Prime of My Life?

Ok, let's get this out of the way:

Yes, it's been a long time since I updated this site.

Yes, I have changed jobs/houses/cities/countries again, and yes, my children are now all bigger than me, which isn't fair. It's been a lot (especially the last bit).

But, let's talk about something else.

Doctor, Doctor!

While the kids had checkups and shots several months ago—because otherwise they couldn't go to school and I would have to teach them myself (no thank you)—I had my own first US medical experience yesterday, because, yikes, expensive. 

(We still sort of have Canadian healthcare, but it's a long, complicated process for partial reimbursement. We are very excited that we may, one day, get back a portion of the cost of the kids' state-required health assessments and immunizations, which, when it comes in, will literally pay for a weekend in New York).

For me, I'd found it impossible to find a doctor for myself, giving up after about four months of frustration. 

But then Fis had a concern, and couldn't find a doctor in two days. So, he asked his colleagues what they did. (See, four months, above.) 

So, here's what he found out: somehow, "Amazon Doctors" are a thing (what is HAPPENING???). I signed up for this via my Prime membership (WHAT) two days ago... and had an appointment with my lovely new primary care practitioner yesterday morning. I left with referrals for a whole slew (not just half a slew, as you might expect) of other doctors, including  a dermatologist and a radiologist, and bloodwork (hello, cholesterol) too. 

I think my warranty has expired. 

Jumpstart my parts

Point: my left shoulder, last year, hurt so badly all the time that I could no longer do pushups.* (Gasp! I know!) Luckily, I'd had it treated and healed right before we moved here, thank goodness, by my mad chiropractor, who used: Active Release Therapy; Shockwave; ultrasound; cupping; acupuncture; and the special acupuncture that also involves electrocution. (Plus physio exercises.) He traumatised me deeply for four months straight, and voila! It's as good as new (though I will never be the same). 

He had fixed my other shoulder the year before, and both times, was like, "HOW did you even do this?" No idea, sir. Sure, stick that vibrating needle into me while I sweat. Please.

Heal thymyself?

But maybe I didn't need to put myself through all that. 

In March, I fell off a (ridiculously small) ladder while hanging didgeridoos, and sprained my right ankle horribly. I was in agony for days, walked with a cane, and could barely move or use the stairs for two full weeks. Even two months later, it was still swollen, and didn't feel right. I resigned myself to the possibility that I would probably never again turn a gentleman's head with my delicate instep run without pain.

BUT THEN! After ten full weeks of painful hobbling, I hopped over a curb, landing badly, twisting and going over my ankle—respraining my hurty ankle, which somehow fixed it completely (yay, science?). I went for a run the next day, realizing five minutes in that, perhaps, I shouldn't have mourned not being able to run, because it's awful.

AND I've realigned my left wrist. I noticed, while sitting with my swollen foot up on an ottoman, that I had a wonky bone sticking out (see also, warranty), and that it hurt (again) when I did pushups.* Here's how I fixed it: by actively not putting it into very weird positions for no good reason. Seriously. I'd find it tucked up/folded in half like a little wing while I watched tv or slept. By focusing on keeping my hand "normal", it got better, in only about six weeks. 

You should definitely follow me for health advice.

It wasn't supposed to happen to me

Like a sucker, I really believed that my entire lifetime of frequent exercise with cardiovascular and weight-bearing activities, coupled with a a pretty healthy diet and obsessive sunscreen use would have given me a leg up on this 'aging with dignity' thing. Alas, no. It's all lies. 

Tonight is pizza night, and I'm going to have it with wine and chips and probably some gin, and no sunscreen because the system is evidently broken.

But yes, my ankle is tantalizingly dainty again, thank you for asking.

*No, Mom, the answer is not, "Maybe you shouldn't be doing pushups."

And now we are Thirty-Five

Well, I survived yesterday.

Let's start with the highlights, shall we? In no particular order of awesomeness:

Score! (hockey)

At floor hockey last night (admittedly, after a glass and a half of Very Good Wine), I scored my First Goal Ever. And then, about 3 minutes after that, I did it again! I can now quit forever, having peaked, with perfect timing, I might add, in the playoffs. "I choose not to hock".

Yum!

The day started with my traditional 7 am Birthday Breakfast at Cora's - and if you weren't invited, don't be mad-but-relieved-at-the-same-time. This year's was just the fam. And Grandpa even drove in from North Gower! What dedication! What caring! What a great example to set! (everyone else, take note for next year)

The aforementioned Very Good Wine (2003 Kaesler Stonehorse BV Shiraz) was accompanied by steak, sweet potatoes, and broccoli with gourmet (pronounced "goor-mit") cheez sauce, followed by an amazingly dense, moist chocolate cake with smooth-and-creamy white icing à la chef Christophe Encraque. I have decided to keep him.

Score! (loot)

I have a Kindle! So neat! Feeling very proper and pretentious, I immediately downloaded the Complete Works of Jane Austen for 89 cents. And after getting about 12 pages into Emma, I decided that honestly, since Kindles are for people that are ashamed of what they're reading, I then downloaded a fluffy romance. I was far too spoiled, also ending up with gardening gear, gift cards, jewelery, and warm fuzzies from friends near and far.

Discovered the number 3 reason to have kids!

As we may recall, the number 1 reason is because of baby sneezes. I forget number 2. But number 3 is because they laugh at my jokes. Hard.

And now the lowlight:

Barf!

Ailsa threw up all over her crib and herself, right before I climbed into bed. Chris was awesome, though - he dealt with de-funkifying her (an overwhelming job) while I changed sheets and scraped large pieces into the toilet, while trying not to barf, myself.*

Today was harder. Vaughn got up early (as in 5 am), which makes me cranky because then I am awake at 5 am, and also because then he is a miserable little boy all day long, as anyone who has been within a 100-metre radius can attest. Ailsa woke up happy, chugged back her milk, and then launched it a good three feet, using just the power of projectile vomiting (she takes after her mother!). And then she was fine again, till we went to the pool with the banshee (above), and she threw up all over the bleachers. The lifeguard was very good at it, and waved away my apologies, saying that next time, if she threw up in the pool, then the lifeguards would get a break. How nice, but I was still dripping with baby puke. Again.

Finally, I realized, that although "35" is just a number, if I were still competing, I would now be in the Masters' category. Granted, yes, I'd kick a$$, but what a sobering thought.

* Hey, remember when I was the one that would throw up on my birthday? :)

So now we are 34

All in all, a fairly non-descript birthday. No parties, no big celebrations, no Cora's Birthday Breakfast (snif).



Thirty-four doesn't really seem that bad. Or didn't, till I thought about it this way: it's been TEN YEARS since I was 24.



Ok, that one blows my mind a little.



At 24, an impossibly old age when I used to think ahead to how old I'd be in the year 2000, I was living alone in my awesomely slummy one-bedroom apartment on Henderson, with two rescued cats (Trouble and Billy). I was coaching cheerleading and just starting my competitive fitness "career". I was working as a fitness/wellness consultant, using my degree, and making quite good money for the the 22 hours of work I did a week, driving my motorcycle (the Beast), or, in poor weather, my beloved Snotmobile.

.

.

.

At 34, I'm living in connubial bliss (mental note: look up connubial before I post this, just to make sure it's not something I wouldn't want my mother to read) (oh, good) in my awesomely bright and spacious three-bedroom townhouse in the Hat, with my two boys (Vaughn the Vampire and Fis). My cheerleading career, I believe, is over forever, but fitness still wants me to give it another try (maybe after I have this baby) and so does musical theatre, as long as I'm clear on my audition form that I'm there to dance and am willing to lipsync. I'm working as an administrative/communications assistant, having turned my back on all things Human Kinetics-y except for teaching a step class here and there, maintaining fairly high levels of personal fitness (considering) and terrorizing my mother* over her own activity level. ...But the communications bit is exciting and new, and if not exactly a promotion or prestigious, it's experience, and will look nice on my dust-gathering resume. My takehome is actually less now than it was when I was a 22-hour-a-week wellness consultant (due to some grievous misunderstandings with Revenue Canada way back when!), and the motorcycle, alas, is ancient history, as is Snotty, may he rest in pieces.



What a decade, though! So many highs and lows: fitness triumphs (Miss Fitness Ottawa/Ontario/2nd place in Canada!) and employment woes (boo for unemployment and subsequent, long-lasting destitution); incredible times with friends, and leaving everyone but one behind on a Grand Adventure Out West; my professional cheerleading debut (remember, Danielle?) and my last night on the field at Frank Clair; bad relationships (no names named), pretty good ones (Fis), and the amazing experience of unconditional love (Vaughn and the 'lump-to-be, although I must admit that I'll be much fonder of 'Lump v2.0 on the outside, instead of stretching me three ways to Sunday (like the V-man, it doesn't seem to get that "fetal position" shouldn't be optional)).



But have I grown up?



Nope.



Sure, I'm more "responsible", but it's not because I want to be. Sure, I have three grey hairs (eeeek! Until last night, I thought I only had 1!). But I still stand firmly by my right to be silly at any time, to eat cookie dough (ok, not right now), to wear the same clothes I've worn since high school (ok, also not right now...well, maybe that green dress would fit!), to nap my heart out (when I'm allowed!), and to drink as much as I want...soon... Sure, I drive a Subaru (which, backwards, sez "yer a bus!") more often than I drive my little Trevor...but I'm still that 24-year-old me. In fact, I'm not even that 24-year-old. I think I'm still that 17-year-old - still struggling with height and hair and skin and awkwardness and self-confidence and loving adventure and excitement and life.



34's not old at all.



Note to self: pick up some hair dye on the way home.









*and her sisters, this week. That's right, Aunt Joanne. Mom told me everything.

Saving face

Actual Age: 30
How I look: (rumour has it) 25 (but I've gotten from 22 to 26)
How I feel: 17, at most

With the wedding (oh, not THAT again) coming up in a month (gulp!), I decided to talk to my esthetician about my skin. (She usually focuses on other (nether) areas... with hot wax...) To sum up, I don't have good skin, and I never have. My mom has rosacea, and I struggled with acne in high school and university, right up to the day that I got my doctor to prescribe a pill that would help. Four years later, I decided to cycle off, because at 25, there's no way I could still have acne, right?

Whoa.

Let's just say that the surge of ridiculously bad acne was worse than it was at 14, perhaps because I was 25 and less mentally able to handle it, but I think that it was definitely worse. (There's something fundamentally wrong with needing to treat acne and fine lines at the same time). So I went back to my doctor and got re-prescribed. She said it would take at least 10 weeks to kick in. So I asked for something topical, too. Again, 10 weeks. I doubled up, and it only actually took about 6 weeks to be clear again, but in the meantime, the horror!!!

But I digress. My daily skincare routine, I thought, was good. My face is always exfoliated lightly twice a day, I always wear moisturizing sunscreen SPF 25, and I have a night repair cream with AHA, too. So why is it always so red and blotchy?

According to the Amazing Petra, I needed a peel, I needed a soothing mask, and I needed to stop scrubbing and irritating the crap out of my sensitive skin twice a day. Cetaphil, and a non-AHA moisturizer from now on, she said, would help.

The peel itself isn't pleasant (I believe the chemicals are actually dissolving the top 12 layers of my skin, actually). It smells kind of gross, and it feels just like really bad irritation, kind of crawling and stinging and burning, but it's a) better than a regular facial (ugh, extractions), and b) only lasts 2 minutes, start to finish. Afterwards, I get a nice soothing mask, which makes me fall asleep. When I wake up, my skin is beautiful - even-toned and smooth and soft.

Third treatment is tonight, but this is something that I want to keep up. The difference, to me at least, is stunning, honestly like night and day. I remember being an awkward teenager (for 12 years, actually), just thinking that maybe, if my skin would clear up, people would see that I was worth looking at. I was starting to feel that way again, in photos where my face always looked red, or catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror at the gym. From the second that I saw the improvement, I felt better, more confident, more ... pretty?

The problem, aside from the cost (kaff...not prohibitive, but not wallet-friendly, for sure), is that she asked me to take out my nose ring before the first treatment, and I couldn't get it back in.

More on that in the next post...