And there he was...

It's 4:33 am and the fire alarm is blasting. What the hell is going on? 

 

Code red... well...here I go jumping out the window again. Lake Ontario here I come.  

My door's been shut. The fire trucks are screeching to a halt outside. Did I ever mention how much I love sirens? Crazy but true. 

There's two ways to look at sirens. 1) someone is hurt 2) help is on the way

You choose your view.

Once I realized it wasn't actually me on fire, I recognized that feeling. The one where every breath is a struggle. I knew the only way I'd get back to sleep would be to knock back some ventalin. 

Relief. 

Relief is finally getting a quasi-deep breath. 

Relief is that drowning on the inside feeling, alleviated. 

Relief is not coughing and gagging all over the place, every 5 seconds. 

This morning was somewhat of a crappy one. Wasn't feeling 100% like taking on the world. That coughing and gagging thing was back. 

Great timing.

The respiratory therapist came and took me to do pft's (pulmonary function tests). I didn't blow the roof off the joint or anything. My lung function is actually worse than when I checked into this glamtastic-it-isn't hotel.

However, I am still getting released. No more johnny shirts, lame food, IV's or community showers for me!   

No more sleeping on the electronic, yet sucky, bed. 

No more missing my little furry boy.

 

Pamela came over tonight to hang out, play some games and watch Grey's Anatomy. Thanks PJ for helping me pass the time - she knew how crazy excited I was to see Brad tomorrow; she was probably afraid I'd hurt myself doing my happy dance, and would need a spotter.

After she left I started writing this entry and was thinking about how excited I was to see Brad tomorrow. I was even going through my photos of him and Griffin, thinking I'd post one.

I hear something...I look up...and he's here. Physically. In my room. 

He's real. It's not a dream. I can touch him. 

 

But he wasn't supposed to be here until tomorrow??

 

He did it again.

One of these days the surprises are going to come from me

Rumor has it...

I am a very happy girl.

I heard a rumor about a CF girl getting out on Friday. This girl is apparently uber cool and rocks some sweet red kicks.

Ya, that's right - that girl is me!

The minimum for an IV run is 10 days and it'll be 10 days on Friday. I'm feeling much better and I'm ready to get outta heaaa...right in time for my tall, dark and handsome to fly in for the weekend (for work, but still yay)!!!! 

That's just one more full day and two more nights before I get to see his face. Hard to believe he'll be right here, as it seems like forever ago that he last was.

Had a visit with my fantastical buddy Craig today. We went to the cafeteria with mom, except here it's called the "Marketeria", guess they think that makes it more appealing? Cooler?

We were walking down the hall when I saw my doc. She actually brought up the topic of my release first. I replied, "Ya, I was wondering exactly how to broach that". Followed by, "You look very pretty today".

Brownie points guys. 

***Not so subtle wink***                   

However, in sticking with my new found smarts (from listening to my doc's advice from the other day) I ensured that it was totally her idea for me to break out on Friday.

Doctors are so smart; always listen to them.

To backup my claim of feeling better is the fact that I annihilated that stationary bike today. I am a machine. Unstoppable.

Afterward I had more of the massage physio stuff...I may or may not have fallen asleep for the next 15 decades.


I leave you with some 'Hospital Humour':

 - Nurse changing my PICC dressing says "Don't cough"

To which I started laughing, as telling a CF patient to not cough, is like telling ice cream to not melt, or a politician to not lie.

Or me to not be cool. 


 - Skyping with Pamela...I didn't hear my nurse coming, but turned at the last minute and saw a gun in my face and watched my life flash before my eyes.

The gun was actually a scanner for my hospital bracelet (for distributing meds).  

Looks like I'll live to see another day. 

A bike Carman can't tamper with!

Last night was like a perfect hospital night. I had great visitors (which actually started earlier that day with Craig and coffee) - Kristy and her parents and then Pamela. Kristy's mom, Sue, painted my nails (who doesn't want to look hawt while laying in a hospital bed?) and Pamela stayed late as we were yammering away like we always do.

I blogged after my company was gone, but it was only after I posted that I realized it was past midnight. I don't think I actually passed out until around 1AM. I was up lots throughout the night and then was woken at 7AM, wishing there was a sledgehammer handy to knock myself back out with.

I keep both windows cranked and a fan on high, yet this room turns into a kiln at night. 

I managed to drift in and out of sleep. Every time I tried to get "up and at 'em", I would be hit with a feeling of being hungover (wait...who's sneaking something into my IV??) and would have to sink back into the bed that is certainly not made of pillows, but has that cool inclining ability, which my lungs really dig.

I was so out of it that I couldn't do the stationary bike, which was the plan for my morning physio. The physiotherapist took one look at me and my half shut eyeballs, and nixed that idea, instead saving it for the afternoon.

This afternoon, Mom and I went for a walk. I didn't get very far before I had to rest. I actually asked her, "Don't you have to rest?", forgetting that healthy people can walk for more than 30 feet without having their energy zapped right out of them. After resting, I announced it was time to turn around.

The fantastical news is that not only did I do the bike at our afternoon physio session, but I did the entire 20 minutes! Fatigue? Please! You are no match for moi!

I'm like a crazy superstar now. Magazines such as Women's Fitness, Shape, and Women's Health have all called trying to get me on the cover.

It's like this: If I'm put to the challenge, I'm going to give it all I've got. Simple. No way was I hopping off that damn bike before she asked me to. Plus I got the massage physio session afterward, so it was totally worth it.

You didn't hear this from me, but I made friends with the fatigue again after she left.

Tonight, while going through my messages, I came across one that I had to jump on. I received an email from a daily reader, Aviva, who is incredibly supportive of me, this blog, and all that I try to accomplish with it.

Aviva is part of a nationwide fundraiser for Cystic Fibrosis, called Shinerama. Shinerama started 47 years ago and is now Canada’s largest post-secondary school fundraiser; more than $21.5 million has been raised for cystic fibrosis research.

Nuance Leadership is donating $1000 to the Shinerama campaign that creates the video that “best captures the Shinerama experience”.

Aviva goes to the University of British Columbia (UBC) and has asked me to reach out to all of you to check out their video and vote for them. They are obviously very dedicated to Shinerama and are working hard to earn that moulah. So, please, take a look.

You can check it out and vote for the video here.

She included the following voting instructions:

"Click on the link, then click the Facebook "like" button on the lower left.
Thank you so much for your help and support, voting goes until Friday
November 30th 11:59pm!"

Set Straight

I had a great convo with my doctor and I feel like I can see clearly now. I guess you could say she set me straight. 

I struggle with a lot of guilty feelings...along with a stubborn streak, I suppose. I've been lectured about this many times, but I guess we can't help but feel/be certain things/ways. It takes a lot of concentration and a bit of butt kicking to get me to listen. That, or a serious discussion about life, death and a certain future surgery.

Congrats doc.

Remember this guy?

I am known for "letting things go" when I'm not feeling good. For "toughing it out" and "waiting to see if it improves" before seeking medical attention.

Perhaps I would be this way with a broken leg? Who knows? Although, I doubt anyone would put up with my incessant whining, moaning and banshee-like screeching to see how that would play out.

I was sick for only a few days before I realized it was actually an infection and not just me being worn out. However, as soon as I realized what was happening I hopped on the phone and dialed the CF clinic.

I was put on meds. End of story.

Except it wasn't.

Nope, it was more of a chapter book.

I was put on oral antibiotics and sat back waiting for them to do their thang. After a few days they weren't exactly solving all of the world's problems, but the weekend had hit, and I knew there wasn't anyone in clinic to get in touch with. So, of course, I waited.

As we all know, I was thrown in the slammer Tuesday and attached to the pole (and not the kind you dance around).  

Sad, cause this would've been more fun

It took only a few days to feel relief and I can now happily sit here and breathe...without looking like I just finished running a 10k, while carrying my entire family on my back.

Back to my guilt:

I would kind of feel like the boy who cried wolf if I ran to the docs every time I felt crusty. I like to give it a few days to see if it's just a bad couple of days, or if it's truly something I need help with.

I also feel like I could potentially be hogging a hospital bed, when someone else who's more sick would need it.

Is that messed up???

Well the good doc explained to me that, you know, I'm waiting for NEW LUNGS and that's pretty important. I just might want to be in optimal health when the call comes...you know, to help the surgery go as smoothly as possible, so I can recover quickly and be back to annoying everyone around me again.

An example of a competent doctor

She explained how crucial it is for me to act when I'm feeling an infection.

Their job is to ensure I'm the healthiest I can be to face transplant surgery and I need to help them do that. I'm not to worry about someone else needing a hospital bed - that's also their job. 

So, I'm sorry to all those I've annoyed or worried with my stubbornness. You will see a new me. I just needed to hear it in a different way - from someone wearing a lab coat. 

I'm invested in this. I will fight like hell to see this through and bust out on the other side.

Then you will see stubborn...

Want to post a comment, but need a little help?

Mom brought my mail to the hospital and I just have to throw out a HUGE 

Thanks to Sandra and her team for the card and thanks to Wayne & Kim for the card!

Thanks Kristy for the pj's. Thanks Pamela for the card and the photo of our lung buddies.

Heck, thanks to everyone who sends me mail, email or messages on Facebook.

Thanks to every one of you for sitting down (perhaps with a tall blonde, or something as equally delicious) and taking the time to follow my life. This blog is extremely important to me. It's gone places I never dreamed it would - coast to coast, all over North America and all over the world! Stat tracker is awwwwwwesome.

Last count - 67 countries!!!!

It's not exactly fair that you can't be heard, so let's change that. I've been told that numerous people have problems leaving a comment, so they usually just give up.

But I love comments!

So, I copied and pasted the following instructions from Pamela's blog (with her permission, thanks!):

At the end of each blog post, you will see the Comments link (if you're the first, it will say No Comments, otherwise it will indicate the number of comments so far, just slide your mouse over it and click).

Once you click the Comments link, the dialogue box will appear, and you can type your message in it:

Type your message and then click the drop down menu beside “Select profile” - and choose the option that is best for you, if you aren’t a blogger, it's easiest to include their name at the end of your comment, select Anonymous for the profile; and then click the Publish button. 

 

When you have done that, a Preview box will pop up and you’ll be asked to enter a word and a number (the letters in the word will be squished together so they can’t be recognized by computer spam programs - and sometimes I can’t recognize them either!)

Now, click Publish again. If you’ve interpreted the word & number correctly, your comments will publish at the bottom of the blog, if not, you’ll be asked to type a new code (repeatedly until you get it right - I’ve had to do up to 4 of these!). Once you’ve been successful, your comment or question will be posted and I can reply.

Tall Blonde - meet Gravol

Day 4 & 5

Yesterday was a pretty uneventful day. I rested and then I rested. When I finished that, I rested some more.

Somewhere in between all of that, mom and I set off searching for the Starbucks that's accessible without entering the great outdoors. Egad, not the city streets!

We made it, as I'm incredible with directions (also I have a homing device to Starbucks), and just waited a few seconds for someone with a badge to let us through the bridge to the other building.

I walked, which is crucial to staying off the heparin, but it felt like I was trudging through quicksand while tied to missile going the opposite way. 

I probably won't be attempting that walk again any time soon.  

My feeds decided to annoy the hell out of me last night. I felt something wet and cold and, once again, discovered that they had leaked. I stumbled to the bathroom and switched out the adapter (the tube that connects the feeding bag to my stomach) and all was good in the world again.

Mom and I played games this afternoon, while I sipped on the tall blonde she brought me. They might as well go ahead and install a Starbucks kiosk outside my hospital room; I'll keep it in business.

I skyped with the Hamiltons tonight and explained to Carman that the woman in the background was not my mother, but his wife. Yes....he was looking at his own screen. I think it's clear that he and I both need our lungs really soon...we simply don't have much brain power left to lose. Carman, I say that with love...and a crap load of laughter.

I also skyped with Jamie tonight:

Go ahead - figure out what she's holding

Kristy (fellow crusty lung'er) and her fiance Derek came to visit today. She brought me pajamas! It was nice seeing them, but I definitely wasn't me. I was hopped up on gravol and could barely get my eyeballs to open any further than tiny slits. Plus, I sorta don't feel good. I wonder if the fact that we were in a hospital gave that away?

Her dad picked them up and brought me a tall blonde. Seriously perfect.

And then....

I spilled half of it on my bed. Also, I was on that bed. So half of that half went all over me.

It's not my fault, I'm high on gravol.

We've got movement

Day 3

I am trying...

Trying hard to throw back calories. I know how crucial they are and how much better I'll do post-transplant if I gain now. I'm happily downing cans of coke and eating chips and snickers. Probably not the best, but at least it's a start.

My feeding tube starts up again tonight, as I had to bring in my own supplies, so that took a bit to get straightened out. Maybe I should just hook myself up on a 24/7 basis. That sounds totally realistic and not at all annoying.

I finally gathered up some energy and hauled myself into the shower. I think I look more human now, at least my nurse thinks so.

When in hospital, a CF patient always sees a physiotherapist, preferably on a daily basis. We need physio to clear our lungs of crud, resulting in less Darth Vader like breathing.

Well, I'm a lucky girl. I'm getting physio twice daily and it's a new technique. Instead of having someone bang on my body like it's a drum set, I'm getting a massage type dealio. It's massaging my lung muscles, which relaxes them, and helps with my breathing.

It's working really freaking well. And I love it.

I'm refusing heparin. Heparin is a blood thinner; given to avoid clotting. Lying in a bed and not moving for days upon days could lead to clotting. So, as I'm refusing it, I need to stop sitting/lying in bed all the time and I need to get moving. 

I managed to go for a walk down the hall with mom today. She rolled the O2 tank while I clung to the wall with one hand and to my Starbucks cup with the other (thanks mom!). My breathing was better, but I felt so tired, like I was in a fog.

So I got down and gave them 20. 

I also stood at the window and did some stretches from physio, while watching the weirdness outside.

Tonight the fire alarm went off. Then my nurse told me she needed to close my door. Next fire trucks came screaming in. So I cut the screen open, tied some sheets together and slid out, with the IV pole and oxygen tank flung over my shoulder. I decided it was best to run all the way to Lake Ontario and submerse myself...just to be safe.

Someone let me know when the coast is clear.

Return of the PICC

Day 2.

Last night was all over the place. It felt like a sauna on fire in here. So of course I had the window open and was woken every 5 minutes to either sirens or screams. However, it's highly entertaining, so what evvva.

I first woke up at 7, cracked my eyes open, squinted at the clock and sank my head back into the pillow. Next thing I knew it was 9 and I was being woken to go downstairs for x-rays. I managed to make it out to the hall and into a wheelchair (while wearing my Christmas pj's...yes, Christmas). I'm certain everyone was jealous of my attire, as most are sitting around in johnny shirts.

When I came back from x-rays I returned some texts, assuring people I was indeed still alive and had somewhat operational lungs. I gagged down some breakfast and promptly feel asleep; I had great intentions of doing something worthwhile, like showering, but my body's wearing the pants right now, not my brain.

I was woken again at 12 to go for a PICC line. At least this time I was thrown in a stretcher for the trip downstairs. I took my quilt (thanks Birdie) and my favorite pillow along for the ride; this princess needs to ride in style.

It was fun dangling on the stretcher wondering if we'd run into anything, or anyone, along the way. That damn driver was too good. Hardly dented anything. 

When I came back I sat up on the stretcher and there was my mom. We walked into my room and it looked like a Lays truck had exploded in there. Hilda and Craig had stopped by and left me some treats, including a sweet tall blonde. To top it off mom brought me some treats and a Word Search. I really am the best at those, no one can ever beat me. The challenge is out there.

After a couple of hours mom left to look after the G-man and get ready for games night (as I insisted she go).

Yes, unfortunately, I am missing games night with my fellow post-transplant wannabees.

It is a sad time. However, like everything else, there is a silver lining...

Someone else will actually have a chance to win tonight.

I'm hoping to skype my face in at some point. That will likely throw some of them off their game. I've instructed mom to win in my absence.

So, I have a lot of spare time. To sit around, watch hours of endless crap on tv, read, listen to the loud guy in the room next door, search the internet for useless information (or awesome information, like the fact that I'm still number one in the NBA league), fall asleep at random, skype friends, blog, and think of the pros and cons of being in the slammer. 

One of the worst things about being attached to a pole? Going to the bathroom fifty thousand times per night and dragging said pole with you, while trying to avoid tripping over oxygen tubing that's also being dragged along.

I've decided that the best thing about being stuck in the hospital (aside from laying the smack down on my crusty lungs) is the snack bags:

Delivered every day right to my room

Plus, the CF menu is special (as the docs love us showing the calories some love) so it's packed full of sweet options such as popsicles, chocolate bars, coke, high calorie shakes and ice cream. Good thing I've got lots of insulin.

Now, if someone could give me a way of watching basketball games on the laptop that would be great. NBA tv isn't an option here :(

Locked up

We arrived at St. Mike's in time for me to grab whatever it is they're disguising as coffee at Second Cup, before heading to clinic. Who the heck likes that crap? I didn't even like the first cup.

I was weighed first. I desperately tried to think of something heavy - like an elephant, but apparently it was shrunken by Dr. What's-his-face from 'Honey I Shrunk The Kids' cause I'm down another 5 pounds. 

I've gone from simply skinny to moderately malnourished.

Did I fool any of you into thinking that I haven't been malnourished for years?

Unfortunately, as explained to me by the CF team in Halifax, it's a vicious cycle.

Crusty lungs + craptastic appetite = crustafiably craptastic numbers on the scale.

My lung function has also plummeted. So you see? The Halifax team is brilliant...and I need to eat a boat load of cheeseburgers and milkshakes.

I've been on many different antibiotics the last few months and they only seem to buy me a bit of time before I sink back into an energy zapping, torturous breathing vortex.

Good times!

So it's time to hit 'em hard. Send the liquid army in to attack and stomp all over the infection's face.

I'm all tucked into my hospital room. The cool part is that it's the same room I had in July. Kinda like being at home...well, except not. Great view of the church next door and the evening drug deals. At the moment my windows are wide open and I am having the incredible audio experience of squealing siren after siren. Ahhh the magic...

Mom has gone home to look after the G-man and to explain to him where his mama is. I'm sure he'll understand.

I've been busy getting poked and prodded:

Pretty awkward spot for an IV

They wanted to put it in my hand, but I refused as I need my hands free to type the ridiculousness that emanates from my half working (at the moment) brain. I hope you all appreciate it.

Energy, where art thou?

I woke today and immediately called the CF clinic. I left a vm explaining that I have not improved and I need further help.

I spent a good portion of last night coughing and trying to breathe. Someone once told me that breathing is important so, you know, I'm trying.

At 4:50pm I still hadn't heard from them so I left another vm. Turns out clinic ran late and this was their first chance to get back to me. Which is the norm for this location.

6:30pm I got a call from clinic. I have an appointment tomorrow morning at 10. I feel extreme relief knowing help is coming.

I was pretty lazy at physio again today. Slacking on the bike and barely alive on the treadmill. The norm is 20 minutes on each, but after 5 minutes on the tread I had to shut it down.

It seems all energy has seeped out of my body. Oxygen is swirling around the room but having a hard time finding me (perhaps I'm wearing an oxygen shield and I don't even know it). Thankfully I have helpers in that regard. Squeaker, R2-D2...thanks for having my back, or actually, my lungs.

The infection is definitely armed. Carrying heavy artillery and racing around like it owns the joint. It's some what of an unfair fight. Tomorrow I hope to balance the scales. Bring in the big guns.

"Take this infection to school."

Coolest thing that happened today was getting a present from Carman's sister-in-law, Birdie. She made Carman a quilt that I fell in love with. She must have heard...cause she made me one too!

Thank you! I love it! So does the G-man :)

Grey's Anatomy

I have an idea.

I audition for Grey's Anatomy (I'll just fly to Hollywood), and then of course land, the role of a transplant patient.

Episode: "Double-lung transplant"

Perfect, right? I could even give them my how to manual, which they could incorporate into the script.

Not only do I become a famous television star (I figure I'll get nominated for some award due to my outstanding portrayal of a crusty lung'ed sick chick), but I get new blowers too!

Oh wait...is that tv stuff fake?

So, I guess if that doesn't work out, I'll continue to stay on the list in Toronto. Transplants are being conducted all over the place lately; fingers and eyeballs crossed!

I'm still fighting this infection. I have spent a lot of time in bed over the weekend. I'm either in bed, on the couch, or playing games with transplant friends. No matter how crappy one feels, one should always find energy for games night.

I'm good as long as I don't do anything physical. Physical includes walking a few feet, brushing my teeth, changing clothes, etc.   

My oxygen flow has been upped for the last several days and still I'm dropping into the 80's while showering and stuff. Showers take a lot longer than they used to. I have to sit and rest a lot to catch my breath and avoid falling and breaking my face. I really don't want to be helpless in the shower. That wouldn't be very elegant, nor fabuloso.

Breathing is hard sometimes. Ok, all the time. Ever watch someone who has an advanced lung disease breathe? Every breath is shallow; a deep one, impossible. I get tired watching my own stomach rise and fall with each breath.

I need a massage desperately as my muscles are so tight from simply breathing. Emilee, Laura...just fly up and fix me, k? On your way grab a chainsaw and duct tape, just in case I get the call.

However, tomorrow is a new day. Maybe my lungs will actually want to become friends with Mr. Fix-the-Infection pills. They could at least hug it out.

This is a story from NS worth reading. Organ donation saves lives.

Oh and sadly we did not win Zeddy. Sucks, but he went to Camp Trillium, which is an awesome camp for kids with cancer. I'm sure he'll be very happy there.

Day 2 of Mr. Fix-the-Infection pills

I need to find something to knock my mother out with.

For a minimum of 8 hours.

I feel so bad.

She's a crappy sleeper at the best of times, but with me coughing and gagging all night, her and the sandman aren't spending much time together.

I kept waking up. To cough. Perhaps I was having dreams of some sort of sick, twisted coughing contest. Once the coughing calmed I was left with the difficulty of catching my breath.

Breathe in...breathe out...breath in...breathe out...

My morning was okay. My shower stool kept me from falling flat on my face and being knocked unconscious. Yikes...that would be awkward. Thank you shower stool for being there for me. You are so sturdy and reliable.

Who doesn't want a chair in their shower?

Mom and I were picked up by the Hamobile. Once we landed at the hospital, I commanded my legs to walk me to physio. Problem is, the crusties got in the way. They are a tad diva like and it's starting to become ridiculous. 

Mom, ignoring my protests, ran in and got a wheelchair. I plopped down and saw the light - huh, much easier. 

Physio was grueling. I manged to eek out 10 minutes (half my norm) on the bike with the tension dialed back and my oxygen turned up. 

I toned down the weights, you know instead of my usual 50 lbs, I did 3's. I also cheated a bit on the treadmill; low speed and only 5 minutes (norm is 20).

However, I'm certain I impressed everyone with my stretches.

Afterward, the Hamiltons came back with us for dinner and games. Once again mom got the wheelchair to haul me from the lobby to our suite, as I was doing the slow motioned version of the granny shuffle.

I am happy to report that not one card was thrown, nor any punches. There may have been a few smirks and some name calling though. Just when mom and Carman thought they had us, Pamela and I snuck up and tied (sometimes it's best to fool them into thinking they will win and then bammmmm, blindsided!). It ended there as it was decided (without my two cents) that I'd had enough and I needed to rest and breathe.

Tonight I hope to mimic a hibernating bear.

You too mom. 

Only hours left to vote!

Today is the last day to vote guys! Right now there are only a few hours left.

We really want Zeddy to come home to Cystic Fibrosis Canada. Zeddy will bring a smile, some fun, and hope to children and adults with CF. Imagine how good a child would feel to see Zeddy walk into their hospital room? Or at a fundraiser?

If we win Zeddy, we also win $5000 for CFC, which would go toward a whole bunch of fantastical (yes I make up words) stuff like research and treatment.

One day CF will stand for Cure Found.

Please take a minute to vote here.

Rap vs Jazz

Toronto Raptors vs Utah Jazz

Last night was really awesome; to be at an NBA game live just blew my mind.

I was exciting simply approaching the Air Canada Centre. Problem is, I don't think that the security guys at the entrance received the memo that it was my first game, therefore tres exciting. They really should have been more happy and less surly.

We entered, looked to the left, and saw the boys doing their commentary:

You can tell they were sad that I wasn't a part of their team

Crazy how I thought the court would seem bigger. I know how big a b-ball court is, it just seemed sort of tiny. Like, for sure I could run up and down it 150 times and it be no biggie. I'd just have to ensure that Archie was fully charged.

Also...

Funny how small the players looked from where we were sitting and trust me, we were close. I could practically see the beads of sweat dripping off heads and onto the floor.

At half time a member of the Raptors management tapped me on the shoulder, said that he heard I was awesome, and asked me to help out. So I threw on a jersey and zipped down to the bench. With 6.45 minutes to go in the 3rd quarter, Dwayne (coach) signaled for me to sub in. 

I don't know how to tell you this. But...

The officials kicked me out of the game. Said I was cheating. It may have been one of two things:

A) My amazing skills; quick pivots, stealth-like steals from the Jazz, unprecedented slam dunks. They were convinced that I was on something illegal, as nobody has ever been as great as me. Look for me on the cover of December's issue of Sports Illustrated.

OR

B) They said Squeaker was the 6th man on the floor...and ordered him to leave. The audacity! I couldn't let him roll off by himself; we're a team.

It really doesn't matter why my professional basketball career lasted longer than most celebrity marriages, and shorter than an episode of 'Here Comes Honey Boo Boo', what matters is that I'm the best in the league and now you all know that too.

Only the 1st of 3 overtimes

The game got ridiculous. The Raptors were winning, up by 11 at one point in the 4th quarter, and we thought everything was Raptastic. 

Then...

Al Jefferson sunk a 3 pointer with only 2.4 seconds remaining on the clock. Like, Really????

I made it through one OT, until my lungs started slinging nasty words around. I just hack it. Too tired. Too short of breath.

Just so we're clear, if that had been vs the Lakers, I would have chucked my lungs in the garbage and stayed.

We flagged down a cab and listened to the 2nd OT on the way home. Just as we were dropped off, a 3rd overtime was announced.

I started watching from the Air Canada Centre, continued listening on the way home and finished on my couch. 

Result: They lost. 140-133. I left: The most plausible explanation for them losing.

As far as my lungs...let's just say that there will be no parties in the Carver condo tonight.

I'm struggling. Part of the dealio. Oral antibiotics have been ordered.

Ferguson Fun

On Saturday, Dave, Liz, Mom and I checked out the distillery district. The stupid clouds started getting all "loomy" and stuff, so we decided to get Archie out of there (he's sensitive).

I spent the rest of the night pretending that I had a lung disease - tired, short of breath, blah, blah, blah, and went to bed early. Drug myself out of bed to play a couple of games of Sequence with my mama, but ended up cutting that short due to my body wanting to resume it's obsession with my bed made of pillows.

I stayed there.

As long as I was sprawled out in a horizontal position I could keep my eyes open. I managed to watch the cringe-worthy, butt kicking the 76ers gave the Raptors.

I woke up Sunday morning wondering if I'd be able to peel back my eyelids and maneuver my limbs. It was pretty hazy there for awhile. I finally manipulated myself into an upright position, and made my way to the couch (which is where my auto-pilot takes me every morning so I can suck back my aerosols).

After the inhalation of drugs was complete, my lungs liked me a bit more, but my eyes were still stuck in that glamorous half-shut position, and I felt like crawling back into bed. I sucked it up, threw myself into the shower (I'm very powerful) and came out feeling a little bit normal. Felt even better when I saw Dave & Liz.

I felt awful because I missed out on the Remembrance Day events, but believe it or not, I only had to walk out on my balcony to be included:

Last night we checked out a new restaurant, AAA, that just opened up. Loved it; had a fantastical time. I'm not sure who was louder, Dave, or our server Sidney, although they did their best to find out. Liz had a great time playing with the owners' daughter; she may have taken her back to NS in her suitcase, not sure. The best word to describe that place is fun. Great vibe, great service, happy people.

I had met the owners a few times before, as their daughter loves the G-man. I asked for coffee after the meal, but they don't serve coffee. The awesome owner ran down to the nearby Starbucks (trust me, there's practically one per person in TO) and brought me a tall blonde, along with some desert.

Now that's crazy cool service.

We liked them so much we stayed 3.5 hours.

Dave & Sidney after he was finished interviewing her

Thanks for coming Fergusons! Please come back.

This morning I got a call from one of my awesome park peeps....she offered us her tickets for the Raptors game tonight (they have seasons and can't go)!!!!!! It was really cute when she said "...don't feel pressured to take them".

I controlled myself and didn't scream my face off into the phone, but did my usual happy dance when I hung up.

Also, I remain in FIRST place in the NBA league. Yup, that's numero uno.

A Skype party & an art gallery

HAPPY 3rd BIRTHDAY to my beautiful niece Seja!!!!

Seja & her twin sisters

I've been at every one of her birthdays, why stop now? If I can't be there physically, then at least my face (and mom's) can be plastered on their tv (via laptop & Skype) for her to feel like I'm there with her (just like at T's birthday party).

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Yesterday, Lindsay's parents came to town. They are staying across the street, so I get to annoy them for the entire weekend. I've already impressed them with my sweet ride, not to mention my unparalleled driving skills. We went for a stroll to the park, with the G-man, and once I got across the street and into the safe zone, I kicked it up in to high gear. He's a beast!

Last night we went to Jack Astor's. I don't remember exactly how, but it came out that I was waiting for a double-lung transplant (weird, cause I always thought people who wore oxygen had perfect lungs)...I think it was when our server Kyle asked us if we were celebrating anything special tonight and I pointed to Dave (Lindsay's dad) and said, "Our 5 year anniversary". Perhaps after that it came out?

After we were finished eating, Kyle came out with desert, on the house. He did this simply because he appreciated my level of coolness.

Either that, or because he wanted to do something awesome for me because I am "facing a tough surgery".

I think that's pretty freaking cool.

Kyle - you rock; Thank you!

Today we hit up the Art Gallery of Ontario. On the way there we passed by this sucker and I contemplated making a trade:

The art gallery was, what? artsy? It was cool, best part was that my scooter fit everywhere. I didn't even break anything. Security wasn't called. I done good.

Interesting story...I heard somebody say "Hey baby". I looked left. I looked right. I couldn't see anyone. Then, "Pssst, over here!" Again, nobody around. Finally, "Right here, check out my muscles!"

Don't tell Brad, but then we went to lunch...

He was so overwhelmed by me that he couldn't move

We made it back just in time. The scooter was on the last red light and it was blinking; it was only a matter of time before the thing keeled over. I was pretty tired at that point, so I was good with staying in the rest of the day.

Good news...he's been officially named!

The blue guy that will be dragging my crusty lungs all over this city has been named by Jake (Brad's middle son), while on Skype tonight.

Ready?

ARCHIE...sweet, eh?

Out with the sister, In with the Mister

Today is a sad and suck-ee day.

I watched my sister haul her bags to the shuttle and leave for the airport. It just sucked to see her leave. If only she could stay with me until I get the new windbags. We barely touched the surface of all the fun things we could have done, all the trouble we could have gotten in to - we didn't even have chance to get arrested :(

I had her all tied up so she couldn't escape, but the damn girl used to be a girl guide.

Not sure why she's so freakin' happy.

I know I'm not the only sad one in Toronto. I think most of the people who met her this last week would concur. We all wanted her to stay and play, but alas she left on a jet plane, don't know when she'll be back again (read that, then sing that).

After we left her, mom and I went on the hunt for a fabuloso mobility machine that can haul my crusty lungs around.

I took two for a ride around the track, examined, poked and prodded. Called the concierge and had them measure doorways and hallways. Went over pros and cons of each model. Just when I had no clue about what to do, my papa ends up skyping in to save the day (read that, then sing that).

I played the part of reporter/camera person and he took the role of decision maker. (Mom was busy checking out the biggest, scariest and meanest looking machine in the place.) So....

We have a new member of my messed up medical entourage:

Cletus - you may have just been outshone

 He's pretty sexy. Check out the headlights:

And his best angle:

As fantastical as he is, I need some help. I'm having trouble with names for this contraption.

I was tossing around a few: George, Tony, Stanley, Walter, Murphy. I just think I might have done my best work with Cletus, but I can't have two of them.

I'm really thinking I like Walter. But...

If you have a crazy cool idea, send it my way. Actually do, k? Don't just think of one and then wait for others to help me out. But, it has to be crazy cool. Not lame. Not half crazy cool. Full out crazy cool.

Want to know what else is crazy cool?

Lisa Freaking Lampanelli!!!!

Click here to check her out.

Check out the comments on my last blog.

She just happens to be my favorite comedian EVER. She is ALL KINDS of awesome. If any of you watch The Apprentice, then you would know that she totally should have won last season. Trump is a douche.

Lisa, if I were to give my crusties a funeral, you should probably do the eulogy. I could think of no one better to give a proper send off.

But if you think that's being too pushy, a tall blonde with Brad and I would suffice (during which I will convince you to do the funeral thingy).

Thanks to my tall, dark and handsome for once again reaching out to one of my favorite people.

**Actually, let's seriously do the whole funeral thing. It'd be crazy fun.

Three Wives and counting

***NBA fantasy league update: I am #1 in the standings***

Mom has arrived.

She's got some sweet suitcases.

I haven't seen mom in over 3 months so it's pretty cool that her face is here now. Makes me feel closer to home. I envision many nights of skyping with dad; he's gone all high-tech on us and created his own account. Even put his smiling mug on there.

Sunday night us Carver girls got down to business and settled in for a very serious game of Sequence. This is what happens when the three of us play games:

I refuse to post the results; as they are of no consequence.

Monday was mom's physio initiation. We went via Wheel Trans and the driver managed to question me on absolutely everything; said I didn't book an escort and that I put down wheelchair. I advised him that I did in fact book an escort and that I chose "cane" as my assistive device (which is actually Squeaker). After he checked his book he concurred.

Somebody needs to tell him that I'm always right. 

I managed to remember to introduce her to most people and gave her an overview of her job. She caught on quickly and was very responsive to my bossing her around. I'm sure that will change with time. Hey, gotta take advantage, right?

After physio we hit up the Eaton Centre one last time for the lil sis. What is it with my family and friends trying to off me? Mom hadn't been here 24 hours yet, but managed to try to kill me once by attempting to dump me out at the curb. Pay back mother! There's a nursing home with your name on it.

Have I mentioned how sweet Jamie is? She bought me a cool mug, with a double meaning, and spent 3 years inside Forever 21, while I wondered if my grey had all grown out. Turns out she was getting me the exact same pair of jeans she had gotten earlier; jeans that I fell in love with.

I have to figure out a way to keep her here. I was thinking of keeping her in the closet and bringing her out when I needed her to make me a coffee or fend off the paparazzi. However, I would feed her. Cause to not, would be cruel.

Today, Jamie was Carman's babysitter at physio, while mom looked after me. Carman was ecstatic; he figured he'd have it easy....and he did:

She even strapped on his leg weights for him...and they say I'm a princess.

Carman is quite the ladies man. He now refers to Jamie as wife #3. Wife #2 (Chaitra, the sister of our transplant buddy Shilpa) showed up during physio, so I decided to capture the moment:

But where's the actual Mrs. Hamilton?

I've told Carman that he's soon going to get his own show. Perhaps we'll use this shoot in the opening:

Here she is thinking, "Please ladies, take him!"

After I wore out all the equipment in the room with my amazingness, I popped in on Pat, my friend who received the single lung from my false call. The first words out of my mouth were "Lung thief!!"

She looked great, is doing fantastic and is hoping to be out by Friday. It was so awesome to see her and know that she's doing so well. Now I can send her out with her good lungs to look for a set for me. Pound the pavement, look under rocks and up trees. Stuff like that.

Before we left the hospital we spent some time with a fellow transplantee's family (she is recovering from her double lung transplant and is in the ICU). She is a pretty amazing woman and is such a little fighter. She makes us all proud. Can't wait until she's up and running and kicking arse in physio.

While hanging out with my friend Chai, I discovered that she has pretty cool kicks too. Notice the reaching hand:

Evidence that there is always someone after my red kicks.