myself for who and what I was. But gradually that changed, and so did my outlook on a lot of things.

Happiness became my friends, my family and all of those special and unforgettable life moments. It became my accomplishments, and my sheer enjoyment of appreciating and loving myself.

With the cancerous thoughts gone, life literally became a million shades of wonderful.

I suppose the elephant in the room (so to speak) is the weight loss. I've lost a couple of pounds, doesn't matter how much. It was something that didn't happen overnight, or even something I tried to do. (Please don't confuse this with me saying I didn't try and I just lost weight, because I ran my ass off, but not for the purpose of losing weight...)

Shortly after my lightbulb moment I went through a breakup. My heart and mind were a mess and I found relief and therapy is sweating it out at the gym. It probably sounds silly, but I felt like I couldn't escape the absolute sadness and loneliness that comes along with a breakup, and the only thing that seemed to help was putting my headphones in and focusing that energy on running.

Luckily for me the sadness and loneliness gradually went away, and out of it I discovered how much I enjoyed spending that time with myself, and sweating. It's become a routine that I like.

I hate talking about weight, especially mine. Weight loss is something that may last, or may not. I have no idea what my body and biology will do in time, or how I will look in two months or two years. I'm more than just a number on the scale or a pant size.

Losing weight can be a positive experience, in most cases I'm sure it is. However an even more positive experience is living a happy life where you love and accept yourself.