**Note - this post was written while I'm on narcotics.  In my head it reads okay (choppy and all over the place, but okay) but it may, in fact, be a complete mess when you read it.  Be gentle with me. :)

My tonsils and I have never been friends.  All my life they've caused me trouble, but instead of having the pesky buggers removed at age 8 like I should have, we soldiered on and they kept their position of power until one week ago today.

The last straw was three cases of confirmed strep this summer - within a seven week time frame.  Which meant that I was on antibiotics for 30 of 56 days which, well, was not fun.  At all.

I was very fortunate to get a quick referral in to see a great ENT in Oshawa, and surgery to have them removed was scheduled for September 22.

He told me two things at our initial appointment that kind of shocked me.  One, I'd need to take at least two weeks off of work to recuperate.  At least.  What?  For tonsils?  Come on. And two, that this was extremely painful for adults, and I should imagine the worst sore throat I'd ever had and magnify that by ten to prepare. 

Well thanks.

So here I sit, one week post surgery, and I'm here to tell you they were wrong.  It's not ten times as bad.  It's worse.  Way worse.

I'm writing this all in a blog post for a few reasons.  One, if someone else is considering or preparing for an adult tonsillectomy, perhaps google will bring them to this post and help better prepare them for what's to come.  Two, I feel like all I do is complain (on social media, etc) about how painful this is so I thought I'd dump it all into one post that people could either read or not read as they see fit. Hell, I'm tired of listening to me, I'm sure everyone else is, too.  And three, so that when this is all said and done and I'm finally feeling myself again, I can go back and re-read it to remind myself that it's behind me now and was all worth it in the end.

Surgery itself went very well and was quite quick - like, 20 minutes total quick.  I woke up and remember feeling pain but only on the left side of my mouth.  Actually made me ask the nurse if they'd only done the one side but nope, they got both, so that was good.  She gave me a bit of morphine and the next thing I knew I was in recovery and Micheal was coming in to sit with me.

I felt awful.  My jaw ached like never before, my throat hurt of course, and my stomach was not at all happy with me.  They gave me some gravol which helped me sleep and took away the nausea, and I just remember drifting in and out of consciousness for hours.  They keep you for 4-6 hours after tonsillectomies - one of the longest hold times for day surgery - to ensure you don't start bleeding, so I was there for a while. 







They gave me some water to sip (which was both delicious and excruciating all at the same time) and eventually a popsicle to see how that would go down.  Eventually they sprung me and I was so happy to be on my way home. 


I don't remember much of the rest of surgery day.  I'd been prescribed Percocet to deal with the pain since I can't take codeine and would spend the next few days figuring out how much to take when. 

Dealing with the pain meds has been a learning curve in and of itself.  Percocet shouldn't be taken on an empty stomach or else it can cause nausea.  Well, I can't really eat, so my stomach is perennially empty, which means that I had to add gravol into the mix more often than not to prevent myself from puking - which I can imagine would be about the worst thing on the planet to deal with when they've just ripped your throat open.  Shudder.  Both the percs and the gravol made me woozy and sleepy, so I feel like I'm in a never ending fog.  Good times.

Other fun side effects?  I'm itchy!  Like, all the time!  Apparently it can create a histamine response in some people - yay me, I'm that people.  My skin is also insanely dry, both from the drugs and the fact that I simply can't drink the 5L of water I did pre-surgery.  And then there's the constipation. I won't go into vivid detail here but let me just say this.  When they tell you to consider taking a stool softener while on these medications, LISTEN TO THEM.  Do not wait until it's six days after surgery and you still haven't pooped.  M'kay?  Take the damned stool softeners.

Okay then.


What I think still surprises me the most is the intensity and seemingly neverendedness (I know that's not a word - that's the Percocet typing) of the pain.  Even with the drugs - and I'm now taking 1.5 pills every 5 hours, so a serious dosage - there's still so much pain, the edges are only blurred.  Do you know how often you swallow in a day?  Even just sitting there, doing nothing?  Then factor in the eating and drinking you do - it's A LOT.  Now imagine there are shards of glass embedded in your throat for every single one of those swallows...

And it's not just the throat itself that hurts.  My jaw is still a bit sore from being propped open.  The two stringy things that hold your tongue in place, underneath it?  Those hurt.  I can't open my mouth all the way - not that I'd really want to, anyway, because my breath is so bad it's toxic.  And that's with me brushing my teeth as often as humanly possible.  A random burp or cough springs up?  You guessed it, agony.

I keep telling myself I did this willingly. I didn't have to, but I went for it.  Feeling the way I do right now, I wholeheartedly believe that had I known it would be this bad I wouldn't have done it - I would have dealt with the strep and all the antibiotics instead of this.

I think what surprises me the most is not necessarily the degree of pain but the duration.  I'm seven days post op and am in just as much pain today as I've been in for each of the preceding days.  I guess in my mind I thought this would get, like most other things, better by degrees with each passing day.  But according to my own experience and that of other people who've shared what they went through with me, you kind of go from feeling like serious shit for a long time, then turn a corner rather abruptly. 

I can't wait until I get to my corner.

Until then, I continue to do what I can to take it easy and recover.  I'm not sleeping all that well as I have to sleep almost sitting up to reduce the pain and strain on my neck.  But I have to sleep on my side or else I can end up choking as I breathe.  The longer I'm on my side, propped up like that, the more pressure I put on my hips, so they hurt now, too, and that pain can wake me up. 

The benefit of having nowhere to be or nothing to do means I can nap whenever and wherever I need to, so I spend a lot of sleepy time on our couch which is divinely comfortable.  And I have my awesome fuzzy friend Finn who's never left my side the entire time I've been home.  This face makes everything better!!


I've been watching lots of tv...when Mom's over we watch Downton Abbey together and when M's home we're blazing through Game of Thrones.  Binge watching those two series while on Percocet, you can imagine the sorts of dreams I'm having.

I've had great support over this past week from so many.  Friends that are reaching out with care packages full of stuff I can eat and drivel to read, a book and a dry erase board from colleagues to help me pass the time, friends offering to do a Menchies run if I need it, or drive from far flung places to hang out with me and maybe even bring me more drugs if I needed them (thankfully I was able to get a refill).  My sister bringing me a case of Costco shakes since they're pretty much the only actually nutritious thing I can stomach, and my mom coming to hang out with me for full days when M has to go to work so I don't have to be alone.  


And my husband - this amazing man who is literally at my beck and call every minute he can be.  Making multiple trips to Shoppers and Menchies as need be, making me weird concoctions for dinner that I think I just might be able to stomach, calling the doctor's office as I was running low on medication to ensure I didn't have to go a day in more pain than necessary, or just being here to hold my hand when I hurt and cry. 

There is no way on earth I would have gotten through this past week if it were not for him, my family and friends.  I had no clue how bad this would be, was totally prepared to look after myself, and was completely blindsided when I realized just how incapacitated I truly am.  So a huge thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who's been there for me in big ways or small ones - it's mattered, and is so appreciated.

So it's approaching noon and I'm still trying to make my way through my Costco shake.  If things go well today, I might have a pudding, more Menchies, and a strange but satisfying melange of scrambled eggs and instant potatoes for dinner.  That, plus some G2 Gatorade and water, is likely the sum total of what I'll consume today.  Thankfully my appetite has shrunk over this past week so this pretty much is more than fine for me for a day's worth of food.  Which has lead to the one silver lining in all this - I've lost just under 15lbs in the one week since surgery. Crazy but true.  I'll take it!

So there you have it.  The first week is under my belt, with 1.5 more to go before I'm scheduled to return to work.  Everything is day by day at this point, and I'm hoping that in the days to come I finally turn my corner and start to feel better. 

Thanks again for all the support and good wishes!

Well.

It's been a long time since I've updated this blog.  Life, busy, stuff, blah, blah, blah.  Time passes, super quickly.  And life happens in between.

Then, all of the sudden, we find ourselves at March 1.

This is a pretty important date in my life.  Four years ago my husband and I decided to make yet another attempt at eating better, getting healthier, and losing weight.

For the first time ever, it worked.

Five months in I'd lost over 100lbs.  One year to the day after we'd started (with a break in between to start running and other fun things) I was down 142lbs.

Life was amazing.  I felt fantastic, could shop where I wanted, and the looks of shock and surprise on the faces of those that hadn't seen me in forever never got old.   Then the real work began - keeping if off.

As I was losing I swore up and down to myself that I would not go back to where I once was.  That after waiting so long to feel good about myself and how I looked, I'd never allow myself to regain all that weight.  That despite hearing story after story about how people gained it - and more! - back after they slimmed down, I would be the exception and not the rule.

Here we are, three years since my lowest weight, and I was half right.

No, I haven't gained it all back.  Thank goodness.  Nowhere close, actually, but still.  More than I would like has found its way back to me, disheartening as that may be to admit. 



I firmly believe that overweight people are some of the most knowledgeable about nutrition on the planet.  We've learned what to do and how to eat - we've often spent years researching and learning and being preached at by all manner of well-intentioned assholes that think they have the solution to our weight problems.    But putting that knowledge into practice is something else entirely.

I can't fully explain why I've regained what I struggled so hard to lose.  Fundamentally, it of course comes down to the food I've put in my mouth, the choices that I make each and every day.  I'm the first to admit that not all of those choices have been wise.  Let's face it, the problem with most food is that it's fucking delicious. And it's not like I can just quit food cold turkey like I could booze or other vices - sadly we NEED FOOD TO LIVE.

But on the other hand, I kinda feel like I've gotten a bit of a genetic shaft in the weight department in that I know I'm predisposed to hold on to weight in a way that many other people are not.  Now, before you go rolling your eyes right out your head, note that I'm not saying I was born this way or I can't help being fat - of course I can.  Instead, I'm saying that my metabolism is more like a frenemy than a BFF in that it tells me exactly what I want to hear straight to my face while simultaneously stabbing me in the back.  Know what I'm sayin?

And it's not like I'm allergic to exercise.  After I lost the first 110 or so pounds, I started running.  Two years later I ran a half marathon.  Yes, you read that right.  In October of 2014, I ran 21.1kms.  In a row.  On one day.  On purpose.  Words I never thought I'd say, but say them I can.  And do.  Often.  To anyone who'll listen.  Because I'm mad proud of myself for accomplishing something of such a physical nature, especially given where I started from.

Crazily enough, it was during my half marathon training that the weight started to creep back on.  I had to eat carbs to fuel my long training runs and, well, I didn't burn enough off, I guess, so you can figure out how that story went.  

So I know a lot about nutrition and how and what to eat.  I know that I need to move my body, how to stay active (I still enjoy running and have already registered for yet another 10k this May).  So it's not like I'm living a sedentary lifestyle, perched on my couch every day of the week or anything like that.

Why, then, did so much of it come back?

It's not only because of what goes it my mouth.

It's not only about how I move my body.

It's about what's going on in my brain.

I've had lots of time to think about this over all these years while at a variety of degrees of comfort with how I feel in my own skin, and it always comes down to my relationship with food.

If I'm in a meeting and there are cookies and fruit sitting there available for anyone, I'll obsess.  Sure, I'll do my thing and am more than capable of functioning in the meeting, but somewhere in the far recesses of my brain, I'm thinking about that cookie. And that cookie.  And the one beside it.  They almost call out to me, and it's never ending, from the time I walk in until the time I walk out.  Unless someone else should clear the plate and finish them off - then I'm good.  But that rarely happens so it's cookie cookie cookie time in my brain, over and over again.

If I happen to have a package of anything - you name it, pretty much anything - I feel compelled to finish the entire thing.   A full bag of caramel cashew mix from Target?  Can't leave any behind.  Sure, I'll come back to it over and over again, might not necessarily eat the entire thing in one sitting, but in short order that thing is just a plastic bag and some peanut dust.

I marvel at people who are able to have one, two, a few of anything, then put it away for another day.  Meanwhile, I can mindlessly eat my way through an entire bag of Chicago popcorn without batting an eye.

I know all of this about myself.  I know that I have these compulsions around and about food that I've yet to fix.  And until I do, this weight struggle will go on and on and on and on.  As will my disdain for myself, my body, and my ability to stick to something that I consider so incredibly important but just.can't.do.

I think about this almost constantly.  I know I need to do something about it, but how?  Who do I go see?  Is there a branch of therapy that deals with this kind of thing, because if so, sign me the hell up.  Stat.

The way I look at it I don't have an eating disorder in the traditional sense of the word. But I do think I have disordered thinking around food, and I'd love more than anything to address it once and for all so I can move forward in a healthier, smaller body.

Because until I do, until I find the appropriate coping mechanisms and strategies to help overcome the fixation on food, I'm doomed to repeat this cycle of loss and gain.  Then more loss.  And gain.

So I'm exploring options as we speak and always more than open to any suggestions if you've got 'em.  While I try to get my brain right, I've also returned to Ideal Protein, the program that allowed me to be successful in the first place, to try to get me back down to where I want to stay.  Fingers crossed that this time I'm able to see results similar to what I've achieved in the past.

All I know is that something has to give, and that I don't want to be in the body I'm in right here, right now.

Losing weight is hard.  Keeping it off is harder.  Training your brain to not obsess over food is bordering on the impossible, or so it seems these days.  But I'm determined to keep trying, keep soldiering on, looking for solutions and never just resigning myself to being 'that size' - or even this size -  again.

So while my 2016 smile may not be as big or bright as those of years past, my hope is that by the time I go to add the 2017 edition to the mix, I'll be feeling a whole lot better about myself, inside and out, and some of that radiance will return.

To those of you that have cheered me on over the years, thanks so much for the kind words and good thoughts.  I feel, in some strange, twisted way, as though I've let you (and myself) down as I post this year's update.  I actually debated forgoing taking the 2016 picture entirely, but instead chose to own it and not only let it add extra fuel to my fire to get closer to where I was three years ago today, but as a reminder to myself of just how far I've come from where I was four years ago.  Because despite everything else, that's still very much worth celebrating.

So with that I'll bring this insanely long, very self indulgent post to an end with more thanks and a promise that I'll do my best to update this danged blog more often.  It's been way too long.

Now I'm off to drink more water, watch The Voice, and try not to obsess about wanting a snack.

First, apologies that it's been so long since I've written.  Life has been insanely crazy and there are about a thousand things I could have blogged about during these past two weeks but I haven't had a spare second to actually get anything done.  Might try to catch up in the next few days, but after what happened today I simply felt compelled to hop back onto my blogwagon and shout my joy from the rooftops.

Unless you've been trapped under that proverbial rock, you no doubt are now aware that today the Supreme Court of the United States declared that marriage was a fundamental human right, thus making same-sex marriage legal in all 50 States.  All of them.  Every one.

Such amazing news. Finally, marriage equality in the US. Happy pride!!! https://t.co/oagrkcRp53

— Shannon Stuart (@shanstu) June 26, 2015

I've been married for nine years.  I believe very strongly in the concept of committing your life to the person in this world that, if you're lucky enough to find, you want to spend the rest of your days with.  Marriage fundamentally changed our relationship for the better, if you ask me.  It deepened our connection to one another and, for lack of a better descriptor, anchored us to one another, both legally and emotionally, in a way that didn't exist the day before we made it all official. 

I can't even begin to imagine what it would have been like had someone told us along the way that our love wasn't recognized by any level of government and that our marriage could only be symbolic, never legal. Mostly because I've never had to - as a woman who married a man, our love, our commitment to one another and our desire to make our bond legal was never an issue.  Ever.

As a Canadian, I've lived in a country where same sex marriage has been legal for almost ten years, and sometimes I forget that there are still so many who struggle for marriage equality just south of our border.  On vacation last year we met a wonderful couple who later got engaged and married this April.  The simple fact that we had to ask if their marriage was going to be legal in their home state broke my heart (thankfully the answer was yes) and reminded me yet again how far we'd come as a country and how much still had to be done elsewhere.

I don't know if I can even fully describe how emotionally impacted I was by today's decision by the US Supreme Court.  I don't know if it's because I have a number of close friends and colleagues in same sex relationships and so I rejoice on their behalf, or simply because I believe with every fiber of my being that love is love and everyone should be free to marry whomever they please.

Regardless, I've been tweeting and posting statuses and updating Facebook profile and cover photos with images that show my strong support for this long overdue ruling that finally brings marriage equality to every citizen of the United States.  I've been addicted to the hashtags and am reveling in the joy of those marginalized for so long.  And for the moment I'm choosing to ignore the negativity of those opposed to equality, often in the name of religion, because today's news is just too good to let those consumed by antiquated notions of what marriage should be rain on this parade.

Here are a few of my fave pics from today:





This last one might be one of my favourites of the entire day.  It almost brought me to tears when I first saw it as I think it captures so much in one poignant drawing.

Walking to the train station today after work I passed the US Consulate and snapped a picture.

Rainbow flag looks a little brighter on the @usconstoronto today. #LoveWins #HappyPride #SCOTUSMarriage pic.twitter.com/KdO5PthaKd

— Shannon Stuart (@shanstu) June 26, 2015

I've been thinking about it for hours now and I still can't explain why this has touched me so today.  I think it's a combination of the very public and long overdue recognition of equal rights by the highest legal body in the US and the pride that I can take as a Canadian because we figured this out ourselves and did something about it an entire decade ago.  Yay Canada.

In the final analysis I fully admit I don't care at all why it's moved me so.  It simply has.  And given how strongly I feel about it, I can't even begin to imagine how those whose lives (and loves) have been transformed today must feel.  About the possibility.  The options.  The simple but powerful notion of equality now available to them, whether they ever choose to do anything with it or not.

Sometimes just knowing you can, after having been told for so long you weren't entitled, is enough.

What a great kickoff to pride weekend here in Toronto.  Happy Pride, one and all.  After today's decision I'm just so delighted to say that love wins always and all ways.



 

I like numbers.  Strange, because I never really enjoyed math much in school, but now?  Numbers are hella cool.

I like doing an analysis of something, anything, and coming up with facts and figures.  And dates. I love dates.  Good dates, mind you.  With good numbers in them.  I way prefer even numbers to odd - this even impacts how I feel when a new years begins.  I'm way more optimistic about a year that ends in an even number than an odd one.  The exception being any year that ends in five because that's half way through a decade.

You wouldn't believe the disappointment I felt when I realized the home we had fallen in love with and wanted to buy was number 63.  So very sad.  Why couldn't it have been a fricken even number?  Alas.

Weird. 

You think I'm weird.  I get that a lot.

I was delighted when our wedding date (06/10/06) worked out so beautifully.  Look at that - isn't it just a thing of beauty to behold?  If you're paying attention, you'll notice that yesterday was our ninth wedding anniversary.  :)  Yes, we had a lovely day, thank you.  Went to dinner, another place for dessert, then came home, looked at our pictures and relived our wedding.  Wonderful. 

But I digress.  Back to the task at hand.  Numbers.

So yes, numbers are important to me, likely well beyond reason in most cases.  Numbers matter.  Dates matter.  And on today's date, the number that matters most is six.

Six is important because if things had actually worked out as we'd hoped they would, today we'd be celebrating the sixth birthday of our son or daughter. 

In September of 2008, following a round of IVF, I was finally pregnant.  We'd tried for years (see my post Life After Infertility for all the deets should you so desire) and something had worked!   We were beyond ecstatic, delighted in every way that two people who desperately want a child together could possibly be.

And then it all went to shit.

I won't go through the details of the miscarriage itself - I may revisit that in November when that particular date rolls around and I reflect on the day, but for the purposes of today's post, we'll gloss right over it.

No, today is what those in the pregnancy world have come to call the 'estimated due date'.  And while babies rarely come on time, this is as close a date I can possibly get when thinking of when our little one would have been born.

I miscarried at 9 weeks and 4 days.  I have no clue if it was a boy or a girl, it was just way too early to possibly find out, and that not knowing still leaves me longing me in a strange, indescribable way all these years later.   I wonder on more occasions than I can count what he or she would look like.  What little personality quirks they'd have.  If they'd take after me or their father, or be the best combination of both of us. 

I saw this image today and it spoke to me more than probably anything else has to date because in one sentence it captures everything I feel...


It's a sentiment that haunts me.

As does the moment when I saw what should have been my child's tiny heart flutter and beat on an ultrasound screen.  That image - the sound, the animation - is burned in my brain, seared there for all time.

For a while I wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.  To have that memory of coming so close, of seeing life, only to lose it all a very short while later.  To be so keenly aware of my body's own ability to betray me yet again, ever so cruelly and with such epic finality. 

I'd never made it to that point before; never had a positive pregnancy test, and never would again.   That was my one, fleeting moment; my 30 second glimpse of a child that would not be. 

Yet now, with hindsight and some distance, I cling wildly to the image and choose to be grateful for the simple fact that it happened and not merely full of sorrow for the hole in my own heart that it represents.

Micheal and I were talking late last night about how different our lives would be had things gone differently those years ago.  We'd have a little one now who could be excited about finishing school for the summer and we'd possibly be making plans for what to do on vacation.  We may or may not have Finn.  We likely wouldn't have travelled to Mexico these past few years and probably would not have turned the focus on ourselves enough to lose the weight.  Which means I likely wouldn't have taken up running, but chances are our weekends would be full anyway with dance classes or soccer games or any other of a myriad of activities I'd long dreamed of enrolling our child in.  Back in the days when dreaming wasn't so painful.

While both Micheal and I would state without hesitation that we wanted a child of our own, we have somehow made peace with our situation and are doing our best to live a full and fulfilling life together, replete with love and laughter and yes, the coveted opportunity to sleep in. 

So while it's in many ways heartbreakingly sad to think that in some parallel universe we would be tucking our newly minted six year old into bed right about now, in so many others I'm grateful for what my reality offers, too.   I have a wonderful life and am viscerally aware that while we suffered, and still do to some degree to this day, we're so very fortunate.  Period.

Today I allow myself the opportunity to dwell a bit on (and wonder about) what might have been.  And tomorrow I'll do my best to shake it off and get back to focusing on what's good - and real - in my here and now.

Added bonus?  Tomorrow's an even numbered day. 

I'm an admitted nail polish addict.  Now,  I've seen people who have it uber bad for all things polish, hundreds of colours from eight million brands.  I've not yet made it to that level.  Almost, but not quite.  Not that there's anything wrong with that...

If you know me, I challenge you to think of the last time you saw my nails, fingers or toes, sans polish.  There are really only three possible responses:
1) you can't
2) you grew up with me, so the last time would have been in childhood
3) you happened to be with me for one of the few times I've had surgery and those pesky nurses required me to be without nail polish so they could monitor my blood oxygen levels via my finger tip.

Yes, that's how serious I am about having my nails covered with pretty polish at all times.

Sadly, the more I wear it, the more I HAVE to wear it.  My nails are now yellowed thanks to years worth of coverage and they just aren't esthetically appealing for the eye to behold sans varnish.  Hence why I have to keep wearing it.  Hence why they stay yellow.  On and on the circle goes.

Since they're always covered, I do enjoy playing with different colours, etc, as the seasons come and go, and have fun experimenting where appropriate with different nail treatments as the situation warrants.

There are my holiday nails and special events nails (the sideways one was when Canada was playing for hockey gold in the Olympics)....


 ...and my running nails.  The 1-10 was for my very first 10k race and the 21.1 for my one and only half marathon.

• Paint nails with either a white polish or a nice nude.  I prefer the nude, actually.  More forgiving if you miss a small section or dab off more than you want to whereas the white really shines through.  White can give you a greater colour pop though, so entirely your personal preference.  I really like Sand Tropez by Essie as below for my base.  Two coats are a must.  Ensure both coats are fully dry before the next step.

• Choose your colours.  Some people like three, I'm more of a two colour gal myself.  I have small nail beds, so two is about as much as they can take.  Grab a makeup sponge and get ready to go. 
• Apply the polish to the edge of the makeup sponge.  Doesn't really matter which one you choose, some like the sides, others prefer the bottom, it's all about what's easiest for you to grip.  I prefer to start with the darkest colour on the bottom - again, personal preference.  I've done it both ways and like the look of darker on the bottom.  Apply the second colour directly above the first so the two colours touch.  

credit to @SabrinaNails - great tutorial

• Roll/stamp the sponge along your nail, ensuring you line up the bottom of the sponge with the base of your nail.  Yes, the sides will become a sloppy mess.  Deal with it.  :)
• If you want, dab a few times to bring some of the base colour up and into the top colour so it's not a straight line.  Don't dab too much - you'll start pulling the polish up. 
• Reapply polish to sponge between each nail application.  Yes, you'll use a lot of polish.  You just will. 
• Once you've finished your first coat, apply a second.  Watch for any exposed white/nude spots. Again, don't dab too much - a few dabs'll do ya.  I'd also suggest switching sides of the sponge or even starting with a new one so you don't glob up. 
• As you finish the second coat on one hand, don't go immediately to the other hand.  Instead, apply your top coat right away to the completed hand to help smooth everything out.  I LOVE Essie Good To Go - my fave quick drying top coat evar in life. 
• Finish your second hand with polish and apply top coat. 
• Now it's clean up time. Dip a q-tip in polish remover and gently clean up the sponge marks at the side of your finger and under your nails.  Yes, polish will end up there, too.  And on your finger tips.  And your polish caps.  A bit of clean up but well worth it.  Note here - if you hate the clean up you can also google some funky nail taping, with regular ole Scotch tape, techniques to keep the excess off the sides.  I'm of the firm mind that ain't nobody got time for that, but would be remiss in not mentioning it if you're not up for the mess. 
• And you're done!  Beautiful, individual, unique ombre nails.  

This was my first attempt using Julep's Kam (green) and Jules (pink).  Turned out rather well for my first go, I thought.  I liked the contrast of colours - and it looked even better in person than in the photo.


And finally, here's my most recent attempt which I quite like.  This is really only two colours but actually looks like three where they meet in the middle.  The bottom colour is Essie Mod Square and the top is once again Julep's Kam - can you tell I really like that green?

I find these ombre nails more challenging to photograph so here are two pics with different backgrounds to give you an idea of how they can change depending on the light.



So there you have it!  Easy peasy, I swear!  And you'll get lots of comments and compliments on them, I most certainly have.  People have asked where I got them done or if they were Jamberry applique nails and they're always shocked when I say I did them myself.  But as you can see, there aren't that many steps and, best of all, this is not a technique where perfection is required!!

Give it a try yourself.  Would love to see what colour combinations you come up with.

In January of this year I made a decision to do something rather extreme.  I signed up for the #NoHairSelfie event and pledged that if I raised $10,000, I'd shave my head in support of cancer research at The Princess Margaret Cancer Foundation (not coincidentally my place of work).

Me and Micheal post shave.  Almost twinsies!!

So glad Kris and her husband Doug were able to come

Then it was all over and life returned to normal.  The funds had been raised, my scalp had been razed, and now it was all about the regrowth.

What I hadn't really counted on was pink stubble. Ha!  I kinda love this picture, but in actuality I resembled a pink cheetah with all sorts of spots on my head.  It had to go.  Back to the bleaching phase we went, getting rid of the pink this time and returning my hair, via yet another chemical cocktail, to what we expected was my natural brown.


Man, was it short.  I must say, I hated it.  I really did.  I didn't feel feminine at all.  I loved that it was low maintenance and that I got extra sleep in the morning (still do!) but I lost a part of me for those first few months.  I didn't see a woman looking back at me in the mirror each day and that was surprisingly hard to process.  Gave me an entirely new and deep understanding for what women who lose their hair during chemo experience.  The difference, of course, was that mine started growing back the instant it was shaved off.  Theirs, not so much.  Their process is oh so much longer.


And since this all went down in February (FEBRUARY!!!) as February 4 is World Cancer Day, it was frickin frackin cold.  I bought more hats during those months than I had cumulatively in my life thus far. 


Slowly (very slowly) but surely, my hair is coming back.  To me, it's taking forever.  Like an insanely long period of time.  At this rate I figure it will take me up to a year to get back to where I was before, and I had pretty short hair to start with!

Never in my wildest dreams did I suspect that the regrowth period would be this lengthy.  Ha.  Ironic.

Three months later - May 4

One month later - March 4

Two months later - April 4

And so today, June 4, marks four months since I had my head shaved in support of cancer research.


I'm ever so gradually getting more comfortable with my constantly evolving new look and am the first to admit that I'm very fortunate that it's coming back at all.  I've also lucked out in that people seem to think - or maybe they're lying to my face - that they like the short cut, that it suits me, and I should stick with it.

Fat chance, that's all I've got to say!  Still some more growing to be done, for sure!


Today was also the public launch of a Princess Margaret campaign that focuses on research.  We use the phrase 'Why is in Our DNA' when we talk about it, and ask people to consider who is their why?  Who they think about when they get involved in any kind of cancer cause?

A massive group of us stood in front of the new Princess Margaret Cancer Research Tower on College Street this morning, clad in lab coats and holding up signs explaining who we were there for.  And while sadly there's not enough room on that one sign to include everyone I think about when I go to work and do what I do each day, I was sure to include Kris and my amazing mother in law on that sign as representatives of my 'why'.


They were all my why's then, on a cold February evening four months ago, and they'll continue to be my why's for the months and years to come, through all the hairstyles, long and short, in my future.

For more information on either of these efforts, go to www.nohairselfie.com and/or www.whoisyourwhy.ca.