Taking Care of Myself Was a Lesson I Learned the Hard Way

This morning, my mother was in the day room at the skilled nursing facility. She had finished her fruit and was drinking coffee while talking with a CNA student.

As I watched, she seemed to become agitated.

“We were looking for your nurse,” the student said.

I asked Mom what was wrong. She told me she had been waiting three or four hours to get cleaned up. She was losing her patience.

That was her account of the wait. I hadn’t been there the whole time. But I could see her frustration, and I could understand wanting help with something she could no longer easily do herself.

This post isn’t an assessment of the facility or its service. That moment brought up something personal for me: the responsibility I have to take care of myself when I have choices.

I am accountable for myself and the decisions I make.

For a long time, my mother didn’t see a physician. She wasn’t taking medication to manage chronic illness, and stress was a regular part of her life.

She was also my father's primary caregiver. From what I witnessed, he expected a great deal from her, including managing his medications and meals. Her own health needed attention while she was carrying those responsibilities.

Then she had her first stroke. Later, she had a second.

I can’t say exactly what caused either stroke. But I worry about the years her health went unattended and the opportunities there might have been to address it.

She was making progress after the first stroke. After the second, she lost some of that ground.

I don’t know whether she ever imagined living in a skilled nursing facility or planning a move into assisted living. Before her second stroke, I had spoken to her about the possibility of needing that level of care if her health continued to decline.

Watching her struggle now brings me no satisfaction in having raised that concern. I wish she had more independence. I wish everyday things were easier for her.

And I recognize something of myself in her situation.

I didn’t make my health a priority either.

I didn’t manage my diabetes. I didn’t see a physician. I behaved as though I were invincible, as though there would always be time to deal with my health later.

I learned, painfully, that there wasn’t an unlimited supply of “later.”

In my case, an open wound led to an infection, then sepsis, and eventually an above-the-knee amputation.

Those consequences became part of my everyday life. I couldn’t undo them by finally understanding how serious things had become.

Today, I take my medications seriously. I don’t miss my Ozempic shot. I take my medication for anxiety, my GERD medication, and the other medicines that are part of my care. I show up for dialysis.

I would like to keep the body parts I have left. And I hope a donor kidney will eventually become part of my future.

I still have a life to live, and taking care of myself helps make that possible.

Being accountable doesn’t mean I believe every illness is preventable or that someone who becomes ill has failed. I know people can do everything asked of them and still face devastating health problems.

My mother deserves timely, respectful care now, regardless of her past decisions. Her frustration matters.

I can hold that belief and still be honest about the choices I made in my own life. I put off appointments. I neglected my diabetes. I treated my health as something that could wait.

I paid a price I’m still living with.

I’m sharing this because I hope someone reading it will recognize their own habit of putting things off and take a step toward caring for themselves. Make the appointment you’ve been avoiding. Have the honest conversation about what you’re struggling to manage. Ask for help, especially if caring for someone else has left you with little energy for yourself.

I wish I had done those things sooner.

I can’t change that history. I can take responsibility for what I do today.

And I hope you get to learn that lesson more gently than I did.

Coffee, Cold Cuts, and the Donna Woods Show

Before visiting Mom this morning, I stopped at Harris Teeter to pick up a few things.

A salad for me. Two slices each of turkey, roast beef, and Swiss cheese for Mom. Literally two slices each—she told me she doesn’t eat much, and I was following instructions.

I also picked up a fruit cup with pineapple, strawberries, and melon.

Then I stopped at McDonald’s for a small coffee using points. A little grocery shopping, a little rewards redemption. I was feeling reasonably accomplished before I even reached the facility.

I dropped a few things in Mom’s room and headed toward the day room with the rest. I could see her in the distance.

I walked in, and guess who was there?

Donna Woods.

“Niel!”

“Hello, Donna Woods!”

There’s something nice about walking into a room and hearing someone call your name. A few visits ago, Donna was someone I’d just met. Now we have a greeting.

She said something else immediately afterward, delivered at her usual 200 miles an hour.

I have absolutely no idea what it was.

The television was playing Chicago P.D. at a volume that suggested the day room had been asked to assist with the investigation.

Between the television and Donna’s conversational pace, I could establish that words were being spoken. Beyond that, I would have needed subtitles.

But Donna had company.

A group of CNA students was gathered around her, and she was putting on a show.

I don’t know what was on their lesson plan for the morning, but they had arrived in time for the Donna Woods portion of the curriculum.

I’ve seen her round people up for Coffee Chats, greet nurses, meet new residents, and check on Mom. Yesterday, she approved my shoes. Today, she had an audience.

Her calendar appears to be filling up nicely.

I couldn’t make out the conversation over the television, but I enjoyed seeing her surrounded by people. I’ve been getting to know Donna through these brief encounters, and this morning I got to watch other people getting their introductions.

I hope they were keeping up better than I was.

My plan had been simple: bring Mom a little food and coffee, sit with her, and spend some time together. Along the way, I got a familiar greeting and another installment of life in the day room.

Those moments are becoming part of my visits, too. I arrive thinking about what Mom needs, and then someone calls my name from across the room.

Today, I brought two slices of everything.

Donna brought enough conversation for the whole table.

Officially Donna Approved

A quick update on my friend Donna Woods: apparently, her interests also include footwear.

Mom needed some help getting cleaned up and getting into bed using the Hoyer lift, so I stepped into the hallway to give her privacy. While I waited, I worked on the blog.

Then Donna came walking by with her walker.

She asked how my mother was doing and where her room was. I told her it was right behind me.

I appreciated that she asked. We’ve spent time talking about her life, her family, and her favorite foods. Now she was checking on Mom.

Then, as she passed, Donna looked down at my shoes.

Light blue Hokas. Pink no-tie laces.

And I received Donna Woods’s approval.

I hadn’t realized I was being evaluated, but I’m pleased to report that I passed.

The no-tie laces are practical. The colors apparently meet community standards. Finally, a review process in my life with a clear outcome and no additional paperwork.

I’ve learned quite a bit about Donna during these visits. Today, I learned she notices the details—and that my shoes have at least one fan.

These little encounters have become a welcome part of visiting Mom. A familiar face comes down the hall, asks how she’s doing, and gives me something to smile about while I wait.

Today, that smile came courtesy of Donna and a pair of light blue Hokas.

I’ll keep wearing them. I’d hate to jeopardize my standing with the fashion committee.

The Hinge Experiment: No Matches. Maybe It’s Time to Delete the App?

Well, here we are again.

I opened Hinge, went to my matches, and was greeted by the same incredibly encouraging message:

“No matches right now.”

Thank you, Hinge.

I worried there might be a secret match hiding somewhere. Maybe someone had been trying desperately to reach me, but the app had misplaced her.

Nope.

Still nobody.

Since my last round of matches—Kelli, Missing Gina and Me—there have been no new matches.

Zero.

The Hinge Experiment has become less of a dating experiment and more of a controlled scientific study examining how long a bald man can stare at an empty screen before deleting an app.

At Least Somebody Is Interested in Me

There is some good news.

While my Hinge traffic is approximately equal to that of an abandoned shopping mall...

the traffic to NielFlamm.com is up substantially.

Apparently, people are much more interested in reading about me trying to date than actually dating me.

I'm not sure whether to celebrate or seek professional marketing advice.

On Hinge:

No matches right now.

On NielFlamm.com:

Come on in!

Maybe I've discovered my true calling.

Not dating.

Writing about the complete absence of dating.

At least one of those appears to have an audience.

Hinge Has a Solution, Naturally

The screenshot makes me laugh because immediately underneath “No matches right now,” Hinge offers two helpful possibilities:

Boost your profile.

Or...

Upgrade to HingeX.

Ahhhhh.

The problem may be solvable with a credit card.

I see.

Nothing says romance quite like:

“Congratulations! Nobody wants to talk to you. Would you like to purchase additional features?”

I'm not convinced.

I'm not desperate to meet someone, and I'm definitely not interested in spending money to make my dating life look more active than it is.

It would be nice to meet someone.

That's still true.

But if it doesn't happen on Hinge, it doesn't happen on Hinge.

Maybe It’s Time to End the Experiment

I'm starting to seriously wonder whether I've gotten everything I'm going to get from this app.

I started with Tinder.

That became an experiment.

Then I moved to Hinge.

That became another experiment.

There were matches.

There were messages.

There were “good mornings.”

There were unanswered questions.

There were almost-dates.

There were phone numbers offered.

There was silence.

There were unmatches.

And now we've arrived at the grand finale:

An empty queue.

Maybe Hinge really is “designed to be deleted.”

Just perhaps not for the reason I originally hoped.

Then There’s Thailand...

Another wrinkle in this story.

I've been exploring the possibility of eventually spending part of my life in Thailand, and I've had people tell me something interesting:

My dating prospects may look very different there.

We'll see.

I'm certainly not booking an international flight because somebody promised me a better dating pool.

I'm interested in Thailand for reasons much bigger than dating. If that chapter happens, it will involve figuring out where and how I want to live, healthcare, dialysis, cost of living, culture, food, and whether I can build a life there that I actually enjoy.

But apparently, I've been told that being me may not be quite the dating catastrophe that my current Hinge screen would suggest.

Let's review the merchandise:

Bald?

Yep.

One leg?

Definitely.

ESRD?

Check.

Eyes that have required enough work to qualify for their own frequent-patient program?

Also check.

And yet I've been told:

“You'll do fine in Thailand.”

Well, that's quite the sales pitch.

I don't know whether that's actually true, and I'm certainly not assuming women in another country are going to react to me in any particular way.

They're individuals, not a demographic dating guarantee.

But I admit...

I'm curious.

Maybe the Problem Isn’t Something That Needs Fixing

That's probably the biggest takeaway from this experiment.

I'm not interested in reinventing myself to generate matches.

I have a complicated life.

I have scars.

I have medical realities.

I have recovery.

I have boundaries.

I have one leg.

I have no hair.

I have questionable eyesight.

I tend to write about things on the internet that most sane people would probably keep private.

And somehow I've also acquired an imaginary iguana named Steve.

This is the package.

I'm not everyone's cup of tea.

That's okay.

I'm not looking for everyone.

I'd eventually like to find one woman where the interest, effort, attraction, humor, and conversation go both ways.

If that happens in South Carolina, wonderful.

If someday it happens in Thailand, wonderful.

If it happens somewhere completely unexpected, even better.

And if it takes a while?

I have a life to live in the meantime.

So, Is Hinge Getting Deleted?

I haven't decided yet.

But for the first time since starting this experiment, I'm seriously considering it.

The current standings are difficult to misinterpret:

Matches: 0.

Conversations: 0.

Dates: 0.

NielFlamm.com traffic: UP.

Maybe that's the universe telling me something.

Or maybe it's just an algorithm telling me to buy HingeX.

Either way, I'm listening.

And Steve?

Don't start packing for Thailand yet. 🦎

NielFlamm.com Keeps Going Global: 19 Million Characters and Counting

A few days ago, I shared the translation activity for NielFlamm.com. The numbers impressed me then—and apparently the translation engine decided it was just getting warmed up.

Here is how the latest 30-day statistics compare:

• Translated characters: 18 million to 19 million

• Translated words: Holding steady at 3 million

• Input bandwidth: 1.2 GB to 1.24 GB

• Translation requests: 4,000 to 5,000

That means another one million characters were translated, while requests increased by 25%. Not bad for a website operated by one bald guy in South Carolina.

The language rankings also shifted.

Italian remains firmly in first place, although its share decreased from 75.8% to 71.5% as other languages gained ground. Russian moved into second place at 4.4%, followed by Chinese at 4.0% and Spanish at 3.3%. Dutch and Vietnamese were tied at 3.1%, with French close behind at 3.0%.

Previously, Italian was followed by Spanish and Vietnamese. Seeing Russian and Chinese climb the rankings shows that the audience is becoming more geographically diverse—which was the entire reason for adding translation options.

What I really want to know is: Which posts are all these readers translating?

Are they reading my movie reviews, health updates, travel stories, scam warnings, Nextdoor adventures, or dating-app experiments? Perhaps somewhere in Italy, someone is translating one of my posts and wondering, “What exactly is going on with this bald American?”

If you use the translation feature, please let me know which posts brought you to the website and which language you selected.

I recently added Thai and Czech. They have not cracked the top rankings yet, but I’ll give them time. Rome wasn’t translated in a day.

Thank you to everyone reading, watching, and exploring NielFlamm.com in whichever language feels most comfortable. These may be numbers on a dashboard, but each request shows that the content is reaching beyond its original language.

I appreciate every one of you.