Tag: kidney health

Posted on

How to Make A Kidney-Friendly Summer Reset

Written July 16, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Another scorcher in Nashville. Since the end of last summer, I’ve been trying to outsmart the heat by waking up earlier and starting my runs before the sun fully clocks in. My wife’s been doing this from the get-go—she actually likes it. For her, that early run is like nature’s espresso shot. She has low blood pressure, so getting her heart pumping first thing in the morning helps set the rhythm for her day.

I, on the other hand, started my run at 7 a.m., thinking I was ahead of the heat. Nope. It was already warming up, and the rising temperature slowed me down halfway through my 5K. My wife had taken yesterday off to help me with extra chores, so today she was back at the office, while I was sweating it out solo.

Last June, I had a minor gout flare-up, which led to a check-up with my nephrologist. That’s when I got the disappointing news: my kidney function had slipped into stage 4. I’d held steady at stage 3 for so long that the sudden drop felt like a punch in the gut. But these things usually have a culprit, so my doctor and I retraced my steps.

Everything else checked out fine—heart rate, blood pressure, diet—all good. But then I admitted something: I’d been struggling to maintain my weight and had started leaning a little too hard on sugary comforts. Ice cream, specifically. Guilty.

Turns out, that was likely the culprit. So I made a switch—out with the ice cream, in with homemade yogurt and cantaloupe. The result? My weight stayed stable, and my kidneys got a break. With my doctor’s approval, I also upped my protein intake slightly, which has helped too.

Exercise remains a must. My doctor emphasized it again, especially after my rehab. But hydration is key—especially in a Nashville summer, where the humidity hugs you like a damp wool blanket. Changing my run time has made a world of difference. At 7 a.m., it’s still a bearable 73–74°F (23–24°C), though it climbs quickly once the sun kicks into high gear.

I’m counting the days until fall. Cooler mornings mean faster runs and less sweating just from tying my shoes. Honestly, summer running feels like training with a weighted vest—once autumn hits, I expect to feel lighter, quicker, and a whole lot happier out there.

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

Mow, Sweat, and Labs: A Kidney-Friendly Workout With a Side of Weather Nerdiness

Written Jun 24, 2025

Reviewed 7/7

Hello Dear Readers,

Today’s agenda was brought to you by the letters M (for mowing), B (for bloodwork), and S (for sweat. So. Much. Sweat).

It was a race against the sun this morning—me versus the jungle formerly known as our lawn. I usually take my time trimming the terrain, but today, I had a hard deadline: a date with a phlebotomist. Nothing says “productive morning” quite like pushing an electric mower up a steep hill, then heading off to donate a vial or five of blood.

Let’s rewind a bit. My kidneys and I have a bit of a complicated history. Back in 2015, my function had dipped so low that I made the transplant list. Dramatic, I know. But through some dietary ninja moves, medication management, and sheer stubbornness, I climbed back up to stage 3. Some days I flirt with stage 4 (I like to keep my nephrologist on their toes). Hence the quarterly blood draws—my body’s version of a quarterly report card, minus the spreadsheets.

Exercise has become non-negotiable for me. Not just to stay fit, but to keep my kidneys pumping (or filtering?) as best they can. Ever since my stroke, I’ve realized that motion isn’t just medicine—it’s mission-critical.

Until 2022, my wife was the queen of the lawn. She’d spend hours on weekends battling the grass while working full-time during the week. Eventually, I took over. Now I handle both cooking and mowing—basically, I’m evolving into a domestic ninja with a touch of yard warrior.

Our lawn, by the way, is no gentle meadow. It’s steep enough to make you question your life choices mid-mow. Even with our electric mower, I need two battery swaps—and usually still don’t finish it all in one go. Today, I gave myself three hours and managed to tame the front yard and half of one side before calling it quits. Thursday, the saga continues.

I was drenched in sweat by the end, having chugged a full liter of water like it was my sidekick. Honestly, I might need a medal. Or at least a Popsicle.

On a brighter (and cooler) note, we’ve gone full nerd and ordered a fancy weather station! It has a remote sensor that sits in our bedroom, while the main display lives in my office. Now I can spy on the upstairs temperature without even standing up. Efficiency, thy name is gadget.

The new system should help us decide when to fling open the windows or turn on the fan, because let’s be real—when your body doesn’t regulate heat so well post-stroke, indoor climate control is a tactical operation.

Posted on

Negotiations with a Tired Body (and a Lawnmower)

Written June 12, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

As per tradition—and by “tradition,” I mean “necessity born from heat survival instincts”—I began my day mowing the lawn. Here in Nashville, the summer sun doesn’t just rise, it attacks. So if you’ve got a body like mine—one that treats both heatwaves and cold snaps like personal insults—you learn to outsmart the weather before it starts throwing punches.

Normally, I can mow half the yard and still have enough gas left in the tank to face the rest of the day. But today? Nope. After mowing, my body filed a formal complaint and went straight into shutdown mode. I skipped my pre-breakfast exercises, half-expecting that would be it for the day’s physical activity. My body said no. My willpower said maybe. Eventually, I rolled onto the mat for some planks and stretches—not exactly Olympic training, but hey, it counts.

Somehow, I rallied enough energy to squeeze in my planks and arm curls. I didn’t bounce back; I meandered back—like a weary turtle doing yoga. Still, I did it. Not exactly on schedule, but sometimes winning means just showing up… 30 minutes later than planned and slightly annoyed.

Now here’s the kicker. I can’t tell what’s making me tired: the weather, age, my kidneys, or some perfect storm of all three. Whatever it is, when I push too hard, I morph into something between a zombie and a disgruntled houseplant. Meanwhile, my wife bounces around like she’s got a backup battery installed. She claims she struggles in the morning, but by the time I’m up, she’s practically done with her workout and halfway through a motivational podcast. She says she’s slow in the morning. I say she’s just being polite to us mortals.

So I’ve had to learn the art of negotiation—not with clients or coworkers, but with my own body. Some days, I push things to tomorrow, knowing full well tomorrow might need to be negotiated too. Other days, I rest so I can function again in the afternoon. This is not laziness. This is energy management. The strategic pause. The recharge pit stop.

I’ve had a kidney condition for who knows how long—discovered only after a brain stroke crashed the party. Maybe I’ve always been running at 70% battery while others (like my wife) were born with solar panels. And yes, I know comparison is the thief of joy… but sometimes it also leaves a trail of gym clothes and lawn clippings.

I don’t have a high-energy body. But I do have a high-effort mindset. So I’ll keep negotiating with this unpredictable, occasionally rebellious body of mine. I may not be fast. I may not be consistent. But I am persistent—and that counts for something.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to rest heroically so I can finish my to-do list… sometime before winter.

Posted on

The Great Coffee vs. Kidney Hydration Dilemma

Written 04/19/2025

reviewed 5/4

Hello Dear Readers,

When your kidneys start acting up, hydration isn’t just a good idea—it’s practically a medical mandate. My nephrologist (a.k.a. the Kidney Boss) has drilled this into me with the persistence of a motivational coach. “Drink more water!” he says. “Again!” he says. And I do try—I really do.

Enter: the water bottle that changed my life. My wife, ever the health-savvy hero, got me one of those time-marked bottles that tells you where you should be by 10 a.m., noon, and beyond. It’s like having a gentle but judgmental friend watching your hydration habits. And honestly? It works. I find myself drinking more water than I ever did before. The bottle nags, so I don’t have to.

Last summer was a bit of a cautionary tale. I wasn’t drinking enough, and my lab reports tattled on me. My numbers were off, and after my doctor played detective with my biometric logs, he traced the problem straight to—you guessed it—dehydration. As soon as I upped my water game, the lab results improved. Hydration: 1, Kidney Drama: 0.

Now that the summer sun is peeking out again, I’m back on hydration high alert. But here’s the kicker—my stomach has limited seating. It’s either Team Water or Team Coffee. There is no both. One in, one out.

I adore my morning coffee. That rich, warm energy boost is my AM ritual. But ever since I became a full-time water drinker, coffee’s been benched. There’s only so much liquid real estate in my stomach, and water now gets priority seating. Tragic, really.

On most days, I can live with this sacrifice. But Sunday? Sunday is sacred. That’s our coffee day. When autumn and winter roll around, my wife and I head to Starbucks like it’s a pilgrimage. We sip the seasonal brews with the reverence of monks. We even own a classic espresso maker—the kind that sits on the stovetop and hisses like it means business. My wife brews it on weekends when work doesn’t steal her away.

Still, if I have to choose between a functioning pair of kidneys and my beloved espresso shot…well, the kidneys win. Begrudgingly. The silver lining? My wife now has an extra share of coffee. And judging by how much she loves the stuff, I think she’s secretly thrilled.

Posted on

One Extra Hour: How Sleep Saved My Planks (and My Sanity)

Written April 12, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Lately, I’ve been dragging myself around like a phone on 3% battery—blinking, buzzing, and refusing to load. Yard work has turned into a full-contact sport around here, and my body clearly did not get the memo that spring chores were starting. Muscles I forgot existed have filed complaints. Loud ones.

This seasonal fatigue isn’t new—it sneaks in every year like an uninvited guest bearing mulch and weed whackers. The warmer weather only makes matters worse. Instead of rising with the sunshine like a cheerful daisy, I’ve been negotiating with my pillow for just five more minutes… which somehow turns into forty-five.

Enough was enough.

I finally gave in to the not-so-subtle hints from my exhausted limbs and called it a night early. I managed to go to bed an entire hour ahead of schedule. My wife nearly dropped her book in surprise. You see, she’s usually the early-to-bed, early-to-rise type, squeezing in a workout, meditation, and probably an entire novel before I’ve finished brushing my teeth. She tackles her work day before it even starts. It’s her way of keeping the dragons of procrastination at bay. Respect.

As for me? That precious hour of extra sleep worked magic. I woke up without groaning. No zombie shuffle. No groggy inner monologue about caffeine. Just… energy. Actual energy. I felt like a phone fresh off the charger—100% and glowing green.

Now, let’s talk planks. My ongoing battle with chronic kidney disease means I have to tiptoe around protein intake like it’s a sleeping lion. Building muscle becomes a delicate dance: push too hard, and my body rebels. Add yard work to the mix, and suddenly I’m struggling to complete my daily planking sessions, barely hanging on by the third round—let alone the fourth.

But today? Today was different.

With that extra hour under my belt, I felt like my old self again—well, at least like a version of myself who doesn’t curse at the yoga mat. My planks were smoother, my muscles less whiny, and if I manage to pull off all four sessions today, I’ll finally increase my duration tomorrow… by one mighty second.

Because in this house, we celebrate progress in seconds. And sleep, apparently, is the unsung hero of all fitness gains.

Posted on

From Level 5 to Thriving: My Kidney Recovery Journey

Written March 6, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Ah, the quarterly nephrologist appointment—an event marked on my calendar like a mini health report card. Today was the day.

Once upon a time (and not in a fairytale way), my kidneys decided to stage a dramatic exit, dropping to level 5. For those unfamiliar with the kidney hierarchy, level 5 means you’re not just playing the waiting game—you’re officially in line for a transplant. That’s when my recovery story began.

While waiting for a kidney that might never come, the doctors handed me a to-do list. First up: peritoneal dialysis. That meant getting a catheter—a thin, flexible tube—implanted in my abdomen. My wife, ever the rockstar, took on the role of my personal dialysis technician, administering treatments four times a day. Since dialysis waits for no one, she had to put her job on hold. Meanwhile, I was also dealing with double vision thanks to a stroke, just to keep life extra interesting.

Next on the list? A complete dietary overhaul. Protein—limited. Dairy—cautioned. Even seemingly harmless greens—monitored. And salt? Not a big loss, since we’ve never been big fans anyway. But the adjustments weren’t easy. Every meal felt like a science experiment in portion control and kidney-friendly nutrition.

Then, one day, my doctor hit me with a plot twist: “Well, your kidneys are somehow recovering.” Just like that, dialysis was out, the catheter came off, and my wife could return to work. We stuck to the diet, kept up with regular check-ups, and—miraculously—my kidneys climbed back up to level 3. No more waiting lists. Just a whole lot of monitoring.

That’s why I wear a special watch that tracks everything from my blood pressure to my heart rate. I also keep an eye on my weight because, with my kidneys, even small fluctuations can mean trouble. And speaking of health habits—my wife had the brilliant idea of introducing exercise. At first, even walking with a walker felt like an uphill battle. But we stuck with it. Over the years, the walker turned into casual strolls, which turned into steady jogging. Now, I run. A lot. And somewhere along the way, I traded in excess fat for a leaner, healthier body.

Of course, I still have to be extra cautious. A simple flu or cold can throw my whole system into chaos. But for the most part, I’m in control.

As for today’s appointment? Smooth sailing. My nephrologist gave me the green light—no major concerns, no urgent changes. I did bring up a small worry about my blood pressure occasionally dipping too low, but since my averages are stable, it’s a ‘wait and see’ situation.

The only hiccup? The waiting room. Nearly an hour before I got called in. But hey, patience is a virtue, right? Plus, I got my quarterly visit checked off without any surprises.

Next appointment? Another Wednesday—aka my running day. No problem, I’ll adjust my schedule accordingly.

For now, I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing. Because somehow, against the odds, it’s working.

Posted on

A Comedy of Errors: My Morning Adventure in Forgetfulness

Written February 25, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning was a disaster of my own making—an entirely avoidable one, at that. It all started with a simple yet catastrophic decision: going back to sleep.

My wife had to leave early for work, so I woke up with her, saw her off, and then—because I am, at times, my own worst enemy—I crawled back into bed. When my alarm rang at its usual time, I reasoned that there was no immediate need to rise and shine. Why rush? The world could wait. I could bask in the warmth of my blankets for just a little while longer.

Ah, but then—the horror! Like a bolt of lightning, it struck me. I had an appointment at the phlebotomy lab. This morning. In a moment, I went from blissful comfort to full-blown panic mode.

Suddenly, I was a man on a mission. Breakfast was a frantic affair—more a feeding frenzy than a meal. I barely finished swallowing before summoning an Uber to whisk me across town. Somehow, by sheer force of will (and the generosity of traffic lights), I arrived roughly on time. My reward? A needle in my arm and the satisfaction of knowing I had narrowly avoided disaster.

The Saga of the Quarterly Lab Visit

This whole lab ordeal isn’t a weekly thing, thank goodness. It happens once every three months—a fun little prelude to my nephrologist appointments. The lab used to be conveniently located within walking distance, but those were the good old days. Now, thanks to the ever-evolving world of healthcare logistics, both my doctor’s office and the lab have migrated to opposite ends of the city. Since my wife was at work, Uber was my chariot of choice.

A Kidney’s Hard-Won Victory

Once upon a time, my kidneys were in such dire shape that a transplant was on the horizon—stage five of kidney disease, the final boss level. But through some miracle of discipline (and possibly sheer stubbornness), I clawed my way back to stage three. Even my doctors were impressed. Kidneys don’t just bounce back like that. It’s been an uphill battle—strict diet, exercise, a truckload of medication—but I intend to keep it that way. If my kidneys have fought this hard, the least I can do is not sabotage them.

The Curious Case of the Urgency-Driven Wife

Speaking of discipline, my wife operates on a completely different level. She thrives on urgency. More time? Not helpful. More deadlines? That’s where she shines. She has goals stacked like dominos—lifelong ones, yearly ones, monthly ones, and even daily ones. Meanwhile, I apparently struggle with remembering a single appointment that’s been on my calendar for months.

A Morning Lost in Translation

In my defense, I used to have a built-in scheduling assistant—my wife. For years, she managed my appointments with an efficiency that I now recognize I took for granted. But since 2017, I’ve been the proud (if slightly forgetful) owner of my own calendar. And today, that system failed spectacularly. I’m fairly certain I ignored every phone alarm. Maybe I was half-asleep. Maybe I was just being me.

The Aftermath of Chaos

Once I got back home—blood drawn, dignity slightly bruised—I tried to restore order to my day. I worked out, did my language practice, and checked off my morning to-do list. By some miracle, I still had time before dinner prep to catch my breath and, of course, write about my self-inflicted chaos. What is the moral of the story? Maybe don’t ignore your alarms. Or better yet, don’t trust a half-asleep brain to make scheduling decisions. It does not have your best interests at heart.

Posted on

 Snow Day Struggles: Running Plans Thwarted, but Perspective Gained

Written February 19, 2025

reviewed 3/2

Hello Dear Readers,

Well, there goes my run—canceled, thanks to a generous overnight delivery from Mother Nature. Snow blanketed everything, and with temperatures stubbornly hanging below freezing, it’s not melting anytime soon. Schools across Nashville have shut their doors, throwing parents into chaos. Do they brave the roads and head to work, or do they scramble to find last-minute childcare? The great snow day debate. It’s a logistical nightmare for many, but keeping kids safe comes first.

For us, though? Not exactly a crisis. My wife works from home now, a far cry from her former 80-hour-a-week, always-on-the-move lifestyle. She used to thrive on that pace—until I nearly died from a brain stroke. That changed everything. She still brings it up sometimes, but I know there’s a lot she doesn’t say. She doesn’t need to. The shift in her priorities says it all. These days, she avoids crowded spaces, dodges anyone who so much as sniffles, and keeps a close eye on me. To most people, I probably look fine—no obvious signs of past medical issues. But my kidneys are still compromised, and something as minor as a cold could spiral into something serious. My wife knows that. And she never forgets.

Truthfully, I don’t blame her. I worked hard—really hard—to regain as much function as possible. The last thing I want is to put my family through that kind of fear again. Once was more than enough.

Remote work has been a game-changer for her. Some people hate it—too many distractions, not enough structure. But for her? It’s perfect. She thrives on creating processes, developing automation, and solving complex problems that most people wouldn’t even know where to begin. Nothing really breaks her focus. Well, almost nothing. The fear of my near-death experience still lingers in the background, even if she doesn’t always talk about it. Instead of letting it paralyze her, she adapted. If she can’t erase the fear, she can at least manage it—and working from home is part of that strategy.

As for me, I have mixed feelings about today’s forced break. On one hand, I wasn’t exactly excited about an hour-long run in below-freezing temperatures. On the other hand, I don’t like missing scheduled runs. Skipping throws off my rhythm, and I know how easily one missed workout can turn into two, then three. But if I can’t run, I can at least make myself useful.

Shoveling it is. Not the full driveway—that’s asking too much—but enough to clear a path for any brave delivery drivers attempting to make their rounds. Amazon doesn’t care about the weather, and I’d rather not have packages stranded in a snowbank. It’s not the workout I planned, but it’s still movement, and at least it gives me an excuse to step outside.

So, no run today. But I’ll survive. And hopefully, so will my perfectly timed book order.