Written May 28, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
Good news first: by the end of yesterday, my knee had stopped throwing tantrums. Maybe it was all the extra TLC—multiple stretching sessions, the elevated position like it was royalty, and me being unusually gentle with my daily tasks. Whatever the reason, this morning it felt… well, not like a brand-new knee, but like a knee that wasn’t mad at me anymore.
Naturally, I decided to run. Not a record-breaking dash, mind you—more like a polite jog. I didn’t hit my target pace, but hey, considering recent negotiations with my joints, I’ll take a “still functioning” over “speed demon” any day.
The day’s next event? A dental pilgrimage to Brentwood with my wife.
Now, my wife is brave in many ways, but when it comes to needles, doctors, or dentists? Imagine a kitten hiding under a blanket. She always says that having me there calms her nerves, makes things smoother. (Which, honestly, might just be her code for “Please chauffeur me and distract me with your soothing sarcasm.”)
The drive was short—just over ten minutes. Our dentist had sent her to a specialist because something felt off with one of her teeth, but nothing obvious showed up on the scan. Cue suspense music.
She was especially nervous because several years ago, she cracked a tooth from grinding in her sleep. Since then, she’s worn a mouthguard nightly like it’s part of her teeth care ritual. Dental anxiety is real—but so is her commitment to oral health. No matter the cost, she keeps those pearly whites in check.
The twist? Turns out she’d been water-flossing like an overzealous fire hose technician. Too often, too strong, and at an angle so aggressive it practically evicted her gum from her tooth. The irony? All that jet-powered effort meant no infection or gum disease. Just an overworked gum waving a white flag.
Naturally, I was paying attention. I also use a water flosser—set to “Hurricane Mode,” apparently—and now I’m wondering if I’ve been power-washing my mouth like it’s a driveway. Lesson learned.
With chronic kidney disease, I’m more prone to infections—including dental ones. A doctor told me that a decade ago, when I was 35 and still blissfully ignorant of the tooth-gum power struggle. These days, I’m borderline obsessive about oral hygiene. My gums are in good shape, thank you very much, and now they’ll stay that way—minus the water-flossing warfare.
Oh, and before we embarked on our dental saga, I took a moment to examine the lawn. Yesterday’s mowing was more “half-hearted swoop” than “precision landscaping,” but today’s glance told me I’m not too far behind. With any luck (and cooperative weather), I should have it looking civilized again by tomorrow—with minimal whining from either my knee or me.