Cautious Optimism on Two Fronts

Unfortunately, neither front is nationally; that I feel more and more pessimistic about that every day. The two fronts I’m talking about are in my small, personal domain.

Cautiously Optimistic about the House

You know that the mechanicals of the house are in worse shape than we thought when we bought it, which reduces our budget for renovations. We did pick a builder who seems competent and fair and even ingenuous, but we’re not sure he can do what needs to be done under the amount of money we have deemed the house to be worth.

We still don’t know, for sure. We do have a day set aside for all the subcontractors to come peer under flooring and spy inside walls and tap on pipes, and then they’ll send the builder their estimates. The final estimate to us should be ready in mid-March, exactly when we move into the house from the apartment, short-term or long.

Here’s what I do know. So far, their estimate is close to our limit. Not at and certainly not under, but not so far above for us to call it quits, yet. Which is a VERY GOOD SIGN, in my book.

I know Tracy is still willing to pull the plug, though, if the subcontractors find surprising stuff and the final estimate is too high.

Then what? We sell the house and shop for another? Maybe Tracy goes back on the road, while I live in the house and sell it and get my health in shape and then join him? Who the heck knows, but right now I am not worrying about it, because I am cautiously optimistic we will keep the house.

And, if we keep the house, we’ll be living in it during renovations. The entire first floor will be rearranged, with one side of the house opening up, the kitchen built on an inside wall, a bedroom (in essence) added where the kitchen was, a laundry room added, walls demolished and walls built, floors sanded and refinished, yadda yadda.

While all this is being done, we would live on the second floor. Notice I didn’t say “simply,” as in, “Oh, we’d simply live on the second floor.” I think it’s gonna be hard as heck.

There is an old, ghastly kitchen up there, but all it has is a sink, so we’d buy a hot-plate type stovetop and a dorm fridge and eat on our little camping table.

There is a spare bedroom up there that we could use as a living room, but this is its size, with Finn’s inflated mattress from his visit.

We might could fit two camping chairs, our small coffee table, and our tv in there. Might.

And this is the upstairs bathroom, as you know. Unrenovated, and possibly staying that way.

The sink blocks the door from opening fully, and to sit on the toilet you have to move your knees … somewhere, just not in front of you because the tub is in the way.

Just by chance, I came across this photo of a similar bathroom on the neighborhood Facebook page, and they’ve managed to put shelves and towel racks up in necessary spaces.

It gives me cautious optimism we can make this work, for, say, the summer, while they renovate downstairs. Who’s in the house in the summer, anyway, right? And, with the money we save by moving out of the apartment, we go stay in an Airbnb while the house is being rewired and then when the floors are refinished.

Note that we don’t have anything we have to do during all of this. No stressful jobs to be rested for and go to, no kids to juggle and feed. I know living in a house under renovation is asking for trouble, but it will be the only thing we have on our to-do lists (except for my doctors appointments), see next section.

But, remember, I have two months until the final estimate is in, so I’m not counting any eggs, yet.

Cautiously Optimistic about My Health

I don’t even want to give background to this. (“Whew,” I can hear you all saying.) Suffice it to say that I have chronic, medically induced insomnia and severe, augmented RLS. In June 2025, I started trying to transfer myself from the neurology department in Houston to the one here, and—to no fault of my own—I was dropped from neurology here a few weeks ago. Don’t ask, I will rant. I already filed two formal complaints.

I then got the first appointment available at the sleep clinic, which was, you guessed it, in June 2026. That’s how long it takes someone whose former neurologist and current pcp mark her case as “urgent.” A year. See, I’m about to rant when I came here to tell a good story.

At 9pm Friday night I got an email telling me that an appointment had become available. Do I want it? I have until 9:30am to choose it.

I think for a bit because the appointment is the day before my thyroid surgery, and I’m supposed to be available to accept a call from the surgical nurse anytime that day. But I wise up and take it.

That’s when I read the fine print, that it’s available until 9:30 or until someone else takes it. Dude. Put that in bold or something next time. (In the email with a bunch of graphics around it, it really is tiny print.)

My appointment (go me for acting fast anyway and getting it) is with a doctor whose sleep specialty is apnea, not RLS, but who the hell cares, it gets me in the network.

Here’s the hilarious part. I’m telling this story to Finn, and I mention that this doctor is, tragically (for her interactions in the modern western world), named Nazi Khan. Seriously.

Then, with Finn’s usual quick wit, he points out that my PCP’s name is Trump. (Long story on that one.)

My two doctors are Nazi Khan and Trump. F’ing-A but that’s going to go really wrong or really right. Again, cautiously optimistic here!