Plasma Rich Platelet injections

After making my way back to Vail to see my knee surgeon Dr. Steadman and waiting the customary 1.5 hours in his jampacked Waiting Room, I was ushered into Exam Room 1 by Chris, the nicest physician's assistant ever. Chris remembered me from my knee surgery last year and so I was lulled into a false sense of security and comfortably awaiting Steady(which is what the doctor is called by all his pro athlete patients, so what the heck I call him Steady too). Steady's tanned and smiling face soon appeared followed by one of his Fellows. Having had an MRI earlier Steady was armed with my full report and I happily hopped up on the exam table so he could examine my knee. After much discussion, contemplation and pressing on parts of my knee that made me groan in pain, Steady informed me that the patella tendon was inflamed and required PRP therapy. Great, I thought, a little ice and stretching and I'll be good to go. "What is PRP?," I inquired. To which the response was long and involved so I'll abbreviate for you dear reader; Plasma Rich Platelet therapy is a procedure where by blood is drawn from the patient, then spun in a centrifuge to separate the plasma rich platelets, and this plasma rich reduction is then re-injected into the injury site. The injury site is essentially duped into believing it has sustained another massive trauma and the plasma rich concoction then attacks the re-injured site and repairs the damaged cells. It is, as you can well imagine, seriously painful but holds the promise of long term non-surgical benefits. It would take 3-4 hours. Not wanting Steady to think less of me, I swallowed my fear and mild horror, smiled and said "Looks like I need to catch a later flight". Steady beamed with pride, his sparkling blue eyes conveying his happiness. I confessed to Chris that there may not be room on the later flight but sadly after enlisting the help of a friend and Steady's assistant Mona, my transport home on the later flight was confirmed.
That's when I met Brent, the physician's assistant for Dr. Karli who would be administering the PRP. Brent explained the procedure to me again but with great enthusiasm. Clearly the prospect of drawing my blood and re-injecting it was a good thing to Brent who is padding his resume before heading to Med School in the Fall. Brent also explained that after the procedure my knee would swell and that I was not to try and reduce the inflammation, so no ice or ibuprofen, although he would give me pain killers as it would hurt a lot for a week to 10 days. Brent said this entirely too matter-of-factly for my liking. Apparently it has to be inflamed so that the PRP will then find the injury and repair it with the regeneration of healthy cells. Sounded like a nightmare but a necessary one if I'm to return to normal activity. Brent drew an awful lot of blood, then placed it in the centrifuge which spun and spun until out came my separated plasma, platelets and blood. The plasma was bright yellow and thick.

Dr. Karli entered the room looking friendly and not a little handsome in his surgery scrubs. He explained how I had the same injury he had suffered from and was optimistic about the procedure. Note to self: beware anytime something is referred to as a "procedure". Dr. Karli positioned my knee atop a pillow so that it was bent at a gentle 35 degree angle and began marking my knee with little black x's, 4 in total and then another 4 x's along my IT Band, at the time that seemed innocuous. He then asked Brent to hand him something which turned out to be an enormous needle and asked me if I was ready. "You bet," was the best I could muster as I rested my head back between my cradled arms so I could dig my finger nails into my scalp without drawing attention. I simultaneously suck in my gut while reclining to appear as thin as possible for Dr. Karli as he proceeded. Brent stood by with a can of topical freezing agent which he sprayed on Dr. Karli's command and it was indeed freezing. Brent continued to spray and then I began to feel the bright pain of the needles as Dr. Karli liberally injected me with what was an internal freezing agent. Yes this was still just the warm up act. After my knee was frozen solid as a butterball turkey (or so I thought). WARNING: IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH PLEASE STOP READING HERE AND SKIP DOWN TO THE NEXT PARAGRAPH, DAVID LAWEE THIS MEANS YOU. Dr. Karli then injected 4 needles with small catheters attached into each of the 4 x-marks, this was somewhere between very painful and excruciating, but I just dug my nails into my scalp and kept breathing. Once those were inserted, Brent handed Dr. Karli a long syringe filled with my Plasma Rich Platelets and Dr. Karli warned me at this point that the sensation I was about to experience would be like nothing I had felt before; this turned out to be a massive understatement. I craned my neck forward so that I could watch what was going on and saw Dr. Karli as he began to empty the PRP-filled syringe into the first catheter. I could feel immense pressure building in my knee (not a good pressure like a back rub) more like a sharp implement trying to pierce your muscle tissue, and then some of the PRP began to spout out of one of the other catheters. Brent wiped this up and both he and Dr. Karli assured me that this happens all the time. I kept digging my nails ever deeper into my scalp out of Dr. Karli's sight and upon finishing with the first catheter, Dr. Karli said to Brent, "Yup, she's tough." I was obviously overjoyed and filled with immense pride. It was at this point that Dr. Karli told me that he had done this exact procedure to himself just 12 months ago. I was duly impressed and countered with the tale of how my aesthetician does her own bikini waxing. This made both Brent and Karli take pause and concur that women were tougher and that no man would ever be able to do his own "manscaping". I'm sure he is right. 1 down 4 to go and that was just the patella tendon, we also had the 4 in the IT Band as well.
I hunkered down and we got through the rest of the procedure with only one audible articulation of pain that I just could not suppress. Dr. Karli assured me that I was tougher than most of the men he treated, especially the football players who are "babies when they see a needle." Brent concurred and we all had a controlled chuckle as the catheters were still inserted into my leg. Finally it was over, all the Plasma Rich Platelets had been re-injected into my tendon and IT Band and I was bandaged up. Dr. Karli wrote me a prescription for Vicadin which he assured me I would need over the next 24 hours. I thanked him warmly but he stopped me saying, "Thank me next time I see you when you are better." What a guy.
Brent helped me hobble down to the lobby where my driver was awaiting to take me back to Denver to catch my flight home. I shook Brent's hand and wished him luck with Med School, "you take care now" he said, and as I drove away I smiled and looked down at the knee which had already swollen to the size of a small grapefruit. "It's working," I thought, "come on platelets do your thing," and on we drove.

Bars, Balls and Bungees and 4 sad little dates

I decided to opt out of the morning bike ride today and so after Hilary headed off for the ride I lounged in bed a while and then joined Jana and Jill for breakfast. My Mexican food binge and DQ slip of the night before had me feeling guilty as though everyone in the dining room could still smell the sweet scent of the deep fryer on me. I ordered some steel cut oats and egg whites and topped it off with 4 sad looking pitted dates while my breakfast companions enjoyed bread and butter. Determined to work off the excess calories and gluten of the night before, I then headed to my first fitness class “World Beat” with Jana. The studio was well lit and teaming with eager Ranch guests determined to burn every last calorie possible. There were 3 different drummers stationed in the center of the room each equipped with some exotic form of percussion instrumentation which would soon assist in our ultimate sweaty demise. The instructor, a lean perky Chilean names Elisa with bright red lips and spandex covered hips that could move a nation to tears, stood before us welcoming us with a wide smile. The drumming began and Elisa’s hips took off like a rocket, I attempted to mimic her moves undulating my hips, whipping my arms around and shimmying about like a South American salsa goddess. Clearly I am a natural for World Beat I thought, relieved in fact, until I caught a glimpse of myself in the large and unforgiving floor to ceiling mirrors which covered all the walls. Could that clunky creature in the Lululemon capris and orange top be me? Surely there’s been some cosmic mistake or practical joke being played, I thought. But I shimmed to the right and the creature in the mirror jerked awkwardly in unison. I tried looking in the side mirror and sucking in my gut as best I could, but there was no escaping the reality, I was no Elisa. For the next 45 minutes I hopped and stomped and twirled with eyes affixed on Elisa trying to avoid the mirrors and my reflection at all cost. I have never sweat so much in my life, nor had as much fun making a pure dancing fool of myself. Jana and I even had a bonding moment where we got to dance together, two mildly uncoordinated middle aged euphoric white women in the land of Elisa and the World Beat drummers.
After a much needed 15 water break, we re-entered Gym 1 to try the next class called Bars, Balls and Bungees ADV (advanced). There were only 6 women in this class and they seemed far more lean and muscular than our World Beat sisters. We stood in a circle around a large pole to which was attached 6 sets of bungee cords with handles. Rick the instructor who resembled every Jewish boy I attended Bialik Hebrew Day School with told us to pick up a set of bungees and with one in each hand begin squatting rhythmically to the music which was now an old U2 song. He informed us we would be doing 5 minutes of each set before switching to the next exercise. Within 35 seconds my quads began to burn and I looked around at my compatriots to examine their facial expressions, all but one Amazonian woman with guns like Arnold, were sweating profusely and looking nervously around as well. Good, I thought, we’re all in this together. Needless to say, after World Beat my resistance was low and I had to struggle to make it through the entire class, inventing modifications to the torturous squats and medicine ball tosses to allow me to carry on. Thank god I have a bad knee that truly began to throb and so made the perfect excuse for my lower impact version of the endless jump squats. After the class I wished Jana a sweaty and breathless adieu and made for the L-pool where I promptly lay down and fell asleep.
Hilary returned in time for lunch and so we dined at the Double U Café, this time I opted for the mixed salad with grilled chicken, skipped the frozen chocolate covered banana and left hungry but proud at my restraint. Then it was on to the Metaphysical building for my Clairvoyant Reading followed by a 100 minute Thai Massage. I waited in the spa relaxation room for my Thai massage therapist to collect me but after 5 minutes had passed a kind attendant asked me what I had scheduled and informed me that Thai massage is given in the Life Enhancement building. I was so ashamed; I had made a classic newbie error. Every returning guest knows that all clothed massages are given in the Life Enhancement building. I solemnly trudge over to the L.E. Building and was greeted by my therapist who comforted me and told me that such errors happen all the time even to returning guest, which cheered me slightly. After 100 minutes of deep stretching massage I returned to my Casita where Hilary and I exchanged our tales of the day over our last bottle of chardonnay and some microwave popcorn.

We decided to invite Maria Bartiromo to join us at dinner if she was there, but alas she was nowhere to be seen in the dining room. We did however spy an extraordinarily fine looking new guest at the salad bar, he was some kind of professional athlete but neither of us could figure out which sport or who he was. He wore a pair of True Religion jeans and a shirt with the words "Look better naked," emblazoned across the back. "I'm sure you do," whispered Hilary to me, and no doubt she must be right.

Tomorrow will be our last day at the Ranch and I’ll be sad to say goodbye.

Hiking, acupuncture, fitness report and escape from the Ranch for dinner

This morning we slept in until 6:30am as our hike was not to depart until 7am. Once again we descended upon the Double U Café where Hilary enjoyed the fresh baked muffins and coffee while I tried gluten free toast with peanut butter and banana and some more organic decaf tea. I had a few dehydrated figs and apricots for good anti-oxidant measure and one unidentifiable dehydrated fruit sphere that we’ve decided was a small plum. We piled into the van with 10 other guests, mostly from New York and New Jersey, and headed for Bear Creek. We were each given a day pack containing not 1 but 2 water bottles, a small snack pack and a towel. While the others ripped open their snack packs to admire the contents, I was struck with sadness as mine was filled with nothing but contraband, I mean really a bagel for a snack, and pretzels, are they trying to kill me?? Who eats carbs these days anyway, it’s just so yesterday. Luckily there was a small container of pumpkin crunch and a hardboiled egg, without which I might have just gotten off the bus. We made it to the trail head and I grabbed my trusty hiking pole and joined the group as we ascended the mountain single file elephant style. The group quickly split into two sub-groups, Hilary and I were in the “fast” group and the remaining posers were in the “slower” group. Hilary was ahead of me, Mona from New Jersey (a retired radio station manager with an unforgiving son-in-law) was behind me and off we went. It was a beautiful day and we spotted some Ermets which look remarkably like ordinary squirrels to me but cause much joy when seen here by hikers due to their pointed ears and bird-like chirps. Half way up the 1000 foot climb the “slower group” split into two groups so that now the 3 hikers who should never have signed up for the level 3 hike in the first place could rest and allow the others to carry on upward. After an hour of climbing we reached the picnic spot which afforded beautiful vistas of the canyon and tucked into our snack boxes. Needless to say I was finished rather quickly while the others gorged on white flour bagels, Snyders pretzels and other toxic goodies. One woman in a thick New York accent and very attractive Marni sunglasses (“They’re pehr-scription, I do it awhll the time; bawuy the nicest glahssez I can fwind and just tell them to make the lenses fit.”) began asking us where we were from and what we do etc. Hilary asked where she lived and she said London, which had us perplexed. “22 yeez I ben there, fouwer kids, divohced and still love it they-ah.” I commented on how nice it was than even after living abroad for 22 years she still had her lovely New York accent. That didn’t go over so well, and for the remainder of the hike she (Bobbi is her name) made sure to pepper her speech with plenty of anglicisms like “grotty”, “smashing” and “brilliant” with a curbed accent to say the least.

We returned from the hike put on our swimsuits and cover-ups and headed for lunch at the Double U where we met up with Jana and Jill. I enjoyed my grass fed burger on gluten-free bread and my frozen banana again. Watching the others munch on lavosh crackers with their hummus was too dispiriting and so I left half my rice crackers and hummus on the table. I headed to the Health and Healing Center to meet Carol my naturopath and acupuncturist. After a brief discussion of my headaches, no doubt exacerbated by my new detoxification diet regimen which has clearly thrown my body into some sort of shock, I popped onto the table in my swim suit. Carol began to stick me with plenty of needles determined to alleviate my headache so that I will stick with the detox which she concurred was critical to my wellbeing. For those of you new to acupuncture, the needles are just a little poke and then the real fun comes when the acupuncturist twirls the needles in order to get the “chi” flowing. The more the chi is stuck the more twirling is required to stimulate the meridian where the chi is meant to flow and free it up. Suffice it to say there was a baton troop worth of twirling going on and I could feel the chi being freed up and beginning to flow through my body. Once I was sufficiently stuck with needles, Carol lowered the lights and left me in the room for 20 minutes to allow the energy healing to flow. She checked on me once to make sure I was warm enough (I was) and then came back at the very end to unstuck me and give me some recommended herbs and tinctures. Carol felt that I was a “complete pleasure” to work with because I had such incredible “energy” and “appreciation for Chinese medicine.” I don’t know about my chi, but the A-type overachiever in me was delighted and flowing.

I then met up with Hilary in the gift shop and will not provide details because both our husbands are likely to read this post and I feel the details of our purchases are best discussed in private. Suffice it to say, I saved a lot of money due to the incredible sale that was ongoing.

Next it was back to see Stephanie for my Metabolic Assessment read out. I’m sure it will come as no surprise to any of you that Stephanie felt I was a “pleasure to work with” and that my metabolism is one of my strongest assets that I should be careful not to damage by under eating. Clearly she has been spying on me at the Ranch during mealtime and wants to encourage me to eat my fill even if that means consuming 16 dates for dessert. The good news is that my cardiovascular fitness is at “performance level” which is generally for athletes according to Stephanie, and that I burn 2x the calories of the average woman my age when resting. I burn 2.51 calories per minute while the rest of the average 41 year olds only burn 1, hah 30 years of running, aerobics in the late 80’s and a little jazzercise around 1981-1982 pays off. Stephanie believes that with the new exercise regimen she has recommended, I should be able to further increase my VO2 max and (the following may not have been exactly Stephanie’s words but represent the gist of what she said), my resting heart rate to Lance Armstrong-like levels.

With my report in hand and glowing from my “performance” rating, I walked over to the Aquatics Center for my 5pm Watsu treatment. Susan greeted me warmly, her long gray hair in a bow-like knot at the very top of her head so that she resembled some sort of friendly alien. Susan asked if I had ever had the treatment before, to which I replied, “Oh yes, I always have a Watsu treatment when I visit the Ranch.” This is technically true as I had a Watsu the only other time I was here. Susan beamed her smile at me and told me that she knew she was in for a treat, and I had to agree as I am obviously a pleasure to work with. Susan used to be a mermaid at Wicchikissi Springs near Tampa, where she spent 15 years dazzling children watching from the underwater observation deck with her long flowing hair and mermaid tail. (you cannot make this stuff up) Susan lowered me into the 99 degree pool; wrapped floatation straps around my legs cradled me in her mermaid arms as she began the hypnotic silent underwater massage. An hour later we were done and Susan thanked me warmly and I thanked her, adding that she “..is still quite the mermaid.”

Now bathed and moisturized we headed off campus to a Mexican restaurant Hilary knows for Jill birthday dinner to feast on some ultra contraband margaritas and guacamole with corn chips; deep fried yes but gluten-free, hallelujah! We arrived at El Charo and instantly were dizzied by the aroma of fatty foods and promise of tequila. We were seated at a lovely table for four and before we even ordered our margaritas a basket of hot oily tortilla chips and salsa was placed on the table, this brought tears to my eyes. We tucked into the tortilla chips and savored the saltiness, washing it down with sips of margarita. After enjoying green chile corn tamales and carne secca with corn tortillas, we were serenaded by the wandering guitar player who sang a sweet rendition of happy birthday to Jill. We were stuffed but I had spotted a Dairy Queen on the drive back from the hike and mentioned it to my friends, and we all decided to find the Dairy Queen and enjoy ourselves. Hilary navigated and after only one seriously wrong turn we found ourselves at the intersection of Sabeno Canyon and Tanque Verde unsure of which way to go. My spidey sense was tingling and told me to turn right, so we proceeded in that direction and no more than 100 yards down the road we saw the gleaming red and white lights of the DQ sign. It was like a soft lit haze as we drove into the drive thru lane and approached the window. Our charming drive thru server, we named her Juanita, was clearly no stranger to the delicacies of the DQ herself and smiled broadly as we ordered our 2 vanilla cones dipped in chocolate and 2 hot fudge (full fat) sundaes. I exited the car to thank Juanita for her kindness and efficient service, which is when armed with my iPhone Jill snapped this lovely shot. Back in the safety of the car we devoured our desserts and in one fail swoop I consumed gluten, dairy and sugar. It was a major setback after days of obedient detoxification, but it was worth it! We drove back to the Ranch on our sugar highs and decided the DQ should be a monthly visit. Tomorrow I will return to my detox and purification rituals for mind and body but for tonight, just for one night, we were wild and free.

Biking, metabolic testing and "dessert"

Day 2 at the Ranch began with a 6am wake-up call in order to give us time to grab breakfast which for Hilary included blueberry muffins and coffee, while mine consisted of some steel cut oatmeal (gluten free), dehydrated figs and apricots and herbal tea before heading out on our 6:30am bike ride. It was a 12 mile ride with the first 6 being essentially uphill and tough. I saw a roadrunner on the side of the path, they are much smaller in real life than on the cartoon and more of a grayish beige color without the purple feather mane, but look exactly like the coyote’s nemesis in every other way. We reached the apex of the ride and waited for the other guests to make it up for quite a while. Finally the last rider (New York princess type) made it and we cheered her on. As soon as she dismounted she began to sob uncontrollably as one does after a marathon or childbirth. It was oddly touching and annoying at the same time. We made it back to the Ranch and Hilary and I lounged by the L-pool (not to be confused with the T-pool). We fell into a blissful post exercise haze which morphed into a mid-morning nap but were awakened by the grinding noise of the underwater treadmills some overly eager guests decided to use. It is rather strange to watch a 60-something year old woman in a wide brimmed hat and sunglasses walking briskly in place half submerged in the water.

We met our friends Jill and Jana for lunch at the Double U restaurant where everyone got to taste the gluten free crackers I was allotted with my tiny scoop of organic hummus, and unanimously agreed that they tasted like cardboard and needed salt. Jill suggested that I lick the crackers and then pour the salt on top so that the grains of salt would have a chance of adhering to the tasteless cracker. I’m not too proud and licked away as elegantly as possible. I had a small frozen banana on a stick for dessert enrobed in a thin layer of dark chocolate, that was the highlight.

Then it was off to the Exercise Physiology department to have my body composition testing done. Essentially you are hooked up to a bullet-proof vest looking contraption that holds various heart and oxygen monitors, and then a gas mask-like apparatus is put over your mouth and nose, and the physiologist then asks you to “breathe normally” as you run uphill on the treadmill. Like a blonde Darth Vader, I ascended the treadmill and rasped into the contraption as the incline increased steadily, all the while trying to respond chipperly to the Physiologist named Stephanie who was asking questions about the strain I was experiencing. I had to give her a number grading as the hill became steeper and my breathing heavier. The chart starts at 1 and ends at 20. After 11 minutes my heart rate was at 175 and I was clearly at a level 19, so the treadmill was stopped and Stephanie declared that I had done extremely well and unhooked me from the equipment leaving my mouth with the distinct lingering taste of Lysol.

I thanked Stephanie who I will be seeing again tomorrow for the read out of my stats, and made my way down to the spa for my 100 minute Ashiatsu treatment. Ashiatsu is a deep tissue massage performed by a therapist who stands on the massage table and hangs onto multiple poles affixed to the ceiling of the massage room for balance and support as she whisks up and down the table and my oil slicked body massaging with her feet and legs. My therapist, Dorothy, was fantastic. She commented on my strong "positive energy" which is a very high order of compliment at the Ranch and something you just can't fake.

A steam and a shower followed by some contraband Chardonnay with Hilary in the cassita, and then we were off to the dining room for dinner with Jill and Jana. Pea soup, rice noodles (about 6 in total) with grilled chicken in a peanut sauce, steamed sugar snap peas and some rice crackers were my feast. After spotting Maria Bartiromo at a table directly across from mine, she was very nice to all the wait staff and dined alone with her face illuminated by the blue glow of her Blackberry, it was time for dessert. My dinner companions all enjoyed vanilla ice cream with non-fat hot fudge sauce, but for dairy-free, sugar free, gluten-free Lorna, I was served a plate of 6 dates, 6 sad little pitted dates which I ate along with some mint tea all the while staring longingly at the ice cream and fat-free fudge.

And so to bed....

Blissed out on flax seed and shakra

So










So long Egypt, hello Canyon Ranch, Arizona. Flew into Tucson yesterday and enjoyed the drive from the airport to the spa where I saw that the Grease Monkey Garage is offering an "oil change stimulus package", not sure what is being stimulated although next door was a large sign advertising the Tucson Vasectomy Reversal Clinic. (good to know about in a pinch)

I arrived at the "Ranch" which is what all the in-crowd call the place. By the in-crowd please picture 40-something New York women with busy lives and big bling in search of intense spiritual well being during their 5-7 night stay. Now the Ranch is a true well being sanctuary, no alcohol, no smoking, no diet soda, no salt etc. but absolutely every kind of mind body treatment invented and dozens of healers to help me along on my quest for inner peace and the ability to squeeze into my size 4 pants again. At the Ranch you work out, you drink iced wildberry all natural caffeine free infusions, you do yoga and mediation, you measure your body composition and your shakra energy and of course you enjoy the myriad of massages and other delights at the spa. You also spend a fair amount of time hungry.

This being my second stay at the Ranch I didn't want to be confused for a newbie who may not realize for instance that your black canvas Ranch bag is the accessory de rigeur that you carry everywhere or that the quickest way to the Clubhouse from the Health and Healing Center in to take a shortcut through the spa building. So naturally I informed the smiling woman at reception named Heather that I was so happy to be back at the Ranch and that I would be joined that evening by my girlfriend who had never visited before. She immediately changed her posture into a more familial and warm stance, I was no wet-behind-the-ears first timer who would need to be told how to procure and smuggle Chardonnay onto the property from the Wallgreens down the hill nor how salt is available upon request at all the restaurants. We discussed the availability of a town car to take me for a wine run in between treatments and were fast friends.

I admired the new black and white photos of wild baby animals behind Reception and commented on how cute the pot bellied pig was. Heather smiled with pleasure and let me know that many guests confuse it with a Javalina (local wild pigs) but that indeed it is a pot bellied pig. "Really," I replied incredulously, "probably the same people who try to pet the Javalina's at the Ranch", we both had a good chuckle over that retort. I expressed mild displeasure at the location of my room as it is so very far away from the spa, and Heather agreed and told me "not to worry, I'm sure we can do something about that for you Lorna." We were on a first name basis which is always a very good thing at reception I find. Sure enough, Heather upgraded me to a Cassita which is a villa with a separate bedroom and sitting area and a full extra bathroom located right across from the spa. It also has a microwave for popcorn making, the Orville Redenbacher which you buy at Walgreens too of course. "Here you go Lorna, this should be much better for you and the upgrade is free of charge." I thanked Heather warmly and accepted my new Canyon Ranch t-shirt and black canvas bag, and made off for my Cassita.

After unpacking all my Lululemon gear, I pulled on some yoga pants and headed for the spa to enjoy some Yamuna Foot Fitness, which is like a torture class using a circular plastic ball covered in spiky porcupine-like knobs. You stand and do various exercise with your bare feet on the Yamuna ball in order to stretch the fascia in your feet and toes to promote circulation and better flexibility and posture. 20 minutes is absolute agony but by the time it is over you do feel like your feet are lighter and more balanced. In class I made friends with two older women from Michigan, Anita and Janet. Anita is recovering from ovarian cancer and loves to chat while Janet has an obsession with the NBC show 30 Rock and is convinced that several of the stars are at the Ranch this week; something I highly doubt and have yet to have an actual celeb sighting.

After a lunch of unsalted chicken broth and gluten free noodles with a side of hummus and rice crackers (so not kidding) I headed to the Medical Wellbeing Pavillion to meet with my Ranch doctor and have a Women's Health Assessment. Dr. D was wonderful and is not entirely convinced that I am suffering from peri-menopausal symptoms you'll be glad to hear, but thinks I am likely suffering from allergies so has put me on a gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free detox. Size 4 here I come!! Then it was back to the spa for Yin Yoga and my Jin Shin Jyutsu treatment.

At 8pm my dear friend Hilary arrived and after introducing her to her black canvas Ranch tote and explaining its importance to her, we were off for a dinner of tofu steak and sauteed kale. After dinner we hopped in the waiting town car and picked up our wine as well as our salty and sweet treats although on my detox Hilary may be enjoying them solo and returned to our Cassita, where I found a dozen beautiful yellow roses from my amazing hubby David. David has been here before and initally tried to send us wine but could not so opted for flowers, how romantic!!

Tomorrow we enjoy a 6:30am bike ride and lots more flax seed.

Tea at the Four Seasons, faluka on the Nile, Sound & Light show

We flew back to Cairo this morning and the kids were very excited for their reunion with Mohammed. When we arrived at baggage claim Mohammed greeted us and the kids ran to him offering big hugs he returned full force. He had brought them a handmade papyrus with their names written in hieroglyphics on a beautiful hand painted backdrop. Justin told Mohammed that he had missed him and Livvy smiled and leaned in closer and said bashfully, “Well, yeah, me too actually.” I think she may have a crush.
We happily parted ways with Walid and made our way out to where Aiymen was awaiting us with a big smile, a private van and yes Purel. We were welcomed back at the Oasis like returning royalty, even the K-9 officers at the gates smiled and waved. We checked into our rooms euphorically. Justin immediately emptied both rooms of all the Occitane bath products to add to his trip collection, which is now so embarrassingly large that I must carry a fair deal of it in my suitcase or his bag will exceed the weight limit. We headed down to High Tea in the foyer and Livvy munching on a cucumber tea sandwich said, “This takes me back to Boston. Remember how good the tea was at the Four Seasons and how you kept telling them it was my birthday so they’d keep writing Happy Birthday in chocolate sauce on my plate.” (I am not making any of this up, she absolutely cracks me up. To be clear, “this takes me back to Boston” was last May for her 8th bday.)
Mohammed then fetched us for a beautiful faluka (sail boat) ride on the Nile. While waiting for our boat, a group of 10 boys between the ages of 4 and 13 were gathered around a boom box playing hip hop music as they practiced their break dancing moves. Justin and Liv couldn’t take their eyes off of the children and made sure to say hello over and over again. Then we headed back to Giza for the evening’s Sound and Light Show at the base of the Sphinx with the pyramids in the background. Everything was exactly what you’d imagine except for the lengthy pre-show bag pipe band. Seeing a group of Egyptian men clad in Scottish themed outfits (not quite kilts but plenty of tartan) and marching to bag pipes and drums is definitely unusual. “Is that even Egyptian?” asked Justin. We headed back to the Oasis and enjoyed dinner Al Fresco by the pool where Justin enjoyed his last cheeseburger of the trip. Having played the Animal game non-stop for the entire holiday, we invented a new game, the Food game. You pick a food and then we ask yes or no questions until we guess what it is, “Do you eat it at breakfast? Do you eat it with a fork? Etc.” When it was Livvy’s turn, Justin and I were stumped after a full 10 minutes of questions, and gave up only to learn that she had picked “lemon zest” as her food. Now you may wonder what would possess her to think that lemon zest is a food as opposed to an ingredient, but I kept wondering how many 8 year olds would even think of lemon zest at all? “Well you know how you sometimes use it for risotto or even cookies to give them a little tang Mom.” She is not your average 3rd grader, Livvy is much much more and I have had the greatest pleasure spending all this time alone with Livvy and Justin! So lucky to be their mom (and Chloe’s too).

Up, up and away followed by Valley of the Kings and a rumble in the jungle/desert

At 3:30am the ship’s night purser rang my cabin with a wakeup call for our 4am departure to our hot air balloon ride at dawn. Having had the opportunity on multiple mornings here in Egypt to be awoken by the amplification of the dawn prayers, I had no problem informing the kids when asked that dawn is indeed at roughly 4:45am. Our driver, I regret to inform you, picked us up and announced that we would be stopping to pick up 9 guests from another ship on our way. You can imagine my dismay and Livvy and Justin’s confusion at having the sanctity of our private transport violated by strangers, we were clearly not in Aiymen’s protection anymore. Not surprisingly this driver offered no warm morning greeting not Purel, clearly not half the man that Aiymen is. We decided to press on and smiled politely at the freeloaders as they gained access to the van. Within 20 minutes we had arrived at the port where we boarded small wooden scarf-draped motor boats that would carry us from the east bank of the Nile to the west. There were 10 boats docked one behind the other parallel to the dock so that you had to climb through one to get to the second and so on. Each boat had a table set with tea cups and saucers and a foil wrapped piece of heavily sweetened pound cake, this was referred to as “a light breakfast” by the guide. After only having to move boats 3 times, allowing Justin the opportunity to amass 6 pieces of cake (Livvy didn’t care for hers) and Justin felt it was only fair due to the inconvenience we’d been caused, we were off. Aboard the boat we were introduced to the balloon pilot who in fact wore a pilot’s starched white shirt with gold shoulder stripes below his flap jacket, likely acquired on eBay.egt. The pilot explained in heavily accented English that the balloon ride was “ahbas-ahlutely saehfe” and then proceeded to demonstrate the “eemeergehency lending pozitiohn” which was “veery veery eemporohrtant to avoideed dregging ov bah-loon in dezert and zen cresh.” Livvy thought this was hilarious and kept repeating, “This is so safe, totally safe, now here’s your emergency landing position.”

We then boarded a mini-van filled with American tourists on a senior citizen tour of Egypt. The kids chatted excitedly to the octogenarians, especially a lovely 85 year old gentleman from Boston who lives near Concord, MA where Chloe will be attending school in the fall. We arrived at the launch site from which the balloons would take off, which was perched beside a wheat field being harvested by local farmers with sicles in hand, and was strewn with beautifully wrapped bundles of wheat set out to dry in the quickly rising sun. The air field was strewn with 40 locals dressed in Sihnbad Balloons blue jumpsuits busy attending to 3 balloons laying on the earth and moving small pickup trucks with the baskets and enormous fans and tanks of helium into position. After the 6 guides sized the tourists up (literally and figuratively as the balloons need to be balanced by equal weight in each of the 4 compartments that hold roughly 4-5 people in each compartment) and some lengthy deliberations by the various guides as to who should be placed in which balloon based upon rudimentary weight estimations we were divided up into smaller groups of 5. Livvy, Justin and I were placed with Leo and Nathan, an adorable New York couple on the seniors tour who were dressed head to toe in their newly acquired Egyptian finery, and cracking non-stop La Cage au Folle style quips. “If we start to fall from the sky, you and your gorgeous children just hang on to me darling, I’m a fairy so I can fly. Oh haaah haaah haah!”

There was a mild wind but apparently even the slightest wind poses a severe danger for hot air ballooning so we were made to wait and wait and wait as the guides and balloon crews observed the weather and exchanged hand gestures and remarks. The sun rose and we watched as one balloon after another attempted to gain lift off and were elated when indeed the balloons began to fill the morning sky. There was a multicolored striped balloon that Leo spied and called out excitedly, “Look Nathan, a “pride” balloon!” We were individually carried pharaoh style (as if seated upright) into the balloon basket by the jumpsuit clad crew and when all were aboard the pilot began a complicated set of maneuvers involving terrifically hot blasts of helium and shouting wildly at the crew and driver of the pickup truck to which the balloon was chained. One of the crew unhooked us from the truck just as a gust of wind suddenly blew and immediately we were tipping over, the pilot began to shout “eemeergehency lending pozitiohn” “eemeergehency lending pozitiohn”, so we all crouched down into our positions. The crew managed to re-hook us to the pickup and righted the basket so no one fell out and the pilot already dripping with sweat gave the truck driver a tongue lashing that was to be admired. I don’t know what the driver had done but it was obviously very very bad. Quickly regaining his composure, the pilot shouted out more instructions and soon we were told “stend uhpe, stend uhpe” and suddenly we were floating above the ground. Apart from the sound of the intermittent helium blasts into the balloon, it was absolutely silent and stunning. We floated over the Valley of the Kings and could appreciate the majesty of the temples as well as the proximity of Nile and the desert. We floated deeper into the desert and the pilot announced, “veery veery wihindy so when we find saefe plece to lend, we lend, okay?” Everyone quickly nodded in agreement. After 25 minutes of serene beauty we descended into what can only be referred to as a pseudo-crash landing on the desert floor, utilizing our “ eemeergehency lending pozitiohn” twice more before setting permanently on the ground. We wondered how we would be found and returned to safety as we stood in the basket smiling nervously at one another surrounded by nothing but sand and sky, and then suddenly from the distance and seemingly out of nowhere, emerged a pickup truck filled with our blue-jumpsuited saviors. The passengers all began to clap spontaneously. The heroes leaped from the truck and ran toward the basket at full speed although it appeared to us as if in slow motion just like a re-enactment of the famous scene in the film “Backdraft” when the firemen storm the burning building. Half the men secured the balloon while the other half proceeded to rescue/lift the passengers out of the basket and onto the desert floor where we were then guided to the waiting mini-buses.

Elated and relieved we bid the crew farewell and tipped them handsomely before heading in our separate directions.

Next we headed to the Valley of the Kings where Walid, who by now was seriously getting on all of our nerves, was awaiting our arrival. We took an open air parking shuttle tram (think Disneyworld parking lot shuttle) from the entrance up the hill to where the tomb entrances are located. We waited in the shade while other guides explained the history of the various tombs and what to expect within to their guests and Walid chatted with a group of his friends. Guides are not allowed inside the tombs with tourists so they must wait outside while you visit which is why they are supposed to give you a full explanation and set up in the shaded area beforehand. We then entered 3 different tombs, 1 more impressive than the next, and Livvy and Justin played a game of “Eye Spy” in each tomb using the bright colors of the amazingly preserved hieroglyphics. We lost Walid twice as he jetted from friend to friend but luckily the other guides were very well informed and I was able to translate a particularly gifted French guide’s explanations for the kids. Having visited Tutankamen’s treasures at the museum in Cairo we decided to skip his rather tiny tomb (the Kings began building their tombs the moment they ascended to power, so the longer you reigned the more elaborate your tomb, Tut ruled for less than 10 years so his tomb is very small and rather unimpressive compared to Ramses the IV who ruled for more than 20 years for example). Justin wanted to walk through the market at the bottom of the hill before getting back in the car, so we did. He found a lovely alabaster box for Chloe and we enlisted Walid’s help to negotiate with the merchant. When the price got down to a reasonable level and I began to nod, Walid made an additional comment in Arabic of course to the merchant, who then politely said “La, La,” which means no, no. Walid then told us the deal was off and to walk away, so we did and all of a sudden Walid was surrounded by at least 20 of the merchants who were holding Walid hostage it appeared for some grave injustice he had committed and Walid began screaming at the top of his lungs what were obviously obscenities. The volume and fury escalated and I feared it would come to blows or knives, really. Soon the Tourist Police were summoned by another merchant and more shouting and spitting ensued with Walid still unable to free himself from the circling crowd of angry merchants. Walid was visibly out of control, bright red in the face and apparently scared, yet it appeared from our vantage point that he had been the wrong doer with whatever it was he had said to the merchant. Suddenly Walid was marched off by the Police and we were alone in the market.

The original merchant approached us slowly with a friend and told us not to worry that this was a joke and that our guide will be back. I replied that this was obviously not a joke and asked what happened. The friend told us that in this market they do not pay commission to guides and yet our guide was demanding a commission or we would not buy anything. It all made perfect sense. Walid had told us the deal was off but in fact the price for us had been agreed to, it was the price for him that was the problem. I paid the merchant the sum we had agreed upon before the rumble broke out and he gratefully accepted the cash and kept us company until the Police returned with Walid some 15 minutes later. Still red in the face and visibly agitated, Walid suggested we leave the market. The kids now understood what had transpired and seeing as they were pretty sick of Walid anyhow, Justin decided to have some fun and asked Walid what happened. Without missing a beat, Walid said that “Someone had insulted your mother and no one insults one of my guests and so I showed them who is in charge and how to treat tourists. Everything is fine now.” Justin pressed on, “What did he say?” toying with Walid. “uhmm, nothing to be repeated,” replied Walid and Justin glanced my way smiling and giving me the “yeah, I’ll bet” look.

We hopped in the van and headed to the Temple of Hatshepsut at El-Deir. It was very hot and there was a good climb required to make it to the temple from the entrance. Walid told us to go ahead and he would wait for us in the café. I feigned surprise and asked “Oh, are guides not allowed to enter this temple either?” to which Walid replied, “Oh no we are allowed, I can come with you if you like,” he relented, and I told him that would be just lovely. Justin gave me another big grin. We spent the afternoon by the pool on board and then at 6pm headed to Luxor town to see the temple of Luxor and visit the night market where I decided I would do my own negotiating. We met a lovely sculptor who was working on a refined and impressive granite sculpture of Ramses I. We’d seen nothing of this quality on our entire trip and Livvy, Justin and I all stopped to admire him as he chiseled away. We told him how beautiful his work was and he responded in perfect English that he appreciated the compliment and had traveled to 14 countries around the world to exhibit his work in galleries. I asked whether he had studied sculpture in Egypt and he said that he was self-taught, and that this was his passion from the age of 9. This was no ordinary street vendor. He seemed particularly enamored of Justin, and told us that his son was the same age and that he’d like to give Justin a gift for free and with no obligation as it was his pleasure to welcome us in his country and share his art with us. He took a black granite scarab and had Justin write his name in English, and then chiseled the hieroglyphic translation of Justin’s name onto the scarab. He then did the same for Livvy and was delighted when I asked to snap a few photos. I bought a beautiful alabaster dish from him and he insisted on chiseling my name on the back of it as well. Justin was so touched by this kind gesture from a stranger in a very strange land and as we said good bye and walked away he whispered to me, “Mom that was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

We enjoyed dinner with the other passengers on the boat as for the first time, Walid did not come down to dinner. Justin and Livvy learned a 21 card trick from Ned the lovely Englishman and his wife Marcia who now live in Spain, and a cute toothpick trick from Robert and Franklin who live in New York. “They were really nice people didn’t you think Mom?”

And off to bed…