Month: August 2025

Posted on

Mission: Mow & Munch – A Midweek Adventure

Written July 3, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

I checked off my mowing duty for the week today—grass trimmed, box checked, sweat earned. But let’s be honest, the real pressure wasn’t the lawn; it was the last-minute ice cream run we had to squeeze in before this weekend’s Independence Day and birthday bash. You see, dessert got demoted during our weekend grocery trip, and suddenly I was the self-appointed Ice Cream Procurement Officer by Tuesday.

Why ice cream? Well, some guests can’t do gluten, and let’s face it—ice cream is the great equalizer. Plus, it’s about 9,000 degrees outside. Nothing says “family fun” like small children hopped up on sugar and brain freezes.

Now, my wife is neck-deep in quarter-month-end chaos (corporate accounting is no joke), and also juggling a SOX audit and budget prep. Basically, she’s one spreadsheet short of an office meltdown. That meant we had a tight window—lunch break on Wednesday—when she’d be working from home and could spare 30 golden minutes for an ice cream heist.

Usually, we do our grocery pilgrimage once a week on Saturday. My wife plans our meals, inventories the fridge like a food-loving Sherlock Holmes, and ensures we use up every last vegetable before it turns into a science experiment. By Friday, our fridge is emptier than my willpower near a donut display—but just enough food remains to survive. Saturday’s meal is a fridge cleanout special. Sunday? That’s sacred. That’s pizza day.

This week, though, I forgot dessert. The shame.

So, I set an alarm to give myself time to finish mowing, shower, and become presentable before the big dairy dash. Miraculously, I wrapped up the lawn 15 minutes before the alarm went off—leaving me enough time to transform from Yard Sasquatch to Grocery Gentleman.

We made our move: three pints of ice cream secured, plus a few extra goodies. Since my doctor recently suggested “fruit and yogurt instead of ice cream” (buzzkill alert), I added a cantaloupe to the cart for midweek snacking. My wife grabbed chips and salsa—her version of self-care between back-to-back meetings.

We were in and out of the store in under 30 minutes, just like pros. My wife even managed to nibble something, though she insists on light lunches to keep her brain operating at ninja levels. Then she vanished back into her audit-and-budget battlefield, while I stood victorious—with one cantaloupe and three flavors of celebration.

Posted on

Level 4 Kidney Function: A Gout-Friendly Diet Update

Written July 2, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

I had my regular rendezvous with the nephrologist this week. And guess what? My eGFR has officially slid into Level 4 territory. Ah, kidneys—always keeping life suspenseful. Suddenly, the mystery of my marshmallow feet makes perfect sense.

Armed with a list of burning questions (like a medical Sherlock Holmes), I peppered my doctor with inquiries. One lab glance later, he asked me a lot of questions. I showed my bios, I told him what dietary changes I made.  “You’re probably riding the sugar train a little too hard.” Now, aside from a slight uptick in ice cream over the past month—okay, maybe more than slight—I haven’t exactly been swimming in syrup. 

Weight management came up (as it always does), and my doctor gave me a surprising green light: I can have a bit more protein! The catch? Sugar’s gotta go. So, farewell to frosty treats, and hello again to yogurt and fruit. It’s not a tragic breakup—I happen to love our homemade yogurt, courtesy of my wife. It’s just the right kind of bland. Not too sour, not too sweet. Honestly, I think store-bought yogurt has trust issues—it’s either overly tangy or suspiciously processed. Ours? Pure probiotic poetry.

Medication for gout got a little upgrade too—because, let’s be real, that red, angry foot of mine isn’t fixing itself overnight. But I’m hopeful. The pain’s still there, but I’m optimistic it’ll chill out soon, especially now that I’m being kinder to my kidneys. They’re finicky little organs—throw in too much sugar or a rogue meatball, and they stage a protest.

All in all, the doctor and I agreed on a simple plan: keep the hydration goal steady, scale back the sugar, gently boost the protein, and stay vigilant. It’s a delicate dance, but I’m not doing it alone. My wife and I made a pact a decade ago to face kidney issues as a team—and we’re still two-stepping our way through it together.

Posted on

When Your Feet Start Swelling and Ice Cream Is the Prime Suspect: A Kidney Health Check-In

Written Jun 30, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

It all started last Thursday. My right foot decided to file a complaint—painful, persistent, and just loud enough to make me pay attention. By evening, both feet looked like they’d been moonlighting as water balloons. Thankfully, the swelling usually deflates by morning, but it’s still concerning enough that I’ll be bringing it up with my nephrologist this Wednesday.

Now, if you’ve ever had kidney issues, you know the drill: when your kidneys slack off on their job, your body turns into a sponge. The fluid that should’ve been politely escorted out hangs around instead—preferably in your lower extremities. In my case, it’s like my feet got dunked in a vat of water and just… stayed there.

To make matters more interesting, there’s a suspiciously red, swollen spot on one foot. It’s not screaming “gout flare!” like it has in the past, but it’s definitely whispering it. Not fun. Not agony. Just enough to make me grumble every few steps.

When my wife caught sight of my puffy feet, her worry radar went off. We both agreed: it’s not as dramatic as the foot fiasco from a decade ago, but still a downgrade from how things looked back in March. Naturally, we retraced our dietary steps. And—cue dramatic music—I had to confess. Summer weight maintenance is a battlefield when you’ve got food restrictions, and sometimes that battlefield is paved with ice cream and pastry bites. Don’t judge—desperate times call for frozen desserts.

My wife, being the practical one, asked the big question: “What’s your eGFR lately?” That’s the estimated glomerular filtration rate, for those blissfully unfamiliar—it’s basically the Yelp review for your kidneys. She wants to know how well they’re filtering out waste these days. Spoiler alert: I’m not sure yet, but I will be soon.

So now, I’m building my checklist for the doctor: foot swelling, possible gout, and yes, an honest conversation about my summer romance with ice cream. I’ve got my stats ready too—blood pressure, heart rate, weight—the whole health dashboard. Ironically, I’ve actually had trouble keeping my weight up lately, partly because I’ve been gaining muscle (thank you, outdoor chores), and partly because summer keeps me more active.

I’m still staying hydrated (a solid 64 oz per day), but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little anxious. Still, I’ll get some answers soon. And who knows—maybe even a better snack plan.

Posted on

Surviving Summer Without AC: How We Outsmarted the Heat (and Trained Our Nervous Systems Like Ninjas)

Written 06/28/2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Well folks, we did it. We made it through the year’s first major heatwave without melting into couch puddles—or cranking the AC like panicked lizards in a sauna.

We made a small but mighty change in how we deal with heat: instead of blasting cold air like it’s 1999, we’ve gone old-school. Ceiling fans in every room? Check. Airflow strategies that would make NASA proud? You bet. Our secret weapon? High ceilings and a fan system that practically whispers, “Let there be breeze.”

As soon as the sun starts to dip, it’s go-time. Windows open. Window fans on. It’s like a tactical air exchange operation, minus the camouflage. Even if the heat during the day feels like we accidentally moved to Mercury, things shift once the sun clocks out. Sure, some humidity sticks around like an awkward guest at a dinner party—but most nights, our system works like a charm.

My wife’s always been a warm-weather purist. AC? Not her thing. She spent years in Japan and Germany, where people don’t treat their homes like meat lockers. I used to find this a little intense—especially pre-stroke. But now? I’m a convert.

After my brain stroke, I lost the ability to handle sudden temperature changes. Stepping inside an overcooled house after a run felt like entering a glacier with my nerve endings screaming in confusion. My autonomic nervous system—bless its confused little circuits—just couldn’t keep up. But this natural approach? It’s literally therapeutic.

We’re replacing our central AC next year—it still runs, but it’s like a gas-guzzling dinosaur trying to keep up with a Prius. And we’re not planning to keep the house at “penguin habitat” levels. Our summer indoor temps hover around 82°F to 84°F (that’s 28–29°C for our metric friends), and honestly, we’re handling it surprisingly well.

Bonus points: our house is basically a mullet—business in the front (above ground), cool party in the back (underground). The downstairs stays naturally cooler in summer and warmer in winter, which makes temperature control a bit more forgiving, even in Nashville’s moody climate.

Do we expect more heatwaves? Oh yes. At least two more, if we’re betting. But something wild is happening—we’ve adapted. A few weeks ago, today’s temperatures would’ve sent us scrambling for the AC remote. Now? We’re both commenting on how “pleasant” it feels.

I think this heat-dodging lifestyle is helping reboot my sympathetic and parasympathetic systems—the dynamic duo of the autonomic nervous system. I’m noticing better seasonal adaptation, more stability, and fewer temperature-triggered meltdowns (literal and figurative).

So bring it on, summer. We’re not scared of you anymore. Well, maybe just a little. But we’ll face you fan-first, cool-headed, and slightly smug.

Posted on

Sew It Goes: How Sewing a Button Became My Unexpected Rehab Win

Written June 25, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Yesterday, a small but mighty victory took place in my household: I finally sewed a button back onto my shorts. Yes, the shorts that have been silently judging me from the mending pile for weeks. My original goal was to wear them to my blood draw appointment, but threading that needle turned into an Olympic-level event—and, spoiler alert, I did not win gold.

Part of the challenge? My left hand. It’s been on a bit of a go-slow strike since my stroke. While most of my mobility has returned (with a slow but steady comeback tour), my left hand still dances to its own rhythm—one that is less ballet and more interpretive chaos. I practice piano daily to retrain it, and while progress is real, threading a needle still feels like trying to put a shoelace through a keyhole. While blindfolded. On a moving train.

Oh, and let’s not forget my eyesight. Between the rebellious hand and less-than-stellar vision, sewing that button felt like performing surgery with oven mitts.

Despite it all, I managed to get the thread through, stab the shorts a few dozen times (mostly intentionally), and reattach the button. My backup pair of shorts had just emerged from the dryer at that moment, so I wore those instead. Still, I went back to my sewing mission post-appointment, and this time, I finished the job.

And let me just say: shout-out to my middle school home economics teacher. Without those long-forgotten lessons, I’d have had to look up a YouTube tutorial or ask my wife for help. Both totally valid options, but nothing beats a minor domestic triumph all on your own.

In the end, this wasn’t just about the button. It was about dexterity. Determination. Brain-hand coordination. This tiny, stubborn project turned out to be its own form of rehab—and it counts.

I’d been putting it off because, well, life. Doctor visits, lab work, and the glorious chaos of summer have been eating up my time. But yesterday, I did the thing. I fixed the shorts. I now officially have two wearable pairs for the season. The repaired button has held firm—so far, so good. Fingers crossed. Or in my case, sort-of-crossed.

Tomorrow brings my annual eye appointment, and I’ll be mowing the lawn beforehand (because nothing says “adulting” like trimming grass before checking your retinas). So yes, having an extra pair of shorts is not just fashion—it’s function.

Until next time, keep your threads tight and your victories celebrated—no matter how small they seem. Sometimes, sewing on a button is the big win of the week.