Navigating Health Challenges: A Journey with the Passenger Prince

The Passenger Prince and the Scissors

My Passenger Prince woke up this morning with a spring in his step and went straight for the scissors — gladly, and with purpose. Such great enthusiasm for scissors hasn’t been seen in our family since he cut the umbilical cord for each of our kids.

The Prince had been tethered to an EEG machine for the last three days on our never-ending quest to figure out what happened to his brain — and why he had a seizure at fifty-nine.

On Friday, we went to get the EEG machine. The technician placed the electrodes all over his head and wrapped it like a mummy. Luckily, it was Halloween, so at least for a day his appearance didn’t draw any strange looks.

The Prince was confined to the house under strict instructions: no showers, no sweating. One day was meant to be an easy “just-watch-TV” kind of day; the next was supposed to “engage his brain.” So, I found some math quizzes online and left them for him. He also started a puzzle that will never be completed and tackled a few brain teasers to keep those neurons firing.

My Passenger Prince is usually on the move, so keeping him confined was no small feat.

Three nights of a camera observing him sleep added to the “fun” — for both of us. He had a hard time sleeping with all the cables, and I had a hard time sleeping with the camera’s night-light mode glowing in the room. I like to sleep in complete darkness.

We are both tired — him from the uncomfortable sleep, and me from the lack of it. We do have a guest room with a perfectly good bed, but it’s not our comfy bed, and so we endured.

And now, we wait again. Ten days until we get the results, and then another neurology appointment to see what’s next. Maybe this time, we’ll get some answers.

Until then, we’ll keep going — and “enjoy” our daily drives, grateful for small comforts and hopeful for clarity ahead.

Conversations from the Driver’s Seat

My life as a driver continues—although I got a break yesterday, as my husband had a friend take him to work. That gave me the rare opportunity to sleep in. Well, to “sleep in” until 7:20 a.m., when Shuki, the family dog, decided I’d slept enough.

I needed a driving break—not because driving itself was the problem, but because someone at work decided to stick an early meeting on my calendar. A meeting I couldn’t take from the car because, of course, they needed to see my face.

Not all meetings are productive. This one definitely wasn’t. Not due to lack of preparation or context, but because of the participants.

When we’re faced with change—professional or personal—we’re not always open to it. There’s fear involved: fear of leaving our comfort zones and confronting challenges that force us to adapt. I couldn’t quite understand the strong reaction in that meeting. I saw the big picture. I had already been part of the transition being discussed. So I was surprised by the resistance.

Back in the driver’s seat today, I shared all of this with my husband. He offered a perspective I hadn’t considered: that people often resist change not because they don’t understand it, but because they’re afraid—afraid of having to learn new things, of stepping into unfamiliar roles, of failing.

Driving still isn’t something I enjoy. I much prefer my “passenger princess” role. We’re still waiting on his medical test results, which is why I’ve taken on this new morning routine. But these forced drives have brought one unexpected benefit: the chance to talk. With our opposing work schedules, we rarely get that during the week.

I still get annoyed when he tells me how to drive. But I do appreciate these small, quiet moments we share together.

Who Saved Who? My Journey with Shuki and the Power of Patience

Patience is not a strong virtue of mine. In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t possess such a trait. I’m one of those people who need things done yesterday, even if the idea just crossed my mind three seconds ago.

We adopted a rescue dog several weeks ago, and we have no knowledge of her age or past, other than the fact that she was malnourished, neglected, and abused. With rescue dogs, there’s the 3-3-3 rule: you need a lot of patience. The first three days, the dog decompresses from the transition. The next three weeks, the dog settles into its new routine. And around three months, the adopted dog truly settles in and understands they are safe. Of course, every dog takes their own time and behaves a little differently. But the key to a successful adoption is providing a safe environment, training, and—most importantly—patience.

Patience. Again, not one of my strong suits, but in this case, a necessity. Shuki, the Airedale, has been with us for almost six weeks now. It took time for her to realize that I am safe and won’t harm her. In the beginning, she was afraid of even my smallest movements. She ate her food like a vacuum at light speed. She learned her name, responds to it, and is getting better and stronger every day.

Some days feel like the movie 50 First Dates—every morning, it’s like we’re starting the bonding process from scratch, even though she’s been with us for weeks. Unfortunately, like the movie, I can’t ask her to relive the past through a highlight reel of her last six weeks.

And once again, patience is needed. You often see bumper stickers with the saying “Who saved who?” I’m learning that this is true. Shuki is learning to trust, and in return, she’s teaching me the invaluable lesson of patience—something I never thought I’d master at my age. For that, I am grateful.

Apparently, Even Socks Tell a Story

Over the last almost two years, I lost a quarter of my body weight. Between the GLP-1 injections, the gym, and Pilates reformer classes, I would love to say it was all thanks to healthy eating—but that wasn’t always the case.

After losing all that weight, I expected to need new clothes: underwear, bras, the usual. What surprised me the most, though, was the fact that I needed new socks.

As I lost weight, my feet actually shrank. They became narrower. My socks, which had apparently stretched to accommodate my old weight, were now loose, stretched out, and uncomfortable.

I naturally have small feet, and socks—unless they’re kids’ sizes—never fit perfectly anyway. Still, I was genuinely surprised to discover that new socks were necessary.

The year is ending, and a new one is beginning in just a couple of days. Many of us go through a mental checklist: what we accomplished, what we struggled with, and what falls somewhere in between.

We usually focus on the obvious big things—getting a promotion, starting a new job, hitting a major milestone.

But just like my socks, we often forget to count the smaller, less obvious successes.

One of my goals this year was to become more organized. Unfortunately, my nature isn’t so easy to change. But my pantry is—and, to my great delight, it’s still organized several months later.

My home office still looks like a mess, but my little “sock/pantry” success counts.

We tend to look only for the big, obvious wins right in front of us. Maybe we need to shift our perspective and start noticing the smaller, unexpected victories too.

26 Pairs of Yoga Pants and a Forced Vacation

There is nothing more fun than getting sick on vacation. Unfortunately, this is not the first time—and probably not the last.

When we went to China, pre-COVID, I came back with a nasty respiratory infection that took three months and antibiotics to clear. In Thailand, again pre-COVID, I had a terrible case of vertigo that completely threw me off. In Hawaii, two months before COVID, I came back with severe bronchitis and almost broke a rib from coughing. And this pattern has just continued through the years.

I am now on a forced vacation. Our workplace goes through a shutdown during the December holidays, and once again, my lungs are not happy. Interestingly, all my symptoms started after getting a flu shot. Coincidence? Maybe.

I had many plans for this shutdown: tidying my home office, planning ahead for 2026 for my side hustles, and going through my closet to donate all the clothes I no longer like or haven’t worn in ages.

Instead, I sat with a cup of tea, a tissue in hand, and felt miserable. Today, I felt a little better and managed to go through one shelf. To my great surprise, I discovered I own 26 pairs of yoga pants. When I told my friend, she asked, “Do you wear them all?”

Of course not, I replied. I wear the same four pairs that are always on top. So six pairs went into the donation pile, three pairs with holes went straight into the trash—without a proper Marie Kondo goodbye. It’s not a lot, but I’m celebrating this small win.

Am I upset that I got sick? Yes. But it did force me to rest and to pause. I watched silly TV shows, videos of my favorite—Nate the Hoof Guy—and took naps. In a way, it gave me permission to slow down.

I still have a couple more days off, and who knows what I’ll accomplish—if anything. And that’s absolutely okay.

The Garage Isn’t Done — But I’m Still Proud

In 2025, I started a mission to declutter. It started well, and I did manage to get through quite a lot. My goal was to have a usable two-car garage by the end of the year. But as of today, the 28th, the garage is still a one-car garage and one cluttered space.

The boxes are still there, the chandeliers we took down are still there, and so is the mess. As I’m writing this, I realize that I am my own worst enemy. Instead of being happy with what I achieved, I’m focusing on the glass being half empty.

Yes, my mission wasn’t completed, but we need to celebrate small achievements sometimes. We cleared one big shelf in the garage and donated many unused items. I finally cleared out the bathroom vanities in preparation for the bathroom remodels we’re planning for 2026 — I even chose the backsplash.

I went through all the prescription and over-the-counter medications in the house and tossed the expired ones. I also sent all the GLP injections I had to the proper disposal area.

I looked through my makeup, tossed the old products, bought some new ones (of course), and simplified my already simple routine.

We also made progress in our living room. We got a new sofa, built a cute corner library, and started working on the plants we love in that space. It’s not finished yet, but it’s getting there.

This year included both great events and challenges that affected our progress. Our middle child got married, and shortly after, my husband had a seizure. That put all decluttering on pause as we tried to understand what went wrong and adjust to our new lifestyle.

For 2026, my goal is to continue this mission — to reclaim a quarter of the garage and finish working on the office and all the paperwork stored in boxes. I’m trying to keep my goals manageable by breaking them into one small assignment per week. I’ll plan ahead, write everything down, and track my progress. And if I don’t complete everything, that will be okay too.

Here’s hoping 2026 brings fewer challenges and more balance.

 Choosing Purpose Over Pay

I choose to live my life with purpose and joy—and that choice extends to my work.

I worked eleven days in a row again—not by choice, but by necessity. Part of it was for my division, and part of it was for our parent company.

As my direct boss kept pointing out, “You’re not getting paid extra for this—why are you doing it?”

I’m an exempt employee, so in reality, it doesn’t matter how much I work. I could work two hours or twenty-four in a day, and my salary would stay the same. Maybe my bonus will be bigger, but I don’t have high hopes for that.

Yes, I wasn’t paid extra for this assignment. But I’m at a stage in my life—and my career—where I care deeply about having interest in what I do. I outgrew my current job years ago and chose to stay because it gives me flexibility. That flexibility allows me to take care of my two other loves (besides my husband and kids): my dog and my Pilates class. It also gives me the freedom to manage my side hustles.

When my boss mentioned—again—that I shouldn’t be working for another division because I wasn’t getting paid, I was taken aback. It wasn’t the response I expected, especially from someone in management.

I later told my husband how everything went down, and he pointed out that her reaction reflected her perspective, likely shaped by her own issues with management, and was not a reflection of my actions.

He was right, of course. I might even tell him that one day.

In the meantime, I’ll continue carving my own path at work—choosing projects that bring me joy and fulfillment—until the day I decide to retire and turn my side hustles into my full-time focus.

All the Dogs I Loved Before

All the Dogs I Loved Before

Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson sang a duet in 1984 about all the girls they loved before.
 In my humble opinion, the lyrics should change to all the dogs I loved before.

This morning, while I was driving the Passenger Prince, we saw a Wheaten Terrier. Our first “together” dog was a Wheaten. By pure coincidence, this week also marks the anniversary of our Wheaten’s passing.

Our Wheaten—the Wonder Dog—was the Prince’s dog, and I was the spare human. The Wonder Dog was wicked smart and an incredible family dog. The Prince still talks about him as if he were an angel. The Wonder Dog had many shenanigans and loved to one-up the Prince all the time. He was great—but the Prince tends to forget that the Wonder Dog once broke a window when his arch nemesis walked by, or how he managed to reach the counter (despite his short stature) and eat all the bread. He was our first counter-surfer, and we learned a lot from his antics. We had to completely dog-proof the house!

Coincidentally, a couple of weeks ago was the “Gotcha Day” for our second dog together. She was amazing—my dog—and he was the spare human that time. She died unexpectedly, but we were fortunate to have her with us for six wonderful years.

We mourned both dogs deeply. I still cry when I think about them.
Our third “together” dog is our latest—she’s a heart healer and pure joy. She’s a rescue, and on many days, I think she rescued us from sadness.

Seeing that Wheaten this morning made us both smile. As we drove to work, we felt happy and full of memories. By the time I dropped the Prince off, we had already agreed: our next dog will be a Wheaten.

Afterward, I checked my Spotify playlist and added Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson’s duet—because, after all, it really is about all the dogs I loved before.

The Scale, the Dog, and the Skinny Prince

The passenger Prince complained this morning that he cannot lose half a pound. He was lucky I did not throw a shoe at him. Passenger Prince is a six-foot-two man who weighs 165 pounds — and that is only if the dog puts her paw on the scale when he stands on it.

And me: a five-foot-nothing post menopausal woman, on Wegovy, who does Pilates four times a week, exercises and takes 10,000 steps a day. After losing 45 pounds in a year and a half, I still weigh the same as I did the day I had my last baby.

Technically I can tell people that it’s still pregnancy weight — except the baby is twenty-five with a job and a 401(k). But who would want to argue with a postmenopausal woman?

Having a skinny, tall husband is not great for self-esteem, especially at my age. Before the Wegovy, hearing him complain about his weight was not easy. Luckily for him, I lost my hearing and could tune him out when he complained.

I weigh less than him now after 18 months of injections and lots of Pilates and gym visits. But alas — it is what it is: him being a skinny, tall man, and me being a curvy, petite woman. And yes there is a shoe in one hand, ready to be thrown.

Bruised, Busy and Still Standing

I took a day off from everything today. Well, almost everything.

Yesterday my day was hectic. I woke up at 6:30am — walked the dog, dropped the Passenger Prince at his doctor’s appointment, ran to get my blood test, ran back to pick up the Passenger Prince from his doctor’s appointment, and drove him to work.

All this before 9am and before my coffee.
All this after I got bitten by a dog on my morning walk, all this with a big nasty bruise on my non–model-worthy leg.

A lady with a new dog approached us this morning and told us how friendly her dog was and let it get closer to us. Turns out her dog was not so friendly, and my Airedale decided to protect me. I ended up between the dogs — and I got hurt.

I called my mom on my drive from dropping the prince at work. I was told to put a cabbage leaf on my leg. Sadly, the only cabbage we had was already in the soup, and there were no extra leaves around for my leg.

My long day continued with going to work. At work I Scotch-taped an ice pack to my swollen leg and got home past 9pm.
Dog walk again, shower, and two painkillers later — I was dead asleep.

So today, I took the day off from everything. Well, almost everything. I still woke up, took the dog on a walk, drove the prince to work, and did laundry.
My leg has all sorts of rainbow colors now, and apparently my non-existent leg modeling career is over.

So yes, I took the day off — if you ignore the walking, driving, and laundry. My leg is now a masterpiece of purples and greens, and my modeling career is officially over before it began. Maybe tomorrow I’ll rest for real… or maybe I’ll just buy a cabbage. 🥬

When My Husband Asked: What’s Wrong with Gluten?

I was asked the most bizarre question today by the Passenger Prince.
He asked me, “What’s the problem with gluten?”

In a regular household, this question might not seem strange. But in our house—where three of us have Celiac disease—it was downright shocking.

I, the Passenger Prince’s wife, was diagnosed when I was thirty-nine, almost twenty years ago. Two out of our three kids received the lovely Celiac gene as well.

I was driving the Prince to work when he asked me this question, and I almost stopped the car in astonishment.

The man saw what I went through before I was diagnosed. He saw our daughter’s health deteriorate until she was a shadow of herself. And yet, he still asked that question.

After I collected myself for a mini second, I asked him where this was coming from. Apparently, Dr. Google had suggested that going gluten-free could help with seizures.

As much as I appreciate Dr. Google’s extensive medical training, I told him he should talk to a neurologist—or at least a nutritionist.

I’ve been gluten-free for many, many years now. But every once in a while, I miss a normal-sized slice of bread, good pasta, and the freedom of eating anywhere without reading labels or worrying about cross-contamination. I still get excited when I discover new gluten-free pizza options at Costco.

So back to his “silly” question: Gluten is great—very tasty, even. But for us Celiacs, gluten is the enemy and even after twenty years gluten-free, the learning never ends — especially in our house.

How to Shower Wrong: A Tired Person’s Guide

Or Waterproof? Asking for My Hearing Aids.

The unthinkable happened this weekend — I forgot to take my hearing aids off before getting into the shower. First time ever in five years that this has happened to me.

Hearing aids are expensive. These were my first pair, the ones I got when I first lost my hearing, and they were very expensive. Back then, we had great insurance that covered the full cost of a top-of-the-line pair. That was several insurance companies ago.

Ever since then, I’ve dreaded getting them wet or breaking them. They’re my lifeline. Usually, the first thing I do before stepping into the shower is touch my ears to make sure they’re out.

But today, I forgot.

I was tired — I hadn’t been sleeping well for the last couple of nights. The Passenger Prince had to do a 72-hour at-home EEG study, which meant a camera was set up on him at night. The camera had night vision, and that little light kept waking me up. I like complete darkness when I sleep. I thought about crashing in my home office but decided against it for the sake of comfort. Comfort that completely escaped me this weekend.

My Passenger Prince, who on a normal day would enjoy me running out of the shower naked, was not thrilled with my sprint this time. As soon as I noticed my aids still in my ears, I bolted out of the shower to dry them off — dripping water all over the bathroom and the laminate floor in our bathroom.

Maybe tonight I’ll finally sleep.