Tag: books

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.

Living with a Height Difference: Shelf Life Struggles

We are a house divided, but not by sports teams or political views. It’s something far more concrete—our height—and, more specifically, where we place things on shelves.

I’m what you might call fun-sized, or, as others might say, petite, vertically challenged, or short. My other half, however, is above average height—at 6’2″, we literally have a whole foot of difference between us. I’ve been short all my life, so this was hardly a surprise to him when we got married.

I used to wear heels—heck, I could even run in them. But in the last 30 years, things have changed. Since having kids, I swapped stilettos for sneakers. Playgrounds, strollers, and dog walking are much easier in flats!

Now, my taller half prefers everything to be placed higher up. As for me? I constantly need a step stool just to reach anything. I’ve developed a rather uncanny ability to use everyday utensils to grab things from high shelves, but let’s be real—I’d much rather have everything within reach.

I always thought it was easier to bend down than to reach up, but I might have been wrong. He can never seem to find anything that’s at my eye level. Meanwhile, I’ve learned that shelves at my height are the perfect place to hide things in plain sight from him.

I really tried to compromise. I moved some everyday items to a taller shelf, but that didn’t seem to solve the problem.

Yesterday, he complained about not finding anything because I’d put all the common items on lower shelves. I reminded him, jokingly, that I’ve always been short. He didn’t have a response. Guess there’s no winning when it comes to height!

Laughing at Parenthood: Dreams, Gas Tanks, and Growing Up

I got an angry phone call from my daughter today. Not that this is unusual, but this time it was funny. Apparently, she dreamt that I took her car without telling her, changed all of her settings, and then left it in the middle of the street. I asked her if I also left her gas tank empty, and she said, “No.”

During my kids’ teenage years, when we had only two cars, my car would frequently be returned to me with all the settings messed up and with an empty gas tank. So, hearing her complain about this in a dream felt like semi payback, even if it was just in her subconscious.

I’m thinking of giving her suggestions for future dreams—like leaving the kitchen clean and coming back to find the sink full, or folding and ironing laundry, only to discover it smooshed because someone sat on it. I could also suggest dreaming of empty containers in the refrigerator and pantry, so when she thinks there’s still milk or butter, all she finds is an empty container and is left with black coffee instead.

Social media is full of funny stories and skits about parents getting payback for their kids’ shenanigans once they become adults and parents themselves. And truthfully, it is funny. But watching our kids become adults is a whole different experience.

One of my gym friends showed me pictures of her new grandbaby and mentioned how enlightening it is to see our kids as parents. She said she never knew how her son would be as a dad, and it was awe-inspiring to witness the transition into full adulthood.

I haven’t experienced that yet, but I’m looking forward to it. My middle child is getting married in six months, and I can’t wait to see her as a wife and, eventually, a mother. Oh, and I really can’t wait to hear her complain about the food missing from the fridge and the empty gas tank in her car.