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~ Diabetes, Cancer Fighter, Father of Twins, Kayak Fishing, Lover of Life

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Tag Archives: Coffee

The Day Febreze Became a Household MVP

17 Tuesday Feb 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Nature, Retirement, Uncategorized, Weather

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

aeromatic, Bible Study, Breakfast, Coffee, convenenience, evotion, Fishing, fly-fishing, Kayaking, mud, Nature, Outdoors, outhouse, pipes, Plumbing, pressure, restroom, Retirement, Smell, Travel, Water

Four a.m. came early this morning… but who am I kidding? Four a.m. always comes early. I’m convinced 4 a.m. wakes up feeling productive and personally offended that I don’t.

The only reason I willingly get up at that hour is Bible study. Otherwise, if you see me awake at 4 a.m., something has gone terribly wrong — like I heard a strange noise, or I fell asleep at 7 p.m. and woke up confused and slightly offended.

Like usual, I sat there drinking my coffee while reading my morning devotion. There’s something peaceful about that quiet time… mostly because nobody else is awake to ask me where anything is.

After that, I went over the material for Bible study so I wouldn’t show up sounding like I just crawled out of a cave. Which, honestly, is exactly what my brain feels like at 4 a.m.

Since retirement, there are only two things that get me out of bed early.
Number one: Bible study.
Number two: Fishing.

Fishing and I haven’t spent much time together this year. I’ve only been once since New Year’s. The weather has been acting like it has a personal problem with me. Too cold. Too rainy. Too windy.

This week, the temperature is perfect… but the wind is blowing 10–15 mph with gusts up to 25 mph. Fishing in a kayak in that wind is less “peaceful day on the water” and more “Lord, if You get me back to the boat ramp, I promise to behave better.”

After Bible study, I met my brother-in-law and one of my fishing buddies for breakfast. Naturally, we talked about fishing. Because if fishermen aren’t fishing, we’re talking about fishing… or buying fishing gear… or trying to explain to our wives why we need more fishing gear.

We talked about kayaks and my plan to buy another one once I can raise the money. I refuse to go into debt for a hobby. I like fishing… but not “eat ramen noodles for six months” fishing.

Around 10 a.m., as I was leaving the restaurant, my wife texted me:
“The water is off.”

Not just our water. About 70% of the city.

That’s not a “someone hit a pipe” situation. That’s a “somebody is having a really bad day at work” situation.

I still had errands to run, so a couple of hours later, I made it home. We had a little water pressure, but not much. I immediately filled the bathtub so we’d have water to flush toilets if this thing dragged on.

Let me just say — that was one of the smartest decisions I made all day.

I called the water company.
They said about six hours.

Six hours came and went… still no water.

I called again.
Same report.
Just a new six-hour timeline.

That’s when you know you’ve entered the “Well… this is my life now” phase.

I have to admit, I was slightly entertained reading Facebook comments. Some folks were VERY upset about not being able to flush toilets and how things were getting… aromatic.

When people start describing their house as aromatic, things have gone off the rails.

Ten hours later, the water finally came fully back on.

The whole thing reminded me of visiting my grandparents when I was younger. They didn’t have indoor plumbing. They had an outhouse. If you had to go, you grabbed your courage and made the trip outside to the little wooden shack out back.

And let me tell you… I can still remember that smell. That smell had layers. History. Personality.

Suddenly, our ten-hour water outage didn’t seem quite so bad.

Under the Microscope… Again (Apparently I’m Now 5.9% Banana)

06 Friday Feb 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in bariatric-surgery, Diabetic, diet, Life, Uncategorized, Weight Loss

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

addiction, Appointment, Bloodwork, Change, Coffee, craving, Doctor, Food, health, labs, labwork, Life, lifestyle, pottassium, relationships, Surgery, writing

Lab results are in, and just like that… I’m under scrutiny again.

When I got the email with the results, the first thing that jumped out at me was my potassium. High. Again.

This isn’t new. It was high before, then magically went back to normal on the retest. Go figure. But here we are again. My doctor called yesterday and told me my potassium was elevated to an “extremely high” level. Naturally, I went digging through my past labs, and I noticed a pattern — since my weight-loss surgery last April, my potassium has been slowly climbing.

And I have absolutely no explanation why.

For those who don’t live their lives waiting on lab portals to refresh, high potassium — or hyperkalemia — means there’s too much potassium in your blood. Normal is between 3.5 and 5.0 mEq/L. Mine? 5.9 mEq/L.
Apparently, that extra .9 is where doctors start using their serious voice.

Now here’s where it gets interesting.

The only real lifestyle change I’ve made since surgery is that I’ve apparently developed a full-blown relationship with coffee. Before surgery, I had never enjoyed a single cup in my life. Not one drop. Loved the smell. Hated the taste. But after surgery? My body apparently said, “You know what we need? Coffee. All of it.”

Those pre-surgery classes warned me this might happen. Foods you hate, you’ll crave. Foods you love, you might hate. They never warned me I’d wake up one day emotionally attached to a coffee mug.

I’ve asked other doctors if coffee could be the culprit. Most said, “Probably not,” though they also gently hinted that maybe I shouldn’t be drinking coffee like it’s my full-time job. This latest doctor, however, seems less convinced.

The nurse asked how much coffee I drink in a day.

I was honest.

  • 22 oz before breakfast
  • 22 oz with breakfast
  • 22 oz sometime after supper

Apparently, this is not the answer they were hoping for.

And it doesn’t stop there.

If I go somewhere, I have a freshly made 22 oz riding with me in the truck. I also have what can only be described as a coffee emergency kit — a toolbox with all the fixings — just in case I get stranded somewhere that doesn’t have a coffee shop with my brand of coffee.

Yes. I know. It’s really sick.

Some people say caffeine keeps them awake. Not me. I can drink coffee at 9 PM and be asleep by 11 like a toddler after a long day at daycare. I’m not wired all day. I’m not bouncing off walls. I’m just… caffeinated and functional.

Her suggestion?
Limit myself to one cup per day.

Not one 22 oz cup.
One. Cup.

Friends… that is simply not going to happen.

Today I tried. I drank only one 22-oz cup. And I spent the rest of the day thinking about coffee like it was an ex who still had my hoodie.

I go back to the doctor next Tuesday for more labs. Hopefully, I can make it until then. And maybe — just maybe — they’ll tell me it’s not the coffee doing this.

So now I wait. More labs. More monitoring. More trying to figure out what exactly my body is doing and why it suddenly decided potassium is its favorite hobby.

In the meantime, if you see me walking around slightly jittery but emotionally stable, just know I’m doing my best… and possibly negotiating with myself about a second cup.

When a Routine Becomes a Memory

03 Tuesday Feb 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Boy Scouts, Cancer, Diabetic, Disability, Life, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

awards, blood, Bloodwork, Boy Scouts, camping, ceremony, Coffee, Doctor, Dutch Oven, health, labwork, leader, Life, mental-health, needles, Scouts, writing

Tuesdays are my long days.

They start at 4:00 a.m. — rolling out of bed, grabbing a shower, getting dressed, and heading straight to the kitchen for the first of what will be four cups of coffee. Tuesday mornings mean Bible study across town at 6:00 a.m., so once my first 22-ounce cup is ready, I sit at the kitchen table and go over the material we’ll be covering later that morning. Sometimes I’ll pour a bowl of cereal while I drink my coffee and wake up enough to be conversational.

This morning, though, I lost track of time. One coffee refill turned into “oh wow, I need to leave now.”

I left the house about ten minutes later than normal, thinking I could make up the time on the drive. That thought lasted right up until I hit a blocked road. Detour ahead. The detour added about twenty minutes to my drive, which pretty much killed any hope of being early. And I’m one of those people who would rather be thirty minutes early than five minutes late. I ended up pulling in right at 6:00 a.m. — which, technically, is on time… but still feels late to me.

Normally, after Bible study, I head back toward home and stop for breakfast with one of my fishing buddies. Not today. Today was lab work day, which meant going to the doctor’s office to give blood. Ever since I lost all this weight, nurses seem to have trouble getting blood from me without sticking me multiple times. Either the blood stops flowing, or my veins decide to roll out of the way like they’re dodging responsibility.

This morning was no different. Three sticks before they found a vein that cooperated long enough to get what they needed.

After lab work, I went across the street to a diner and grabbed a breakfast sandwich to go. Once I got home, I spent most of the afternoon working on Boy Scout awards. We’ve got an awards ceremony for the young men in our troop this Saturday, and everything had to be sorted and organized. Of course, I found out I’m missing some awards, so tomorrow it’s back to the Scout office to track those down.

Tuesday nights are — or maybe I should say were — Scout nights for me.

Tonight was my last regular Tuesday night with the Boy Scouts. We have the awards ceremony on Saturday, and that will be my last official night serving as a leader. I’m not going to say much more about that until after Saturday. I’ve got something in mind that I’ll be writing about and posting here once everything is finished. All I’ll say for now is… it’s bittersweet.

After the meeting, some of the leaders stayed behind talking about old times and even tossing around ideas about future camping trips. I haven’t been home long, and it’s getting late. I’m not really sure what my Tuesday evenings will look like starting next week. Part of me is a little sad… and part of me is relieved.

I do have a training class starting next month that will fall on Tuesdays, but it’s only for eight weeks. After that? I guess we’ll see what new routine Tuesday decides to become.

Unwelcomed Alarm

10 Saturday Jan 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Weather

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alarm, Challenges, Coffee, health, Life, mental-health, National Weather Service, Production, Rain, Sleep, Storms, Thunder, Weather, writing

I wrote in my last post about how crazy our weather has been. Apparently, the weather department took that as a challenge.

Last night, it decided to toss in another curveball — a cold front pushing through, dragging thunderstorms along with it. We spent most of the day and evening under a tornado watch. By bedtime, we had already picked up nearly three inches of rain, and the storms were still rolling in. The thunder wasn’t rumbling anymore; it was auditioning for a demolition crew.

Before going to sleep, I set my phone alarm for 5:30 a.m. so I could get up and get ready for men’s Bible study at 8. Responsible. Mature. Clearly overconfident.

Sometime later, I heard an alarm and woke up. I didn’t question it. I just accepted my fate. I took a long, hot shower, shaved, got dressed, and headed to the kitchen. I started the coffee and even remember thinking, “Tracy should be getting up soon. It’s got to be around six.”

The first pod finished, and I glanced at the stove clock.

4:10 a.m.

I stared at it, waiting for it to blink and say “Just kidding.”

It didn’t.

I checked my watch. Same time. That’s when it hit me — I hadn’t been woken up by my phone alarm. I’d been summoned by the weather radio.

I sat down in my recliner with my coffee and pulled up the radar. Sure enough, the National Weather Service had issued a flash flood warning at 3:45 a.m. That alert was the “alarm” that launched me into full morning-person cosplay.

So there I was — clean, dressed, caffeinated, and absolutely betrayed — living in a time slot meant only for bakers, farmers, and people who lost a bet.

There was no going back to bed. And even if I tried, I’d probably sleep right through the real 5:30 alarm just to complete the joke.

Moral of the story: I don’t need an alarm clock. I need a personal meteorologist who knows when to mind his business.

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