Recovery Update: THE DOT IS GONE! 👁️🎉
Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this update when I woke up this morning.
I got up to head to dialysis, did my usual check of the left eye, and went looking for my little unwanted passenger — the mysterious “air bubble” that has been hanging around in my vision.
And it was SUPER, SUPER SMALL.
We’ve gone from something noticeable at the bottom of my vision, to roughly the size of a 1-cent euro coin yesterday, to something this morning that looked almost like a pinhole.
It was so tiny that it looked different, too.
Before, the dot had been translucent. I could sort of see through it. This morning, it was so small that it just looked dark.
And it was moving around a little.
There were also a few other floaters joining the party, because apparently my left eye needed one final going-away celebration.
Then I got to dialysis.
I looked for the dot again.
Nothing.
Looked around.
Nothing.
Moved my eye.
NOTHING.
THE DOT IS GONE!
GONE! 👁️🎉
After days of calling it a horizon indicator, vinaigrette, an eclipse, a euro coin, and whatever else I could come up with, the mysterious dot that my doctor thought might be an air bubble appears to have finally disappeared from my vision.
I am certainly not declaring the entire eye adventure finished. I still have healing to do, and after everything this eye has put me through, I'm not tempting fate by announcing that Left Eye Airlines has permanently landed.
But today?
I'll take the win.
Now, about that arm...
Yeah.
While the eye seems to have decided it wanted some positive attention today, my arm apparently looked at the assignment and said:
“Don't worry. I'll keep things disgusting.”
It is crusty.
It is dark.
It looks nasty.
And judging by the picture, it may actually be getting more impressive in the grossness department while it heals.
So today's scoreboard:
👁️ Eye: DOT GONE!
🫧 Bubble: Apparently departed.
👀 Floaters: Still making occasional appearances.
💪 Arm: Crusty as hell.
🩹 Recovery: Still moving forward.
There have been a lot of strange developments during this recovery, but watching that dot get smaller day after day and then finally disappear is one update I've been waiting to write.
Sometimes progress happens slowly.
And sometimes I get to dialysis and realize...
THE DOT IS GONE!
Thank You for Reading My Stupidity
A quick and sincere thank-you to everyone who visits this page.
Traffic took a strange turn over the last month, dropping by almost 50 percent at one point. I’m not sure why it happened, but this past Saturday, both the number of unique visitors and total page views finally returned to roughly where they were before the dip.
Over the last 30 days, the page received about 1,000 unique visitors and 1,300 page views. What surprised me most was where everyone came from. The China led the way with 710 visits, followed by the United States with 249, plus readers in Brazil, the United Kingdom, and elsewhere.
Nearly all the traffic was listed as “direct.” I believe that means many of you are typing in the address, using a bookmark, or otherwise arriving without another website getting credit for sending you here. However you found the place, I’m glad you did.
So, thank you to the folks in The China—and to everyone else, wherever you may be reading my stupidity from. I truly appreciate every visit, every page view, and every person who keeps coming back.
How Did the Date Go?
Remember the big news?
After weeks of The Hinge Experiment™, endless “Good mornings,” unanswered questions, Kelli being sent to the unmatched graveyard, and Steve the Iguana patiently waiting for his opportunity to become my wingman...
I HAD A DATE!
Well, potentially.
Sort of.
Maybe.
Okay, fine.
So, Niel... How Did the Date Go?
Great question. I would like to know.
Because...
She never responded.
Yep.
Welcome back to online dating, everybody!
Last time we checked in with “Missing Me,” things had taken an almost unbelievable turn.
I asked:
“Whatcha doing this weekend? Can I take you out?”
Eventually, she responded:
“That would be nice.”
Holy crap!
We did it!
Two people matched on a dating app and were potentially going to use the dating app for its alleged intended purpose:
GOING ON A DATE.
I asked about Saturday.
She couldn't do Saturday.
But then came the magical words:
“Sunday I could be.”
SUNDAY IT IS!
I suggested Tydz because it kept appearing in my algorithm. I'd never been there. I've barely explored Myrtle Beach or Surfside. It seemed like a fun place to grab something to eat and actually meet each other.
And then...
Nothing.
Houston, We Have Lost Contact
Saturday evening arrived.
Still nothing.
So I decided to eliminate another obstacle.
I sent her my real number.
Basically:
Here's my number. If you'd like to grab a bite, call or text me.
Easy.
No pressure.
No carrier pigeon.
No Morse Code.
No requirement to solve a CAPTCHA proving she could identify all the motorcycles in nine squares.
Just...
Call or text.
And then I waited.
Sunday morning came.
No response.
Sunday afternoon?
Nothing.
Sunday evening?
Still nothing.
At some point, Schrödinger's Date stopped being both alive and dead.
The cat was dead.
Wait... Weren't We Going Out?
This is the part of modern dating I genuinely don't understand.
She said:
“Sunday I could be.”
I responded:
“Ok, Sunday it is!”
That seems like progress!
Now, yes, we hadn't agreed on a time. She hadn't confirmed the restaurant. Technically, we didn't have a fully confirmed date.
But I wasn't exactly being subtle about my intentions.
Would you like to go out?
Yes.
Are you available?
Sunday.
How about this place?
...
Hello?
Anybody?
Bueller?
One Last Message
Yesterday morning, I sent one more message:
“I hope you are well. If you aren't, what can I do? When you are ready to meet, you have my number. Hope to hear from you.”
And that's where I'm leaving it.
She has my number.
She knows I wanted to meet her.
She knows I was willing to drive.
She knows I wanted to take her out.
There really isn't anything else for me to do.
I'm certainly not going to keep sending:
Good morning!
Good afternoon!
Good evening!
Good night!
At some point I'd stop being a potential date and become a talking grandfather clock.
Maybe Something Happened
I also want to be fair.
I don't know what happened.
Maybe something came up.
Maybe she got nervous.
Maybe she changed her mind.
Maybe life happened.
Maybe she's talking to someone else.
Maybe she opened Hinge, saw the message and thought, “I'll answer that later,” and then forgot.
So I'm not angry.
I'm not offended.
I'm mostly...
confused.
Because we're right back to the question I've been asking throughout this entire experiment:
How do people actually date anymore?
If you're not interested, that's okay.
If you've changed your mind, that's okay.
If you're not ready to meet, that's okay.
Just communicate.
Even:
“Hey, I've changed my mind.”
That's a complete sentence!
I'll survive.
The Hinge Experiment Continues... Somehow
So, for anyone eagerly awaiting the first official date report from The Hinge Experiment:
There isn't one.
No dinner.
No awkward first-date conversation.
No debating who pays the check.
No wondering whether there will be a second date.
No opportunity for me to completely overshare and tell her about this blog.
Nothing.
“Missing Me” lived up to the name.
She went missing.
And somewhere along the South Carolina coast, I can only imagine Steve the Iguana staring out toward the ocean, thinking:
“You should've called me from the beginning.”
You're right, Steve.
You're right.
The Hinge Experiment continues.
But the reptile plan is looking better every day.
Finding Emily: Sometimes I Just Need a Rom-Com
People getting unalived. Dinosaurs. Jason Statham kicking everyone's ass.
Apparently, I needed a break.
So I watched Finding Emily, a British rom-com involving a musician who loves love, a mysterious woman dressed as a fairy, a phone number missing ONE FREAKING DIGIT, and a psychology student who thinks our entire notion of romantic love may be archaic.
What could possibly go wrong?
It reminded me a little of a John Hughes movie with its use of music, while the British humor brought back some of what I love about Notting Hill, Four Weddings and a Funeral, and Love Actually.
There's even Minnie Driver—and an Emily who kept making me think of a young Amy Adams in Enchanted.
Is it predictable? It's a rom-com. Of course it is.
But sometimes I need some music, British cheekiness, romance, and maybe even an inner—or OUTSIDE—cry.
🎬 Watch my full Finding Emily movie review at NielFlamm.com/videos/moviereviews
An Unpopular Argument: How the Clancy Defense May Set Women Back Politically
This may be an unpopular position. Questioning the arguments made in support of Lindsay Clancy can easily be mistaken for dismissing postpartum illness or lacking compassion for a family devastated by tragedy. That is not the argument being made here.
Postpartum psychosis is real, serious, and deserving of greater public awareness. Clancy was also entitled to present every legally relevant defense available to her. The concern is that the way some supporters describe that defense—particularly their emphasis on hormones and sleep deprivation—may unintentionally reinforce one of the oldest arguments against electing a woman president: that women’s biology makes them unreliable under pressure.
Clancy’s lawyers did not claim that ordinary hormonal fluctuations made her irresponsible. They argued that she was experiencing postpartum psychosis, a rare psychiatric emergency, and therefore lacked criminal responsibility when she killed her three children. According to the defense, an underlying bipolar disorder, medication changes, disrupted sleep, and postpartum biological changes contributed to a profound break with reality. The prosecution disputed that account, and the trial ended in a mistrial when jurors could not agree on criminal responsibility. Associated Press
That was an argument about one defendant’s mental condition. The broader political danger arises when supporters transform it into a sweeping narrative about hormones, motherhood, and female vulnerability.
Some supporters portray Clancy primarily as a victim of postpartum biology, emphasizing that hormonal changes and exhaustion deprived her of control. Although this may be intended to promote compassion and maternal mental-health awareness, imprecise versions of the argument can validate the stereotype that women become irrational or incapable of making responsible decisions when their hormones change.
Postpartum psychosis is not an ordinary female emotion. It is an uncommon and severe condition that can involve delusions, hallucinations, paranoia, mania, and confusion. Researchers have investigated hormonal changes and sleep deprivation as possible contributing factors, alongside bipolar-spectrum illness, genetics, immune mechanisms, and circadian disruption. Clinical review in Focus Cleveland Clinic
When supporters reduce this complicated condition to “hormones and lack of sleep,” however, they make it easier for opponents of female leadership to misuse the case. Women running for office have long faced suggestions that menstruation, pregnancy, menopause, or emotion make them incapable of exercising sound judgment. Research examining Hillary Clinton’s 2016 campaign found that attacks on her health and stamina drew upon gendered assumptions about women’s fitness for leadership. Women’s Studies in Communication
The presidency makes this framing especially concerning. Presidents operate under tremendous pressure and may experience interrupted or inadequate sleep during national emergencies. Sleep deficiency can impair judgment, problem-solving, emotional control, and adaptability in people of every sex. National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute
Yet inadequate sleep in male leaders is often presented as evidence of dedication or endurance. When discussed in connection with women, it can instead become supposed evidence of instability. Supporters who treat sleep deprivation as central proof that Clancy could not control herself risk strengthening that double standard.
This criticism will make some people uncomfortable. It asks supporters of a sympathetic cause to consider whether their language could have harmful consequences. But acknowledging those consequences does not require denying Clancy’s illness, prejudging her legal responsibility, or minimizing the importance of postpartum healthcare.
A defendant is entitled to a defense based on her individual medical condition. The setback occurs when public advocacy abandons that individual focus. Saying that a particular person experienced a rare psychotic disorder is fundamentally different from suggesting that the normal biological experiences of women make them less responsible for their actions.
Supporters who blur that line may give new language to people already inclined to question whether a woman can handle military conflict, national tragedy, sleep disruption, or the constant pressure of the presidency.
There is no evidence establishing that the Clancy defense has directly reduced a woman’s electoral prospects. But political stereotypes do not require sound evidence to survive. They grow through repetition, emotionally powerful examples, and careless generalization.
Those who support Clancy’s defense should therefore describe it accurately: an individualized claim involving severe mental illness, not a declaration about women’s hormones. Otherwise, an argument intended to protect one woman could be appropriated to diminish the perceived competence of millions—including women seeking the nation’s highest office.