Category: Self help

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.

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.

So we joined a committee…

We joined a committee today — a very interesting one: a committee of Turkey Vultures.

On my way to the Passenger Prince’s work, there’s a huge group of Turkey Vultures that like to sun their wings on the surrounding trees. I kept calling them a flock, but apparently, the proper term is a committee when they’re perched in trees.

I first noticed them when I started driving the Passenger Prince to work and asked if he had ever seen them. Apparently, he never had. It’s a big group of birds with an impressive wingspan — for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how he’d never noticed them before.

What I’ve learned from being his chauffeur is that we really do notice different things. Once, we were both looking at a new car that passed by and wondered if it might be electric. I looked for the power hookup area while he looked for the exhaust pipe. We laughed when we compared notes — we were both right, just using different methods.

Ever since then, the Passenger Prince and I have been very involved in this committee. We check which trees or buildings they’re perched on, how large the group is that morning, and how they seem to be doing.

It’s a conversation that, if you’d asked me years ago, I would have laughed at the idea of having. But just like our almost forty years together, our marriage and our conversations evolve — and apparently, we even join committees.

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.

From a Passenger Princess to a Warrior Princess

I used to be a passenger princess—and I loved it. My husband did all the driving while I relaxed in the passenger seat, helping with directions, reading a book, or scrolling through social media.

We love road trips, and I probably enjoyed them more because I didn’t have to drive. But then, the seizure came. One moment, my handsome chauffeur was behind the wheel, and the next, I became the driver—and he, the passenger prince.

Let’s just say… he hasn’t adjusted to his new princely status very well. In fact, he’s still learning the etiquette of being a proper passenger prince.

The transition from being the driver (and occasional backseat driver) to sitting quietly in the passenger seat has been a tough one for him. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s asked, “Did you see that car?” or “Why are you taking this route instead of the other one?” and plenty more unsolicited driving commentary.

What’s funny is that for years, I drove the kids around while he never seemed to care how I drove. But now? Suddenly, I’m under review like I’m applying for a chauffeur’s license.

I try to respond with humor—most of the time. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t occasionally want to turn him into a frog.

This new role as the warrior princess behind the wheel doesn’t come with an expiration date. My patience, however, occasionally does.

Here’s hoping he gives me five stars on Yelp.

Puzzling Through BS and RBBB: A (Dark) Humor Guide to Medical After‑Notes

Years ago, when texting was just taking off, I had to teach myself all the lingo—the endless shortcuts, acronyms, and cryptic abbreviations. These days, I find myself learning a brand‑new vocabulary: medical lingo.

I’m not planning to enter the healthcare field anytime soon—this is purely by necessity. My husband had a seizure—at a Costco, of all places—and was rushed by ambulance to the emergency room. A week and a half later, we saw a neurologist, scheduled all the necessary tests, and began collecting the “after‑notes.” After‑notes from the paramedics, from the ER, from the first doctor’s appointment… and I’m bracing myself for more after‑notes from the MRI and EEG.

These after‑notes feel like military orders—packed with shortcuts and initials. Thankfully, I did serve in the military, and I love puzzles. So here I am: deciphering, decoding, trying to understand what happened and what everything means.

Here are a few of the gems I’ve already cracked:

  • BS — not “bullshit,” not “bachelor of science”—it’s blood sugar.
  • BIBA — not a Honda model—brought in by ambulance.
  • NSR — not some sinister government agency—it’s normal sinus rhythm.
  • ED — not the embarrassing kind—it’s emergency department.
  • Hx — not a TV channel—it’s history.
  • RBBB — not about bananas—it’s right bundle branch block.

We’re taking this all very seriously, don’t get me wrong. We’re still waiting for more test results, and until we have clear answers, the dark humor is just part of how we cope. I’m looking forward to meeting the next batch of acronyms with the same dry wit.

Maybe I should launch a TikTok channel just for this: “Medical Lingo Decoded: Episode 1.”