Dear Diary: Dear diary, it’s been 1,325 days since transplant surgery. In case you haven’t been watching my Facebook page in any of those thousand plus days, my knee still qualifies as defective. This week, and really the last 2 weeks, has been quite eventful. Currently, I am in the process of being switched from one strong medication to another, much stronger medication. Over the course of the last 10 days and for the next 7 days, I’m going from holy heck dose of med down to zero in that one, and replacing it with a new drug that will end up in holy heck dose.

Needless to say, I feel like I decided to quit smoking, drinking, and heroin all in one week (although I don’t know what quitting any of those really is like). I think the proper word for feeling like absolute sh*t is called “withdrawal.” I think the Doctor at the pain clinic is being polite when she calls it “withdrawal.” What she means to say is, “welcome to Hell, population, YOU.” I sort of get the feeling I’m experiencing menopause, a caffeine headache, some rather entertaining shaking, and possibly a touch of bipolar disorder all at the same time. In reality it is more like sweating, not sleeping, going back and forth between happy and crying and randomly being able to make an awesome, 007 style shaken, not stirred martini.

The pain clinic made it clear that I was not going to feel well and I understand that it is part of the process. Ideally, however, in my world these sorts of changes would make a person feel wonderful, look beautiful, speak wittily without effort and sleep like a baby. In actual fact, I look like I’ve aged 40 years since Monday, I feel like I decided, at age 42, to attempt a college style bender weekend with cheap tequila, my speech seems to mirror my 9 year old’s when he’s sleepwalking and I AM the baby. It is a really sexy image, I know. Just remember, I’m taken, everyone, so this hot, sweaty, emotional little number is NOT available.

All in all we are hopeful the new medication will get this pain under control and I can resume my dream of being a stripper. Well, maybe my dream of being able to kneel. Either one is fine. At least the warm weather has been enjoyable, and I may start a new adventure by attempting sit skiing with the Canadian Association for Disabled Skiing. I hope that the pain will quiet down enough to allow me to participate so that I can get outside a couple of hours a week and meet some new people. Two things that I desperately miss with the progression of this illness and my failed surgery is socializing and being active. I miss being in the dressing room laughing and chatting before hockey. I miss gathering my climbing gear for a day on the rock with friends. Perhaps this new adventure will widen my social group and the activity will help with the depression and pain. Also, I bought a jazzy new helmet for the program, so I better be able to go. Otherwise, wheeling around the city with my ski helmet on will make some eyebrows raise, I bet!

Until next time, I am going to fantasize about stripping and skiing and possibly having a martini. Not necessarily in that order.