Category: Self help

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.”

Even Iron Breaks

My mom called me an Iron Lady this week.
I come from a long line of strong Iron Ladies — not by choice, but by necessity and circumstance.

It’s been a tough week: an ER visit, a mountain of doctor’s appointments and medical procedures, all while still working and trying desperately to manage everything else around me.

Restful sleep? Not an option. I woke up every hour to make sure my other half was okay.

The house looks like Pompeii — everything is exactly the way it was when I got the call that he was taken to the emergency room. Frozen in place: the dishes, the kitchen counter, and most of the house.

I’ve been functioning on a need-only basis, literally running on fumes.

And today, it finally hit me: I’m tired. I’m exhausted — physically and emotionally.

I told my mom, “Even iron corrodes and breaks. Sure, it’s strong, but it doesn’t have limitless power.”

I also joked, “I probably need some WD-40 at this point,” and she laughed.

But truthfully?
I don’t want to be an Iron Lady.
I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to be angry.

But I can’t.
At least, not right now.

My Wegovy Journey: Weight Loss, Wellness, and Dancing at My Daughter’s Wedding

I’ve lost almost 45 pounds over the last eighteen months. My endocrinologist, gastroenterologist, and cardiologist all agreed that weight loss would be key to getting my health back on track. In fact, I had a prescription and insurance approval for eight months before I finally went to get it filled — and I’ve been on Wegovy ever since.

Being in your late fifties with autoimmune diseases, insulin resistance, and menopause is not easy. For years, I gained two pounds a month, no matter what I did. Yes, I’m active. I walk 10,500 steps a day, go to the gym, and take reformer Pilates classes. But it didn’t seem to matter — I couldn’t lose weight. I just kept gaining.

My husband always had suggestions: exercise more, eat fewer calories, try intermittent fasting. Trust me, I tried them all — and nothing worked. Lucky for him, he’s a six-foot-tall man who can shed weight easily. I, on the other hand, am a curvy, petite woman who’s had three kids.

I was worried about side effects from the medication — I tend to be very sensitive. But to my surprise and relief, Wegovy helped in unexpected ways. My IBS improved dramatically. I was less bloated, and the constant nausea I used to live with finally stopped. I no longer have to plan my day around knowing where every bathroom is. That, in itself, felt like a small miracle.

When someone asked me what my goal weight was, they were surprised by my answer. My goal wasn’t a number on the scale — it was about my cholesterol and blood sugar levels.

My life hasn’t changed drastically, but I’ve dropped two sizes. I bought a few new outfits, and now I fit better in my old clothes too. But perhaps the best moment? I danced all night at my daughter’s wedding — something I wouldn’t have been able to do a year and a half ago.

I feel better. I sleep better. And now, I’m waiting to see those blood test results come back in range — the final confirmation that I’m truly back on track.

The Sounds We Forget to Hear

The Sounds We Forget to Hear

Hearing is something most of us take for granted. We rarely pause to notice the sounds that surround us—the rustle of leaves, the hum of traffic, the laughter of children. Instead, we walk through life plugged into headphones, filling every moment with music, podcasts, or phone calls. We wear them when we walk, talk, commute, and definitely when we exercise.

This week, my youngest made crème brûlée. She’s been perfecting her recipes lately and this time offered dairy-free, vegan, and lactose-free options. In our household, that’s not just a nice gesture—it’s a necessity. We are a home full of celiacs, lactose-free lifestyles, and IBS sufferers. My children, poor things, didn’t need a genetic test to prove maternity—they inherited all my “fun” genes: the celiac gene, the IBS gene, and definitely the lactose intolerance gene.

But here’s the moment that gave me pause: as she torched the sugar on top of the crème brûlée, I heard it. The delicate, satisfying crackle of caramelizing sugar. That beautiful, subtle sound was only possible for me to enjoy because I had my hearing aids in. Without them, I’d have missed it entirely. That tiny moment of joy made me think about how much we miss when we don’t stop and really listen.

Take Charlie, our neighborhood squirrel. Charlie is something of a local character—and a sworn enemy of our dogs. (They’re terriers. It’s instinct.) Charlie, bold as ever, hisses at them from his perch on the tree. Every time he does it and I actually hear it, I can’t help but laugh. It’s such a strange, small sound—one I never noticed before hearing aids. But now I hear it, and every time I do, I’m delighted.

When I was younger, my mother used to warn me: “Don’t listen to music so loud—you’ll ruin your hearing!” I wish that was the reason I have hearing loss. But for me, it’s just part of the hand I was dealt.

I remember the day I got my first hearing aids. My audiologist looked at me and said, “Just a heads-up—the world is loud.” She wasn’t wrong. It is loud. But it’s also incredible. Hearing the world—even when it’s loud—is a gift.

So if you can hear the birds in the morning, the hiss of a squirrel, or the crackle of sugar on a homemade dessert—pause for a moment. Take your headphones off. Listen. The world has so much to say, and it’s worth hearing.