I Didn’t Use a Consultant to Name this Blog. Maybe I Should Have!

I was skimming through the September issue of Chicago Magazine when I came across a short column mentioning a new online service created by 2 local ladies called Future Perfect. I began to speculate on what business Future Perfect was in. Was it a think tank for envisioning an ideal new society? Could it be an educational service aimed at creating forward-thinking scientists? Or perhaps a group of English teachers campaigning for a grammatical tense I will never have used properly?

No, my friends, it is not any of those. First Perfect is an online company offering a variety of services priced from $100 to $250 and more, helping expecting parents to name their baby. That’s right, naming a child is now so difficult, so perplexing, so culturally, ethnically and gender-fluidly treacherous that a service is required to hit all the sweet spots and avoid making a massive mess of it. In one way it makes sense. If you can order all the baby’s new furniture, the whole layette, and all the necessary paraphernalia online, why not get your baby’s name that way too?

It’s a brave new world. How did your parents pick your name? Many of you have names that reflect your ancestry. You might have a biblical name. There are generations named after movie stars and Presidents. My name is an outlier–chosen because my mother liked the name of a kid in my sister’s kindergarten class. As parents, we used many of those same metrics to name our own children. It wasn’t always easy, sometimes it took a few days, but we managed. And we never once thought of calling in a naming service!

I know today’s young generation is busy, working two jobs plus a side hustle in their free time. And I know the importance of choosing the correct name. After all, I was a true misanthrope as a solo Lester, until I met three more in my medical school class. But parents, YOU CAN DO THIS! You can feel that baby moving inside you, or see their face on the ultrasound, or consider their genomic makeup, or stare at their lovely face after birth, have that inspiration, and CHOOSE A NAME FOR YOUR KID!

And just remember new parents, at some time or other in their lives, your kid will tell you they hate their name. It is either too plain or too fanciful; too common or too unique. That’s just the way things are.

You don’t need a consultant to tell you that!
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Streaming Down the Road

5:28 A.M. Fog seeps in as I press the button and the garage door rolls open. The usual dashboard warning lights blink and buzzers sound. I flip to the audiobook CD on the media player as I slowly back the car out, remembering that our houseguest’s rental car is in the driveway. Pleased with myself for remembering, I manage to maneuver my car expertly out of the garage and head to the street.

5:29-5:30 A.M. Driving through the subdivision in the fog. Fortunately no dog-walkers or joggers this morning, at least none that I can see through the mist.

5:31 A.M. I can barely make out the red light at the major intersection up ahead. I accelerate just enough to position myself to make a left turn the instant the turn arrow illuminates.

5:32 A.M. Tollway bound, the state trooper in their usual spot along the entrance ramp. I wave as I begin to accelerate to expressway speed.

5:33-5:37 A.M. I slide to the left lane, engage cruise control and concentrate on listening to the new Richard Russo novel.

5:38-5:39 A.M. The first construction zone. The left lane narrows, the shoulder shrinks, concrete dividers loom. Reclaiming control from the cruise control, I reduce speed and move one lane to the right.

5:40-5:41 A.M. Back in the left lane, cruise control once again locking in my speed. As I pass the nursing home to the east I check the dashboard timer. Eleven minutes so far, the average for this part of the early morning commute. Ten minutes is a rarity, twelve minutes a disappointment. It all depends on the turn signal at that first intersection.

5:42-5:44 A.M. The road lightis have a strange ethereal appearance in the fog. My mind is back with Richard Russo, as traffic and I shimmy along — the trucks, SUVs, and crossovers all dwarfing my lone sedan. I hold my ground, not letting the bruisers intimidate me.

5:45-5:46 A.M. A longer construction zone, but I whizz past casinos and airports, toll collectors and fashion malls. A single stanchion remains from the old oasis, a reminder that nothing we build is eternal. Barely looking down, I change CDs and begin listening to the last chapter in my novel.

5:47-5:48 A.M. Cruising past Urlacher Lane. Billboard after billboard. A Chicago hero transformed into a hair transplant pitchman. Is he still a hero?

5:49-5:51 A.M. Slowly move to the right, sharing the interior lanes with drivers heading for backed-up exits, while other cars merge in from other expressways.

5:52-5:54 A.M. My exit lane, then the last toll. I brake to the first stoplight in 22 miles.

5:55 A.M. A right turn into the driveway of the near-empty parking lot, and I grab my briefcase and lunch. I lock the car doors, head for the lab, and my workday begins.

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I’m Not On a Diet-I’m Just Getting Healthier.

I wasn’t going to write about it, didn’t want to jinx it (kina hora.) But it feels like an accomplishment and I feel like celebrating it.

My weight and my blood sugar were creeping up and up. A couple of oral medications hadn’t corraled my hemoglobin A1c (a measure of glucose control over a three-month span) and nothing was helping me corral my BMI. So as my internist and I discussed various pharmaceutical approaches to issue number one, I told her I would like to see a nutritionist for issue number two. A few mouse clicks from Dr. W. and I had an electronic referral to the group’s Diabetes Educator.

That appointment was exactly two months ago. And would it be an exaggeration to say it was a life-changer? Meg the registered dietitian and I sat in her office and we talked. A little about life, a little about jobs, and then a little about how and what I ate. There were no aghast looks from her, no reprimands, not even an eye-roll as I cataloged my daily calorie intake. I didn’t need her to tell me that for a smart guy, I had picked up some dumb habits.

Meg made some suggestions. She thought I should get back on my original glucose medication, though perhaps at a different dosage. She encouraged frequent blood glucose testing, one thing I demurred on. As far as my eating behavior, she suggested cutting some portion sizes, giving up a treat or two, and trying to balance carbs with proteins. She gave me a suggested calorie count, passed on some manuals and sent me on my way. I gave the pamphlets a glance when I got home and then decided that it was time I flipped the switch and got healthy. But like with most things, although I would incorporate what Meg had said, I would do it my way.

So no, I am not on a diet. I’m not paleo’ing, or Mediteranian’ing, or ketogenic’ing. I eat at all hours of the day if I choose to. I take no issue with gluten or lactose or tree nuts and all are part of my daily routine. When someone asks “What can’t I eat anymore,” my answer is “I can eat anything.”

But the bagels have been replaced by flatbreads and sprouted grain English muffins (1/2 of one is the perfect portion size,) the handsful of pretzels substituted for by mixed nuts and fruits (hoping for a long cherry season,) and now, when Barb suggests splitting an entree at a restaurant, my eyes no longer beam death rays at her.

So here I am 61 days later, and 25 pounds lighter. The BMI calculator on my iPhone says I am still in the overweight zone, but not by much. I feel good, I am gearing up for tennis season and a couple of 5Ks, and cravings don’t seem to be a problem.

Can I keep it up? I’m not sure. And it will be another month before I need to check my hemoglobin A1c. But I think I can do it…kina hora.

Speaking of keeping healthy, I am still looking for sponsors for my 5K SEABlue Run for prostate cancer Support, Education, and Advocacy. Here’s the link!

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Another PSA for P.S.A.

I had a great time this past weekend. My high school buddies and I took our 16th annual baseball road trip. This year it was Philadelphia’s turn to survive our onslaught. The Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, miniature golf, batting cages, colonial outfits, and Philly Cheesesteaks were all on the menu, though I gave the last of those a pass. And it wouldn’t be a baseball trip if we didn’t spend one beautiful summer night watching the White Sox as they fell one run short to the Phillies.
Conversations followed the usual pattern. High school tales, some of which might be partially true, told and retold. “Top This” trivia contests about esoteric ballplayers from the 1960s and singers from the 1950s–yes “Seattle” WAS sung by Perry Como! Even a round of “Is this good for the Jews?” We discussed wives, kids, and grandkids and I was given tips on how to write without getting sued (the trip always has lawyers to the left of me, attorneys to the right.) We had a signature moment as one of our crew got stuck in the minivan, and almost a WWE type battle over who recorded “Haunted House” first, Gene Simmons or Sam the Sham.

Yeah, we had a blast. But through it all, I was the Debbie Downer. Someone mentioned 1960s TV star Bill Bixby and my comment was “He died of prostate cancer, get your PSA checked.” Listening to Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London, “He died of prostate cancer, get your PSA checked.”(note added 8/7/19–My mistake. Warren Zevon died of mesothelioma) Seeing a poster for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, “Frank Zappa. He died of prostate cancer, get your PSA checked.”

Too many of my friends and neighbors have been diagnosed, are being observed, or are being treated. I haven’t lost anyone close to me to prostate cancer since my dad passed away more than 25 years ago, but I know the terrible potential. And a ginormous new research study from Europe has confirmed that the PSA screening blood test for men SAVES LIVES. Early diagnosis works.

So to all my contemporaries, get tested. Even having the test performed just once has value. Ladies, tell your husbands, tell your brothers. Don’t let anyone dissuade you. Make it part of your annual physical. It matters.

I’ll be running in the SEA Blue Annual Prostate Run dedicated to Support, Advocacy, and Education for prostate cancer. To find out more and pledge your support visit the SEABlue website. All of you can–all of you must– help keep the men in your lives healthy.

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