I Hid My Disability At Work For 6 Years. When I Stopped, My Entire Life Changed.

Posted on 30/12/2023 by Boris Clair

In 2002, I planned a monthlong solo trip to Australia.

On my second day on the trail, while crossing an ankle-deep stream, I slipped and my body flipped 180 degrees. I hit my head and then rolled off the side of a waterfall. The waterfall was about 3 feet high and I landed in a reservoir pool. A German tourist, who happened to be there, dragged me out of the pool.

After the fall, I sat on the riverbank — stunned, confused and very concussed — while my tour leader climbed down the bank to meet me.

“Do you want medical attention?” the 20-something tour leader asked.

My mind flashed back to the medical insurance I had booked for the trip. “Emergency helicopter evacuation costs an additional $250,000,” it read.

“I’m OK,” I replied quickly.

On the short hike to our base camp, I repeatedly tripped and bumped into things. My clothes were covered in blood and my body had cuts and bruises everywhere. I stayed at camp and skipped the hikes for the remaining two days. When I finally got back into Sydney, I walked into the hotel lobby and a guest looked at me before loudly announcing, “Can someone get this woman medical attention?”

With my cuts, bruises, disoriented demeanour, and the same muddy and torn trail pants, I can only imagine how alarming I looked.

At this point, I was too concussed to evaluate what my medical insurance would or wouldn’t cover. And so I refused medical attention and assured the staff I just needed to rest.

A few days later, I flew back to the States.

As my bruises and cuts healed, I thought the worst of it was over. I saw a doctor in New York who ran some tests.

“Everything looks clear to me. You’ve just had a bad concussion,” he said.

Before the accident, a regular day of my life included a 5 a.m. workout, working my corporate marketing job until 10 p.m., and then attending weekday drinks out with co-workers, friends or clients. Somehow, among all that, I maintained a social life and part-time freelance gigs.

A few months after returning from Australia, my co-workers and I were invited on a yacht trip hosted by Forbes magazine. As the boat left the dock, I knew something wasn’t right. I felt disoriented, unwell, and struggled to hold a conversation. I sat in one spot for the whole trip.

When we got back to the harbour, I held onto the rail as I took careful, unbalanced steps. “Wow Jill, it seems like you didn’t hold back on those cocktails,” a co-worker teased.

I hadn’t drunk at all. One of my colleagues helped me into a cab, and I assumed I was seasick.

A few more months went by and I attended a business lunch where something similar happened. I was looking out the windows of the restaurant watching the curtains float in the breeze and cyclists zoom past. I felt woozy and as if I were underwater. I couldn’t concentrate on what my colleagues were saying. When I tried to go to the bathroom, I struggled to stand up. My body flopped back into the chair like a rag doll.

“I think I need to leave,” I said. Strangely, I returned to the office for the rest of the workday. Somehow, I made it back in one piece.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I’m seriously not right,” I remember thinking. I was scared.

I booked countless doctor appointments. Whenever a specialist realised they didn’t know how to help me, they stopped answering my phone calls. I had no answers. I was determined to figure it out so I started tracking my triggers: constant movement in my line of sight, flickering lights, loud ambulance sirens, the brakes of the New York City subway screeching to a stop, loud baritone voices — and the list went on. In other words, New York City had transformed itself from a bustling wonderland to a total vestibular nightmare.

Even though I was noticing triggers, I still had no explanation for regularly appearing drunk, slurring words, being unable to concentrate and exhausting easily.

Without a diagnosis or even the vocabulary to describe what was happening to me, I felt a tremendous amount of shame and guilt. I must have done something wrong. How could I be so dumb? I also feared what my injury would mean for my job security. It felt like everyone around me associated value only with high levels of productivity. I had reason to believe that my worth was based on my output. Who wants someone with an undiagnosed head injury on their team?

It is estimated that 10% of people in the United States have an invisible or non-apparent disability. I’d like to think that corporate culture has more awareness and training on disabilities than it did in the early 2000s. However, research shows that there’s still a long way to go. According to Harvard Business Review, most people with non-apparent or invisible disabilities choose not to disclose these to their managers for fear of being seen as less capable and having their career progress stalled.

In the years following my injury, my brain’s default was: If they know, I will lose out on opportunities. Eventually they will fire me. And if I lost my job, then the unthinkable would happen: I’d lose my employer-sponsored health insurance.

Outside of rent and food, all my income was going to medical practitioners that weren’t covered by insurance. Some years, I was paying $50,000 in medical bills (half my salary). I resented that I worked just as hard but I didn’t have the same financial freedom my co-workers had. (I was often asked why I didn’t own an apartment yet and the implication was that I must have spent all my money on shoes.) But without a steady income and health insurance, the diagnosis and treatment plan I desperately wanted would never happen.

For six years, I didn’t tell anyone at work, including HR. As the years went on, I occasionally opened up to a boss whom I saw as an “ally.” Most of the time, they didn’t really listen to me (or my admission was viewed as an inconvenience or it was a “private matter” like getting my period).

And so, I stopped speaking up. I tried to manage triggers as best I could to hide my disability. But “sucking it up” was slowly killing me. My symptoms were getting worse and my vestibular attacks were becoming longer and more frequent.

My catalyst to change my circumstances was a horrible appointment with a neurologist.

This doctor informed me that — to prevent continued deterioration — I needed to avoid all forms of transport or I’d eventually be completely bedridden because, after all, he had “seen this before.”

“Enough! You don’t get to tell me how my life is going to play out” was my primary thought. I resolved to figure out a solution for myself, since health care had failed me.

I read every book, web forum and magazine on brain health. Learning about vestibular disorders and accessing the vocabulary to describe my condition was my ultimate breakthrough. I realised it wasn’t all in my head. I learned why certain triggers caused vestibular attacks.

Discovering clinical language empowered me to be able to describe what I was experiencing. It also gave me evidence of triggers to avoid.

At this point, I had advanced to a higher level of leadership in corporate. My role in the company coupled with my deep knowledge of brain injuries meant I was able to advocate for myself.

I was no longer asking for permission to have my accommodations met.

Instead, I would simply ask people if they could stop swaying their bodies so we could finish our conversation. Or I’d ask them to please quit shaking their leg, which vibrated the floor and therefore me. Or to please cease pounding the conference room table when they wanted to make their point. I clearly explained that these actions created vibrations that triggered my vestibular disorder. It was not easy for people to understand or remember.

My entire life changed.

I started setting healthier work boundaries. I unequivocally prioritised my health. When I was working, I was fully present. Eventually, I transitioned into entrepreneurship, because I knew my skill set could be expertly translated to coaching and helping people working in corporate with their career strategy ― and I could maintain higher quality health on my own schedule.

From my own informal research, so many people with disabilities work for themselves because it’s often a more predictable environment than working for an employer.

Looking back, I wonder if my journey would have been different if I had felt comfortable telling people about my disability. Perhaps it would have if there was more awareness and compassion toward people with non-apparent and invisible disabilities. If employer handbooks mentioned non-apparent and invisible disabilities, maybe I would have felt safe speaking up. Or maybe when I did address my disability with leadership, my condition would have been met with compassion rather than criticism.

Instead of living in hiding for six years, perhaps it would have taken me one year to own my disability. Or a few months. Instead of living with shame and guilt, maybe I would have experienced a more inclusive experience.

I often describe my head injury as a gift. Because of it, I am a better leader. I have heightened empathy, I have more compassion, I seek diversity and inclusion in all spaces, and I have a totally positive outlook on life. Anything is possible. But it took me decades to realise this truth.

I truly hope to live in a society that makes this journey easier for anyone else who is born with — or acquires — a non-apparent or invisible disability. This all starts with a culture of support, openness and compassion.

Are Onions The Reason For Your Stomach Issues?

Posted on 29/12/2023 by Boris Clair

Onions are found in most cuisines across the world. They’re cheap, they have a good shelf life and they grow year-round. About 6.75 billion pounds of onion are produced each year just in the United States, according to Colorado State University’s food source database, and global production reaches as high as 105 billion pounds per year. You probably have onions in your pantry, and they could even be in the food you are eating right now.

But did you know onions may make a large portion of the population feel sick?

Yes, the onion and its relatives (chives, shallots and even garlic) can cause a wide range of symptoms including gastrointestinal distress, migraines and, though rare, anaphylactic shock. And yet onions are found everywhere. U.S. consumption has grown 70% since 1982, according to the National Onion Association.

But for some people, onions can be part of a recipe for disaster. For patients with irritable bowel syndrome, or IBS, onions are “one thing most of our patients can’t tolerate,” said Dr. Jane Muir, associate professor and head of translational nutrition science at Monash University. Onions and garlic are high in fructan, a carbohydrate found in many fruits and vegetables that many people cannot digest well and can cause bloating or diarrhoea. The Cleveland Clinic estimates that 10% to 15% U.S. adults have IBS, so that’s a lot of folks who may have issues with onion and garlic.

Some people may even have an allergic response to onion, but that is far rarer. In a patient registry maintained by the organisation Food Allergy Research and Education, “139 of 11,411 individuals (or 1.2%) self-report as having an onion allergy,” said Dr. Bruce Roberts, chief research strategy and innovation officer at FARE. While you have to take the numbers with a grain of salt since they are self-reported, a 2020 Spanish study of garlic and onions had similar results, with 1.1% of people reporting an onion and garlic allergy.

While it may be a rare allergy, it is more common as a food intolerance. “Onion and garlic are common [food intolerances] that I definitely hear” from patients, said Dr. Kara Wada, assistant clinical professor in allergy and immunology at Ohio State University. The other two common categories of food intolerances that she regularly sees are lactose intolerance and fructose intolerance.

Dr. Sai Nimmagadda, attending physician and clinical assistant professor of allergy and immunology at Northwestern University, estimated that 1%-5% of his patients have reported some kind of onion sensitivity. When asked, Wada said that figure was comparable to her practice. But the actual number of people with an onion and garlic food intolerance in the U.S. or elsewhere is not currently known due to challenges in testing for it, and is likely to be higher.

However, cases of food intolerance, along with food allergies, are rising according to all the doctors interviewed in this article. Given the significant amount of onions and garlic consumed, it’s not something to sniff at. The Spanish study mentioned above concluded, “Allergic hypersensitivity to garlic and onions should not be underestimated and, given their high consumption, should be included in the diagnostic food allergy battery.”

So what’s the difference between a food allergy and food intolerance? The latter is “a condition when the body is unable to digest or absorb certain nutrients,” explained Dr. Ruslan Medzhitov, professor of immunobiology at Yale University and chief scientific officer at the Food Allergy Science Initiative. The offending nutrient then builds up in the gut and draws in water, which causes bloating and diarrhoea.

Then there are allergies. These involve the immune system, which attacks the noxious food in the gut. There are two types, Roberts noted: IgE mediated response and non-IgE mediated response. The former is what most people think of as an allergy; when someone ingests, inhales or comes into contact with an allergen, the entire body reacts, involving multiple organs like your skin and your cardiovascular and respiratory systems. It’s pretty immediate and can be lethal.

Non-IgE mediated responses tend not to be quite as potent and are less likely to be life-threatening. The reaction tends to be delayed by a few hours and can cause nausea, vomiting and/or diarrhoea.

While food reactions can cause headaches, Roberts noted, “The question concerning migraines is challenging because patients can experience headaches due to sinus congestion in the case of IgE mediated food allergy or anxiety but not a true migraine. The literature suggests food intolerance is more likely to trigger a migraine.”

See that marinara sauce? It's probably has onions in it. — See that marinara sauce? It’s probably has onions in it.

As to why food intolerance could cause migraines, Roberts noted that the gut-brain connection is strong. There are sensory receptors in our guts that will send up signals to the brain that “there’s something amiss,” he explained.

“And so that’s when you have things like nausea, headaches and other things,” Roberts said.

Getting To The Root Cause

While it stinks to have a true onion allergy, researchers and medical professionals know a lot more about IgE mediated allergic reactions since they are something that can be tested for and possibly treated. Non-IgE mediated allergic response and food intolerance are a lot harder to uncover, Roberts pointed out. There’s “no reliable testing [for food intolerances] worth spending your time, energy or money on,” Wada added.

So it’s a challenge to know exactly how many people have an intolerance to onion or garlic without an easy way to evaluate for it.

On top of it all, Nimmagadda said the challenge is that “there’s a lot that we don’t understand about foods.” Food is so complex, filled with all sorts of proteins, carbohydrates, lipids and more; humans are all different, including the microbiome in our stomach. For instance, he noted, “I’ve had some patients that cannot have Chilean wine, but they’re fine with Italian wine.” And of course, there’s such a spectrum of reactions on top of it all. Wada noted that someone may have issues with fructan in the onions and garlic, or something else like the sulfites in it.

The symptoms and root causes of food intolerances can also differ from person to person. For instance, people with food intolerances may be able to tolerate a certain quantity of onions, or cooked onions. But when the person eats over that threshold or eats raw onions, that’s when all bets are off. Nimmagadda noted that cooking onions can degrade some of the proteins that cause people trouble. However, he said cooking food can sometimes make the reaction even stronger, such as with peanuts. (Raw peanuts are less potent than cooked peanuts.)

It’s important to note that people with a food allergy cannot tolerate any amount of the allergen.

You may not know what is actually causing your upset stomach or your migraine. It could be the sauce that you put in your favorite dish or maybe the ingredient not even listed on the restaurant menu.

So how do you figure it out? All the doctors recommended seeking medical professionals if you suspect a certain food or foods are bothering you. Nimmagadda recommends keeping a food diary so that you may be able to correlate your symptoms with the foods you eat and even the quantity of food. Working with a doctor and a reliable food allergy may help to figure out which food is problematic for your system. Perhaps it’s a single restaurant that’s causing all your digestive problems.

For people medically diagnosed with IBS, there’s the FODMAP diet, developed by Muir and her colleagues at Monash University. FODMAPs are a variety of carbohydrates that are naturally found in food that can trigger symptoms; onions and garlic are one of the offending foods.

The basic idea is that for two to six weeks you swap out high-FODMAP foods with low ones and then gradually introduce them back into your diet one at a time. Muir said, “It’s a learning diet or process where people have to learn which of their FODMAPs [are causing problems] because everyone is different.” But she noted that this diet is intended only for people medically diagnosed with IBS and collaborating with a dietitian.

Hold The Onions

For many people, avoiding the offending food might be the best practice, but that’s not always possible when we eat food that we haven’t cooked ourselves. Nimmagadda said you can talk to the chef about what’s in the food to get in front of any unpleasant surprises. Or maybe find restaurants that you’ve had a favourable history with. Definitely let people who cook for you know about it.

If you have been feeling less than stellar after eating, it may be time to investigate whether you have an intolerance, or worse, an allergy to onions or other food. Nimmagadda summed it up best: “Educate yourself; know your body, know your symptoms, and then seek out treatment. Get evaluated. You can find solutions. You don’t have to live with this.”

The Best Cocktails To Make For Your New Year’s Parties

Posted on 29/12/2023 by Boris Clair

The holidays traditionally are for getting together with the people you love most. Tradition also holds that it’s the season of office parties and other semi-mandatory affairs. Whether you’re attending the next cocktail (or ugly sweater) party excitedly or begrudgingly, a good cocktail is likely to improve the evening.

While there’s nothing wrong with hot toddies or spiked eggnog (actually — I take it back, there’s plenty wrong with eggnog), an expert-designed seasonal cocktail could be a nice change of pace. Warm your bones with one of these recipes, shared by some of New York’s most impressive bars and restaurants, and give your guests the gift of a good, stiff drink.

You may have to make a trip to a bar specialty store, or, you know, the internet, to pick up some of the requisite ingredients, but we’ve included tips for substitution whenever possible. You’ll want a basic bartending set with a cocktail shaker, strainer and muddler to make these. We’ve also suggested glassware and garnishes for each cocktail, if you’re going all out. Also, flavoured syrups aren’t a bad investment — they’ll taste great in your coffee on Christmas morning.

When Smokey Sings

Not into eggnog? Good news: You can offer your guests something comfortingly creamy that isn’t glorified boozy custard. Ivo Diaz, the co-owner, beverage director, and chef at Casa Ora, a stylish Venezuelan restaurant in Brooklyn’s East Williamsburg, shared this recipe for a rich and delicately spiced drink that’s sure to warm up your insides.

There is some prep involved, but you can make the chicha de arroz and cinnamon syrup hours or even days before guests arrive. To make things even easier, you can grab a bottle of premade cinnamon simple syrup online or at a kitchen specialty store.

Once you have your syrup and chicha on hand, you’re really only working with three ingredients, so it should be easy enough to shake these up for guests and still enjoy your party. For a really professional look, invest in a jumbo ice tray to make cocktail bar-ready ice blocks.

To make your own cinnamon simple syrup:

In a pot, muddle about 3/4 ounce (by weight) of cinnamon bark, and add 2 cups of water and 2 cups of Domino superfine sugar. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally, then cover and reduce heat to a simmer for 15 minutes. Strain with a fine strainer before storing.

To make the chicha de arroz:

Combine 16 ounces rice milk, 1 can sweetened condensed milk, 1 can evaporated milk, and 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon powder in a blender until smooth. Store in a container and keep refrigerated.

To make the cocktail

Combine cinnamon simple syrup, chicha de arroz and mezcal in a shaker with ice. Double strain into a rocks glass over a jumbo rock block and garnish with mint leaves.

Nashi Sour

Treat your loved ones to a partridge in a nashi pear tree — or at least a creative and pear-flavored take on a classic whiskey sour. The Nashi Sour, by bar director Amir Babayoff of Ophelia in Manhattan’s Midtown East, features spiced winter fruit flavours frothed up with egg white.

We suggest you buy liquid egg whites rather than having to deal with cracking eggs and separating yolks while you’re trying to entertain company. For the most faithful version of this drink, try to stick to Babayoff’s suggested liquors as much as possible. Again, you can find ginger and cinnamon syrups online, if not at your local HomeGoods; or, you could go full elf and make your own.

Add all ingredients, dry shake, add ice, shake and double strain into a Nick and Nora glass. To garnish like the restaurant does, cover half of the top of the glass with a square white paper and spray or sprinkle chai powder on just half of the foam.

Cranberry Cup

If you haven’t yet had your fill of cranberry sauce (I know I haven’t), this vodka-wine spritzer by Gary Wallach, beverage director at Lindens, could be your new party signature. The bar, newly opened at the Arlo Soho in New York, serves theirs in a highball glass, dressed with an elaborate garnish of fresh thyme, lemon zest and a roll of dried cranberry leather.

If you can’t find thyme and apple liqueurs at your local liquor store, snag them online. Same goes for the spiced cranberry shrub — a traditional mixer made with sugar and vinegar for a tangy-sweet taste. You can make your own if you’re feeling ambitious. But if you’re normal, you can find inexpensive craft shrub online — here are a couple of options we found.

Once you’ve shaken all the other ingredients together, top it off with Lambrusco, a sparkling and often sweet red wine, to taste.

1 dash angostura bitters
1 teaspoon thyme liqueur
1/2 ounce spiced cranberry shrub
3/4 ounce lemon juice
1/4 ounce apple liqueur
1.5 ounces vodka (Belvedere is suggested)
Lambrusco, free pour
Optional: thyme sprig, lemon twist, cranberry fruit leather, and/or grated nutmeg, to garnish

Add all ingredients except for Lambrusco into a small cocktail shaker. Add ice and shake vigorously. Strain into a highball glass over fresh ice, top with Lambrusco and garnish. Lindens uses a thyme sprig, lemon twist, cranberry fruit roll-up and grated nutmeg.

Raspberry Mint White Chocolate Holiday Cocktail

From Christmas cookies to candy canes, December is the time when your sweet tooth is likely to reign supreme. If you’re hoping for a cocktail that will fulfill your candy cravings, Irene Li of New York’s MáLà Project restaurants has one that combines chocolate, peppermint — and some raspberry for good measure. You’ll probably have to buy a few new liqueurs for your stash, so consider getting nice ones that you’ll be excited to experiment with all winter.

Combine white chocolate liqueur, peppermint schnapps, raspberry liqueur, vanilla extract and vodka in a shaker. Fill the shaker with ice and shake until all ingredients are well incorporated.

Pour into a chilled rocks glass. Top off with crushed candy cane pieces and a peppermint stick or two (or three … we’re not counting).

Holiday Manzarita

This light and fruity drink comes from the Kartrite Resort located in the Catskills in New York state, and it’s a great way to use up the last apples of the season.

Your first step is to muddle your fresh apple chunks, so if you don’t already have a muddler on your bar cart, now’s the time to pick one up. Or, you can simplify that step by just using your favourite store-bought apple cider.

And if you don’t already have St-Germain on hand, you won’t regret picking up a bottle. The herbal, elderflower-flavoured liqueur is a great cocktail staple that you’ll find uses for well into the spring. As for the garnish, Kartrite serves the Manzarita with a flaming cinnamon stick — but you can feel free to leave yours unsinged.

1 1/2 ounces blanco tequila
1/2 ounce St-Germain
1/2 ounce cinnamon syrup
3/4 ounce fresh-squeezed lime juice
3-4 small cubed apple pieces (or 3/4 ounce of apple cider)
Cinnamon stick, to garnish

In your cocktail shaker, muddle the apple. Add all remaining ingredients to the shaker with ice. Shake for 6-8 seconds. Double strain into a rocks glass over ice. Garnish with cinnamon stick and serve.

When To Use Aluminium Foil, Parchment Paper, Wax Paper And Freezer Paper

Posted on 29/12/2023 by Boris Clair

Whether you’re new to cooking or you’ve been doing it for decades, it’s entirely possible you have no idea what you’re doing in certain areas. One particular topic that home cooks struggle with is understanding the differences between parchment paper, wax paper, aluminium foil and freezer paper, and when to use which one.

And trust us, mixing them up could legitimately ruin your recipe in some cases.

What’s the difference, and which materials are interchangeable? We talked to the experts to clear up any confusion you might have. Read on for the inside scoop on exactly when to use parchment paper, aluminium foil, wax paper and freezer paper — and exactly when you shouldn’t.

Parchment Paper

Thanks to its versatility, parchment paper is the shining star of the kitchen. It’s an odourless paper made from cotton fibre and pure chemical wood pulps that’s been coated with silicone. In addition to being nonstick, it’s heat- and moisture-resistant.

Parchment can be used for many kitchen tasks, but it’s best known for acting as a liner for baking sheets and pans, helping to promote even cooking and food not sticking. And according to Laura Ritterman, the cook behind the food blog Recipe Fairy, it also makes cleanup a whole lot easier. Think: being able to slide roasted veggies, cookies, fish and more right off the baking sheet with no mess.

“You can also line parchment paper on your kitchen counter to aid in cleanup,” said Christina Musgrave, a professional recipe developer. Because it’s nonstick and moisture-repellent, you can do all of your chopping, mixing, kneading and rolling on top of a layer of parchment, then toss it when you’re done, saving you the trouble of scrubbing down your countertops later.

Despite being super-versatile, parchment paper can only be used up to a certain temperature. “You can normally use parchment paper up to around 420 degrees Fahrenheit,” Musgrave said. “Heating it over that temperature can risk it catching on fire.” For safety purposes, always know the heat limit of the brand of parchment paper you’re using while cooking.

As for what to use as a substitute if you find yourself out of parchment paper, that depends on what you’re planning to use it for.

“Foil can be used to help prevent food from sticking, so long as it’s well-greased,” Ritterman said. (Or, if you’re specifically using a nonstick foil.) “It’s not as good as parchment paper, but can be used in a pinch if you don’t have any.” For easier cleanup, wax paper is a good choice for covering countertops.

Aluminium Foil

Runner-up in the versatility department is aluminium foil, which is made of over 98% aluminum ― the balance of which consists mainly of iron and silicon for added strength and puncture resistance. During the final rolling, two layers of foil are passed through the mill at the same time. The side that comes into contact with the polished steel rollers becomes shiny, the other side dull.

This is why, despite popular belief, it doesn’t matter which side of the foil contacts your food. (The only exception to this is nonstick foil, which does have a dull side that’s nonstick ― perfect for cooking foods that are cheesy or sticky.)

Where aluminum foil really shines (pun totally intended) is with high-heat cooking, like grilling and broiling. Any recipes that require cooking foods at a higher temperature than your parchment paper can hack, that’s where foil comes in.

Another handy skill? “Aluminium foil helps with even cooking or baking in the oven, mitigating the burning of food before it has finished cooking,” Ritterman said. “This is great for things like casseroles, roasts or pies.”

Say you don’t want your turkey or casserole to over-brown ― make a foil tent by placing a sheet of foil over your roasting pan or casserole dish, leaving a 1-inch gap between the top of your food and the foil tent for heat circulation, then crimp the foil onto the long sides of the pan so it stays put.

To keep your pie crust from burning while the centre bakes, foil to the rescue: Take a 12-inch foil square and fold it into quarters. Cut out the centre and round off the edges so you’re left with a ring that’s two inches wide. Unfold the ring and place it over your pie, removing it for the final 20 minutes of baking time.

“Because foil easily holds its shape, you can also wrap foods (meat, potatoes) to prevent them from losing moisture as they cook, as well as make foil packs of food to pop in the oven or on the grill,” Kyrie Luke, recipe developer and blogger at Healthfully Rooted Home, told HuffPost. (It’s an especially effective strategy for more delicate foods, like veggies and fish.)

But you should never use aluminium foil in the microwave. “Since aluminium foil is metal, it can heat so quickly that it can cause a spark and catch on fire,” Musgrave warned.

The best replacement for foil is parchment paper — specifically, for oven cooking and making food packs. For high-heat cooking, however, aluminium foil is difficult to replace, with the closest options being grilling papers and oven and barbecue bags.

If you’re not sure whether to go with aluminum foil or parchment paper, just remember: Grill or broil, go with foil.

Wax Paper

Wax paper is tissue paper that’s triple-waxed with a food-safe paraffin coating. It’s best known for covering countertops ― you can measure dry ingredients, such as flour, over wax paper and avoid a messy countertop during baking and cooking.

“It’s similar to parchment paper in that it can be used to keep food from sticking to surfaces, such as allowing chocolate-covered strawberries to harden or delicate artwork for cakes and pastries,” Ritterman said. It can even line pans for non-baked items, such as fudge or no-bake desserts to make cleanup easier.

Unlike parchment, wax paper shouldn’t be used in cooking situations that require heat. “Never use wax paper in the oven, microwave, grill or anything that conducts heat,” Luke said. “The wax will melt and it may cause a fire.”

The only exception to this rule is that wax paper can be used for lining cake pans for baking cakes. Because the cake batter completely covers the wax paper and absorbs much of the heat, the wax paper won’t smoke or melt.

The easiest way to remember whether to go with parchment or wax paper is to picture a burning candle as a reminder that wax melts. “The last thing you want is waxy food ― or a kitchen fire,” Luke said.

Freezer Paper

Freezer paper is a thicker paper that’s used for, you guessed it, freezing food. “It’s best known for wrapping meats and seafood for freezing to seal in juices and protect them from freezer burn,” Musgrave said.

One side of the paper is coated with either wax or plastic and provides a barrier to air and moisture that helps prolong the freshness, flavor and nutrition of your food while frozen, helping it last in your freezer for up to one year. Because the other side of the paper isn’t coated, it can be used to mark down the contents and pack date of the wrapped food.

Since freezer paper has a wax or plastic coating, it shouldn’t be heated ― otherwise, the wax or plastic will melt and ruin your food.

In a pinch, you can use heavy duty aluminium foil as freezer wrap, but because it can be torn and punctured easily, it’s best to use an overwrap, too.

“Wax paper can also replace freezer paper if you plan on eating the stored food in a short period of time,” Ritterman said. It’s not moisture-vapour resistant the way freezer paper is, though, so for longer storage times, freezer paper all the way.

I Idolised My High School Teacher. Then I Dated Him.

Posted on 23/12/2023 by Boris Clair

At 15, I was his standout student and his kids’ occasional babysitter, unabashed in my adoration.

I looked forward to his classes with a thrill that could make me feel sick. I studied harder for his tests than I would ever study again. When he and his wife were out on dates, I would sit at his desk after their kids were asleep, beneath bookshelves full of thick spines, spillover stacks surrounding his computer, some volumes splayed open to pages littered with underlines, and think, Someday I’ll find someone like this.

I was in my late 20s and living in Brooklyn, nearly 3,000 miles across the country, when he left the desk and the house and the wife and stored all of his books in a shed outside a tiny rental cabin at the top of a cliff.

He came to New York and we got coffee and talked about God and I called him Mister. Then we exchanged writing, piles of it, and overnight knew more about each other than almost anyone.

From a distance we discussed meeting up again someday, this time for a beer.

“It’s difficult, isn’t it, to keep an imagination in check?” I asked at the end of a long email.

“A little imagination ain’t so bad,” he assured me with a winking face emoji, but any innuendo was subtle and carefully crafted ― and besides, I was never coming home.

Then the pandemic hit.

“How are you doing? Are things OK?” he texted one day in March.

“I actually came home,” I responded. And that was that.

Early on we agreed to keep it casual. We decided it was likely only for the lockdown, while the world fell apart and we were lonely. We asked “Why not?” and disregarded every answer.

We walked the woods, then the beach, then ― fancying ourselves quite quarantined in a place barely touched by the virus ― we went inside. From opposite couches, we passed a hundred hours just talking about everything: history and philosophy and the protests and Taylor Swift, later and later into the evenings, drinking my dad’s good wine from pint glasses.

When he asked if he could kiss me one night in July, sitting on the floor with our legs already touching, it felt only the tiniest bit taboo. The 20 years between us didn’t matter. He spent his life with high schoolers, and was more up to speed than I was on the trends and lingo of Gen Z. I felt desperate to reaffirm my autonomy and adulthood after moving into my parents’ guest room, and I liked confiding in a man with history, the years gathered at the edges of his eyes.

It seemed every woman my age was about to have a baby. I was behind, and now dating was against the rules and dangerous. But driving home from his house in the middle of the night, I felt interesting and boundless; I felt bad for all the women with the babies.

In August, we listened to Taylor Swift’s new album on repeat. I can see us twisted in bedsheets, August sipped away like a bottle of wine. We spent hours in bed. We took his boat out and jumped from the side. We sat close on a bench, watching constellations climb. But if what you want is a pop song, you can turn anything into a summery montage and fall in love with the lyrics. Mostly, we stayed inside doing nothing.

What started as a month-long lockdown swelled into a season, then two, then three. Our temporary tryst became less and less temporary. Trump was the president, then not the president. School was remote, then not remote. We were depressed, then not depressed, then depressed again.

At some point I bought a house, and on New Year’s Eve we lay on the floor on a mattress still covered in plastic, construction dust and power tools in disarray, fireworks popping, and it felt OK.

Looking back, it wasn’t that the student/teacher dynamic had truly dissolved; it had just gone dormant, as so many things did during the pandemic.

But it didn’t matter that I owned a house and he rented, or that my kitchen had actual wine glasses in it, or that I had dating history and he didn’t, or that I’d lived in cities around the world while he’d stayed in our small town. The badges of adulthood that confirmed we were equal weren’t enough.

As our community began to reopen, something was shifting between us. He was suddenly reiterating that he didn’t feel guilty about what we were doing, which of course meant he felt guilty about what we were doing. He was suddenly firming up boundaries. He was suddenly treating me like a child.

And more and more, I started to feel like a child. I stopped caring about whether he wanted to sleep with me. All I wanted was for him to be proud of me like he was at the beginning, from opposite couches, with no expectation. Or before that, even: when he was still Mister and we were meeting up in my city; when I was telling him about my work and he was beaming; when I was nothing but his precocious student who’d happened to grow up, and all we shared was admiration.

“There are few joys greater than witnessing a student surpass the teacher,” he’d written to me then. Now I was sitting with my legs over his, but I was flailing.

At the end of April, I stayed up straight through multiple nights reading the accounts of Blake Bailey’s gradual, insidious grooming of his young students, my throat clenched like a fist. It bothered me, even though there was no comparison to be made. The man I spent occasional evenings with had never, in my experience or to my knowledge, caused a student to feel uncomfortable.

Still, if there existed, in our community, a cult of the charismatic male teacher, he was its idol. And it did exist; I’d been a member for half my life.

The week after the news broke, I sat up in bed, arms around my knees. I couldn’t get it out of my head. We had done such a seamless job believing that our history didn’t matter, but what if we were wrong?

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, smoothing my hair. I was thinking about the comments I’d read from countless teachers about how students they met as children remained children in their minds, regardless of age ― about the indestructibility of the student/teacher dynamic. When I tried to talk to him about it, he laughed it off, then left early.

We never touched those dynamics in the bedroom. There was no shame or scandal between us, not ever, not even close, until there was. The secrecy that had been inevitable in a lockdown had come to feel illicit after it was over, and I was becoming increasingly aware of my nakedness, embarrassed. What had been irrelevant in private was not irrelevant in public.

Soon after, he invited me to a local vineyard for wine and music, and I was hopeful that it was a turning point. After so much isolation, we could finally prove that the thing we said wasn’t a secret wasn’t a secret.

The next day, my phone pinged with a follow-up text:

“OK, this is hilarious!” he started. The invite, he explained, hadn’t been for me. It was meant for someone else. “I am such a doofus,” he said.

“Fuck you,” I said.

I could have said anything else, something measured and mature, but I didn’t. It was the way it was a joke that broke me. A part of me wanted to be stabbing and juvenile because that’s how he’d made me feel, that’s what I was trying to throw back at him: Fine, you want to condescend, you want to treat me like a child? Watch how childish I can be.

I should have known that the post-pandemic public wouldn’t see us together ― that had been, after all, our expiration date from the beginning, back when the lockdown was fleeting and my life was elsewhere. But I didn’t anticipate how I’d come to rely on him, how bad it would feel to be denied by him, following the return of an external gaze.

I wanted him to be proud of me and instead he was ashamed. Both betrayed what was running molten beneath our feet, which was that, despite a year of intimacy, as soon as time was unsuspended and public life resumed, he was still my teacher; I was still his student.

And then he asked me to return his books ― not over coffee, not to his house, not in a neutral parking lot where we could hand off belongings and hug each other goodbye, but to the front office at the high school, a building I hadn’t been back to in over a decade.

He’d promoted me and now he was demoting me again, summoning me to the place where it started, where he still strolled the halls with a halo of admirers, and I was long forgotten.

Olivia Rodrigo’s debut album had just come out, and I decided to listen through it, as he and I had done with Taylor’s album the summer before. It was raining. When I got to the turnoff to my house, I kept driving. When I got to the high school, I slowed down but couldn’t bring myself to stop. Red lights, stop signs, I still see your face in the white cars, front yards… I’d gotten my driver’s license while I was in his class. I could still pick out the row where I used to park, near the track that lit up into a football field on Friday nights in the fall.

Can’t drive past the places we used to go to, ’cause I still fuckin’ love you, babe. I didn’t love him, which in a way was more disappointing than if I had. I’d loved him my whole life. Now there was a human where my hero had been.

Once upon a time, I was a child who adored a teacher for the way he challenged me. This past year, I was an adult grateful for the conversation and companionship of the same man. Now, wherever my life ambles next, I don’t need to take him with me.

Risk Of Penile Fractures Goes… Up At Christmas, Doctors Warn

Posted on 21/12/2023 by Boris Clair

People are being warned not to rock too hard around the Christmas tree this festive season, as doctors have shared that they often see a significant increase in penile injuries during this time of year – namely fractures.

Yes, really – a new study on this has just been published in the December edition of the British Journal of Urology International.

It’s not overly common, but if a penis is violently twisted or bent when erect (usually as a result of certain sex positions), the blood vessels can burst and can result in something known as a penile fracture.

Doctors at Ludwig Maximilian University in Munich, Germany, say that injury is “often heralded by an audible crack followed by severe pain” and should be treated as a medical emergency.

According to the medical experts, those suffering from the injury will also experience a rapid loss of erection (somewhat unsurprisingly), swelling and bruising.

The team at the German university investigated whether the incidence of penile fractures increased during Christmas using German hospital data for 3,421 people (!) who sustained such injuries between 2005 and 2021.

And sure enough, they discovered that the rate of penile fractures increased during the festive period, adding: “If every day was like Christmas, 43% more penile fractures would have occurred in Germany from 2005 onwards.”

The study also found penile fractures “occur most likely during sex in unconventional scenarios” – mainly when sex is being had in an “unusual location” or as part of an affair.

And it’s not just Christmas either – their findings also uncovered the fact that the risk of penile fracture increased during weekends and over the summer.

“Based on our analyses, penile fractures occur in periods when couples are enjoying moments of relaxation such as Christmas, weekends, and summer,” they wrote.

“Even though we cannot, of course, recommend against having sex during these periods, our findings ring the alarm bell (and not the jingle bells).”

Well… Merry Christmas everyone?

Anxious At Christmas? Your Love Language Can Help You Cope

Posted on 20/12/2023 by Boris Clair

Andy Williams famously sung the words “it’s the most wonderful time of the year” but for a staggering 1 in 3 Brits, it’s a time for mental health “nosedives” according to Mental Health UK.

For many of us, it’s less a time of celebration and more to do with gritting our teeth and getting through it. There can be plenty of reasons for this including broken families, the pressure of expectation, and if you already have mental health problems, the overriding themes of joy can just make you feel more alienated than ever.

However, according to Emily Carr from CreateGiftLove, we can make the most of this season by identifying our love languages and using them to cope.

How love languages can help you cope with Christmas

If you appreciate words of affirmation, use them on yourself

Words of affirmation is a common love language and it basically means you tend to feel most loved and appreciated when people verbalise that to you. However, Carr urges that if this is you, you don’t need to wait for others to express their love.

She said: “Positive self-talk goes a long way. Create an affirmation and say it to yourself several times a day. Have it written on an object such as a keyring so that every time you see it, you’re reminded of that affirmation.”

She continued to say this is something that can actually ease anxiety. “Getting into the habit of using affirmations with breathwork can work to lower cortisol (the stress hormone) and ease anxiety,” she adds.

If you appreciate quality time, reframe how that seems to you during festivities

Quality time at Christmas doesn’t always feel like it’s worthwhile, even to those that recognise it as their love language.

Carr urges people to remember that quality time can be whatever you need it to be. If you’re not looking to get drunk at your pal’s Christmas party, maybe arrange a quiet evening with them in your home.

If you are all about acts of service, now is the time for familial Christmas elves

No, seriously. If you feel valued and loved from acts of service, ask your loved ones to help with your Christmas to-do list.

Whether that’s picking up gifts, helping you wrap them or even mundane house cleaning ahead of hosting guests. Your loved ones want to help you, and you value the help, it’s a win-win!

Receiving gifts doesn’t have to be costly

While you may feel most loved when you receive gifts, you’ll know that for you, it’s not about the price tag but instead the thought that went into a gift. It’s the same for your loved ones, too.

Don’t fall into debt trying to keep up with materialistic trends and instead get them something personal to them such as framed photographs.

If you love physical touch, prioritise that over the endless group chats

Festive season also means planning season and if you’re feeling overwhelmed by the endless threads planning parties, get togethers, and the day itself, mute them. Plan a certain time of day to reply and otherwise give yourself the mental headspace.

Instead, make plans for a cuddly date with your partner or even meet a friend for coffee and a Christmas hug.

If nothing else, remember it’ll be over soon enough and you just need to get through it by being kind and patient to yourself.

Help and support:

Mind, open Monday to Friday, 9am-6pm on 0300 123 3393.
Samaritans offers a listening service which is open 24 hours a day, on 116 123 (UK and ROI – this number is FREE to call and will not appear on your phone bill).
CALM (the Campaign Against Living Miserably) offer a helpline open 5pm-midnight, 365 days a year, on 0800 58 58 58, and a webchat service.
The Mix is a free support service for people under 25. Call 0808 808 4994 or email help@themix.org.uk
Rethink Mental Illness offers practical help through its advice line which can be reached on 0808 801 0525 (Monday to Friday 10am-4pm). More info can be found on rethink.org.

6 Unexpected Signs Your Pub Pint Glass Is Actually Filthy

Posted on 19/12/2023 by Boris Clair

’Tis the seasons for good food, great company, and yes, a trip to the pub. But as John Cutts, a glass expert at MeandMyGlass.co.uk, says, “it’s easy to get carried away with the celebrations without realising the pint glass you’re drinking from hasn’t been cleaned properly.”

Signs of dirt and oil aren’t always immediately visible when you get a glass, Cutts shared. Instead, telltale bubble and foam patterns might be a better way to give the grime away.

In fact, “A filthy beer glass can be easily identified if bubbles start to cling to the side and if the foam leaves an unusual pattern after taking a sip,” Cutts says.

So, we thought we’d share some of his tips:

1) Bubbles might cling to the side of your glass

This can be a sign of soap residue or grime, Cutts says. The bubbles cling onto the residue on the inside of the glass, causing them to gather on the side of your pint.

2) Look at the foam pattern on the glass

This is known as the “lacing test,” Cutts shared. “Once the glass has been filled and you’ve taken your first sip, take note of the pattern that forms. The lacing that the head will form should be even around the side and create rings as you continue to drink. Any unusual patterns indicate a dirty glass,” he shared.

3) A flattened head that goes away quickly

Nobody likes an overly foamy head ― but “if the head instantly flattens after being poured, it’s a sign that you’ve received a dirty glass,” Cutts says.

4) Check for particles at the bottom of your glass

Okay, it sounds obvious, but Cutts says that if you’re not sure about the state of your glass, checking the bottom of the pint for residue could be illuminating.

“Before taking a sip, lift the glass so you have a full view of any particles floating at the bottom,” he advises.

5) A discoloured rim

Discolouration around the rim of your glass could mean it’s still for some oil lingering on it, Cutts warns (delicious). “Visible marks like fingermarks and lipstick stains are also signs to be wary of,” he warns.

6) It’s all in the taste

Lastly, the final test is how your drink tastes. “If any of the obvious signs aren’t showing, the final and most prominent way to test a dirty glass is the taste of the beer itself. Make sure to have a small first sip to begin with so you’re not washing down a dirty pint,” Cutts warns.

Ah, the joys of socialising…

We Are Therapists – Here’s How To Stop Seeking Approval From Others

Posted on 16/12/2023 by Boris Clair

According to Psychology Today, 85% of people worldwide report having low levels of self-esteem.

Self-esteem relates to how we think and feel about ourselves and how much value we believe we have as individuals, according to NHS Inform. This means that if your self-esteem is low, you’re more likely to focus on your setbacks than your successes. Additionally, people with low self-esteem often ignore their own achievements and positive things about themselves and tend to be needlessly self-critical.

When we’re experiencing these confidence dips, it’s likely that we’ll look for validation of who we are in other people — a behaviour known as ‘seeking external validation’, according to Psych Central.

If this all sounds familiar to you, advice from licensed therapists Nick Tangeman and Dr. Jim from podcast ‘Pod Therapy’ might be exactly what you need.

How to overcome low self-esteem

Back in April this year, the therapists took to social media platform Reddit saying, “We are Therapists hosting a R-Rated podcast called “Pod Therapy”, Ask Us Anything for Mental Health Awareness Month!”

One user, So1337, asked”, “It took me a long time to realise that I was constantly seeking my esteem and sense of self-worth from others. What are some things I can do to 1) look inward for my own worth and 2) stop seeking validation so much?”

The therapists responded to the commenter saying, “First, it’s not inherently bad to get a sense of ourselves from the perspectives of others. Humans are social animals, we value community and its normal for us to want to please others and desire their approval.

“However, as you’ve realised, this often becomes toxic to us. Maybe the people we look to for approval will never give it, can’t give it, or have a myopic view of reality and we shouldn’t trust their judgement of us in the first place. Maybe people around us see our conspicuous flaws and fail to be curious or interested in who we really are. Or maybe we are just surrounded by assholes.”

The therapists then recommended taking the following steps:

Reflect on who you are as a person

The therapists unsurprisingly recommended looking inwards as the first step saying, “Get a list of personality description words from the internet. Look through that list and circle as many positive qualities about yourself as you can find which you relate to. Then reflect on each of the words you circled, recalling memories and experiences you’ve had which you feel exemplify that word.

“Make it a ritual in your life to review your day, your week, your month and your year through the lens of what your personal goals for yourself were, where you’ve grown as a person, and what you are proud of.”

They said this is important because, “part of how we let go of the voices of others is to consciously hear our own voice, so we have to make this a practice in your life.”

Be direct about your needs

The therapists pointed out that when we’re looking for external validation, we’re often doing so passively and laying expectations without actually indicating what we need. They said, “While it’s natural to seek validation from others, we often do so in a passive way that is unsatisfying. We are *hoping* somebody will thank us, compliment us or affirm us.

“We post online that we are sad or feeling down to fish for some positive feedback (which isn’t wrong to do). But a better way is to approach a few quality people in your life from time to time and tell them that you need a reminder of what they like about you, or admire in you, and ask if that is something they can take a moment to give you.

″I like being direct and honest about what we need from others because it gives them an opportunity to think about it and get closer to providing what we need.”

I Was On A Hookup Site Hunting For Revenge Sex. Instead, I Ended Up Donating A Kidney.

Posted on 16/12/2023 by Boris Clair

The last thing I expected to be doing a couple of weeks before a romantic getaway with my boyfriend was staring slack-jawed at his smiling face among a sea of dick pics and X-rated action shots in a seedy hookup site’s search results. Yet there he was on Adult Friend Finder with a hokey username below a clear picture of his face. For a smart man, he was a massive idiot.

The breakup was swift. He told me he was only on the site for porn and declared: “Either you believe me or you don’t.” Considering that his bio on the site started with ”I’m primarily looking for sex,” I didn’t believe him. Then he broke up with me.

Soon after, I was left alone with the Adult Friend Finder account I created to discover my ex’s. So, I did what any angry hot-blooded single woman would do. I started checking out profiles.

In no time, I was awash in a sea of lewd photos — limp dicks, hard dicks, spread-eagled men inexplicably displaying their assholes. Instantly, I had messages pouring in ― most of them so ridiculous they didn’t even deserve a reply. More than once, I asked myself what in the hell I was doing, but I didn’t delete my profile.

Eventually, after being disappointed and disturbed by the quality of gentleman callers, I decided to edit my profile and lay it out like I was on any regular dating site. I talked about enjoying music and the theatre, being a voracious reader of modern literature, and my desire to find someone intelligent and engaging. To prove I was totally over the semiliterate penis parade, I made the first line of my introduction: “Who’s got brains to go with their balls?”

This earned me some more refined suitors whose opening lines only hinted at the intent of the site instead of outright telling me all the gruesome and misspelled things they were going to do to me. What their messages lacked in overt vulgarity, they made up for with arrogance. Without fail, their lead foot was a profession they were sure would fill me with uncontrollable sapiosexual desire.

One example was the guy who bragged, ”Aerospace Engineer here. Big symphony lover. I read the New York Times every morning. Brains enough to go with my well-formed other parts.”

Of them all, my favourite self-promotion was, ”If critical thinking is your aphrodisiac, then I must be chocolate, oysters, and green M&Ms all rolled into one.”

I wasn’t nearly as impressed as they all hoped I would be. On the other hand, Mr. Engineer’s profile picture displayed some impressive muscles. My thirst for revenge on my ex (and thirst in general) led me to reserve a hotel room and agree to meet with him a couple of weeks later.

But right after I arranged my rendezvous, a surprising message landed in my inbox. A guy wrote me an email filled with questions. About me. After a little “I can’t even begin to say how gorgeous you are” and “Your beauty pales compared to your intellect” were some shockers like, ”What’s your favourite genre?” and “Who’s your favourite author?”

This new contender was a high school Latin teacher and the first guy to genuinely have manners without rambling on about how wonderful he was with three paragraphs’ worth of academic and career credentials.

“I’m Paul,” he ended his message, “and it’s a pleasure to meet you, I hope.”

We exchanged our email addresses. After a little correspondence, Paul won Mr. Engineer’s hotel room date.

In lieu of a cellphone exchange, the first nudes of our relationship were Roman statues at an art gallery. We wandered through the exhibits with Paul acting as both date and guide, entertaining me with the stories behind the mythological characters in the works on display.

Paul lacked all the bragging and preening of the other men who sent me messages. Rather, he was refreshingly normal: average build, a little on the short side, graying hair. His standout feature was a voice made for radio, deep and pleasant.

After our museum trip, we had dinner, then drinks, then we headed up to my hotel room. All told, a rather successful first date.

***

Not long into seeing each other, Paul mentioned that he was sick. An inherited condition had shut down his kidneys years before, and his body was currently working with one donated by his father.

His attitude was amazingly accepting about the whole thing. “I’m going to be bummed when this kidney runs out of steam,” he admitted. “I’m not looking forward to being on dialysis. But I’ve lived with this all my life, and it’s just another one of those things.”

I couldn’t believe someone could call end-stage renal disease “just another one of those things.”

“You have to get through it and get on with it,” he shrugged, “because otherwise what’s the point?”

In addition to being impressively resilient, Paul was interesting and respectful — a rare find among the creeps who had contacted me — and a catch by any other standards, as well. But I just didn’t have the energy after the whole blowup with my ex. I backpedaled our relationship to friend status, and over time, we mostly fell out of touch.

The author giving her mom the thumbs up after her surgery in October 2015.

Months passed. I eventually opted out of relationship attempts altogether and was spending lots of quality time with my cats. One day, an email showed up.

“Most of you know that my transplanted kidney has been declining for a while,” Paul wrote. “My doctors think that, within a year or so, I’ll need another transplant or dialysis. I’d like to avoid dialysis, though. It can lead to complications, and even when it goes well, I understand it’s kind of miserable. Also, living donor kidneys are more successful than cadaver organs. And so, my doctors have asked me to try to find a donor. ‘Bring us a warm body!’ was their specific instruction.”

It wasn’t a lack of desire to help that prevented me from responding ― it was the Army. I was enlisted at the time and doubted the military would be keen on the idea of a soldier getting an organ removed, even for a worthy cause. I reluctantly archived the email and crossed my fingers that someone else would come along who happened to be willing, able and Type O.

Around a year after our first date, we met to catch up and see a play. Though there were plenty of parts worth laughing at, the performance was pretty gloomy. As the main characters spiralled toward their inevitable ends, one grimly mused, “Dying is not romantic.” I looked over at Paul and saw that his eyes were bright with tears.

His dialysis had begun. He was paler, weaker, slower, and more miserable overall. He was “getting through it and getting on with it,” but it was taking a toll on him.

My friend was dying. It was not romantic.

***

I got home from the play and sent an email to Paul’s transplant coordinator. “I’m hesitant to jump in the potential donor pool because I’m in the military,” I wrote. “I’m not certain I could actually get approval to donate.” I begged her to keep it a secret from Paul, not wanting to get his hopes up.

Everything after that was a flurry of tests and paperwork. Physical, CT scan, EKG, chest X-ray. Psychiatrists from the civilian and military worlds both interviewed me to make sure I wasn’t too unstable to make my own decisions. Every time I turned in one document, I needed a signature on another.

Throughout the whole process, statistics constantly ran through my mind. The average wait time for a cadaver kidney is five years, and Paul had just been put on the national waiting list when he began dialysis. At any given time, the list has nearly 100,000 people on it.

My secret from Paul didn’t stay under wraps for quite as long as I wanted. Before I got a thumbs-up from the military, another of his friends who was going through testing heard from the transplant team that there was a strong contender waiting for the Army’s permission. She spilled the beans.

When he found out, Paul told me he immediately felt what he could only describe as pure joy. He was elated and relieved, but most importantly, “for the first time in months, hopeful.” I tried to feel confident that everything would work out, but was terrified of disappointing him if I ultimately couldn’t donate.

It took four nail-biting months of waiting. After getting medically cleared and pushing paperwork all the way to the Office of the Surgeon General in Washington, my request was finally approved.

When Paul and I met again in the hospital after the surgery, I was flooded with a relief there aren’t words for. I’ve been told I should be proud of myself. I’m not. I’m grateful. I gave a good man more time. He’s so much healthier now and off dialysis. My kidney is serving him well. With luck, it’ll hold out for many years to come.

The author preparing to leave the hospital. “The man who wheeled me to the car asked, ‘Is it your first?’ assuming I had given birth. I responded that it was my first, and hopefully only, kidney donation." — The author preparing to leave the hospital. “The man who wheeled me to the car asked, ‘Is it your first?’ assuming I had given birth. I responded that it was my first, and hopefully only, kidney donation.”

I often get asked why I was willing to donate to someone I hadn’t known for very long, even though any health complications could’ve jeopardised my Army career. Most people who would shell out an organ for someone are doing it for a family member. Many say they couldn’t do it, no matter what.

But here’s the thing: Paul was dying. It would’ve been a long, slow road of suffering while he waited for a cadaver kidney that probably wouldn’t have been as functional as my living one. People don’t need two kidneys to live a normal life. I wasn’t that likely to experience negative side effects and it turned out that I didn’t. Those who make it through the donor selection process are already healthy, so the surgery doesn’t usually affect them much. And I can’t stress this enough: Paul was dying. I wanted to save the life of my dying friend.

Realistically, Paul probably did me a service, too. Revenge-screwing some muscle from a hookup site wasn’t the safest life choice I could make. Paul was proof that there were still decent men in the world, but any other online rando might not have been one of them.

Since the surgery, we’ve remained friends. Though we don’t see each other very often, we talk online almost daily. A while back he married another Latin teacher, whom I’m sure he also wooed with Roman nudes.

If you’re considering becoming a living organ donor — and I strongly recommend you do — you can get more information here.

Liz Armstrong is finally wrapping up her undergraduate studies after spending eleven years in the Army and a handful more bobbing aimlessly through life. A student at the University of Maryland, College Park, she is pursuing degrees in English and Chinese, though how she will apply them remains a mystery. She lives with her wife and three cats.