Turkey Day Ramblings

It's Thanksgiving morning, and I'm sitting here with a heavy heart, wondering how I'm going to get through the day. 

the new view

I'm beginning to realize the trick is not to have any preconceived notions about what today is going to be like. Mr. Ginley and I will never be the same again. We've taken to calling life prior to the stroke "the beforetimes." It was another life ago. It sucks that this is our life now, but at least we have a life together, and there is hope that he'll come home to me one day. 

But for now, we have this, and this is what we have to work with. 
I'm going to eat my breakfast, do the dishes, take care of some laundry, have my coffee and read the funnies. Then I'm going to go and be with my husband on Thanksgiving. 

I am thankful that his mind is still there, even though things are jumbled and the rest of him isn't working so well.

I'm thankful for my health, because my ability to help him through this is the most important thing right now. I'm allowed to be sad. I'm allowed to be heartbroken. But I can't curl up in a ball and hide because that's not going to do anyone any good. 

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And now we jump ahead a bit to Friday night. The snow has been piling up, it's been a cold, ugly day, and I've shed my share of tears. Then the phone rings, and it's Mr. Ginley saying excitedly, "I'm moving my foot! I moved it again! And again!"

Of course this doesn't mean he's going to jump out of bed and run a marathon, but it's a very good sign that his brain is trying to reconnect with his errant foot. It's a victory, and we'll take it.

And so it seems I have another thing to be thankful for, after all.

Moving Right Along

In a few short days, Mr. Ginley will be making another move, this time to a skilled care facility. 

The good news is that it will be much closer to home. 

The bad news is that he won't be getting the same aggressive level of physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech therapy he's enjoyed at Parma Hospital's Acute Care Unit. Also, we will both miss the crew that has taken care of him during his stay. I have learned so much from them, and they've been so kind and patient (but firm) with Mr. Ginley. He tells each of them, "you're the boss." (Although Lisa is the only one to have earned the title of "Coach.") I cannot recommend this team highly enough.

I think they will miss him, too. Who else will throw out musical references from the 70's and 80's? He was talking about Little Feat. He was singing along a little too loudly to Dave Edmunds on his ipod. And he coached himself by singing "Hold Your Head Up" by Argent, at which point he tried to explain about the song and got a lot of blank looks from the youngsters. But that's okay. That's what YouTube is for, right?

But I digress.

In the meantime, Mr. has made progress. He's able to sit up for longer periods with little or no assistance. He can use the board instead of the Hoyer device to get in and out of bed. His speech has improved quite a bit, and his diet has expanded. (Although he consistently orders the mac and cheese for lunch and dinner.) The catheter came out this week, which was a big plus. 

We continue to hope the brain will start communicating with the left side of his body again. In the meantime, he's learning how to adapt as much as possible. He's getting better at steering the wheelchair with his good foot. He can bridge his back to help with getting dressed. And he practiced folding clothes one-handed.

He left it to me to decide about shaving. I voted yea, and off came the whiskers. I think it's an improvement, but I'll leave it to my readers to chime in.

In the meantime, we'll be ready to move to the new digs on Wednesday. 

Doing our best to take one day at a time. 

(Kidney) Stoned

I never ever say, "What else could go wrong?" Long experience has taught me that plenty can and will go wrong, oftentimes in rapid succession.

Taking a short break from PT

So when we were told that the CT scan of Mr. Ginley's kidneys revealed he had two too-large kidney stones, they were blocking the flow, and he needed surgery, I was distressed but not shocked. 

Mr. has had problems with kidney stones dating back to our early years together. In fact, he was suffering from one the day we married. It was a running joke that he was on pain meds that day and therefore shouldn't be held responsible for his actions.

But I digress.

The plan was to put in a stent to improve the flow around the kidney. Any more drastic procedure, such as breaking up the large stones, was deemed unsafe given Mr.'s recent stroke. Surgery was set for Thursday, then postponed until Friday at 4pm. I decided to stay at the hospital overnight because I knew Bill would be upset and scared. 

They wheeled him in on schedule, and shortly thereafter, I began getting texts. The first said he was being prepped. The second said the procedure was beginning. The third said the procedure was finished and that the doctor would be speaking with me shortly.

The span of time between the start and end of the procedure was less than 10 minutes, an observation that sent my heart to my stomach. A few minutes later, I was meeting with the doctor, who told me they couldn't put in the stent because the stone wouldn't budge and they were afraid of doing more damage. It's likely the stones have been there for some time, so it was deemed prudent to postpone any further action.

So here we are.

In the meantime, Mr. Ginley is determined to work his ass off to regain as much of his pre-stroke abilities as soon as possible. He wants to come home. And I want him here. (I think I can speak for the cat and say she misses the big guy, too.)

In addition to his positive attitude, which includes boundless courtesy and appreciation of his caregivers, Mr. Ginley has retained his sense of humor.

"I want to pray to somebody, but I'm not sure who to pray to," he quipped last night. "Who's the patron saint of this cause? St. Bartholomew of the Bowels?"

If I can't laugh, I will cry. 

And heaven knows, I've done plenty of that over the past 2+ weeks. 

Sending out so many thanks to my support crew (you know who you are and I love each and every one of you). Thank you for letting me talk your ear off, giving me sage advice, offering up prayers and healing wishes, and sending me chicken noodle soup. You've done more to help me than you'll ever know.

A Stroke of Bad Luck

I'd always joked with Mr. Ginley that I could sleep on a box of rocks. But for the life of me, I could not sleep in that chair. I tried every position, but no go.

In the beforetimes.

It wasn't just that the chair was uncomfortable, there was that infernal beeping of machines. Rhythmic, then not. Like a leaky faucet with a syncopated rhythm. It was maddening.

Then there were the nurses, coming in at all hours to check his vitals. Or draw blood. Or take his temperature.

I tried to wake up, but I couldn't. I was awake. And the ugly truth remained.

Mr. Ginley had a stroke.

Now, nearly one week later, I still can't fathom how our world blew up overnight. He went to get out of bed Thursday morning, and he couldn't walk. 

I managed to maneuver him down the stairs and set him in the easy chair. Then I called 911.

The ambulance came, worked on him for a bit, and whisked him off to the hospital which was minutes away. I met them there. First, we were in Emergency. Then ICU. Over the next few days, a gazillion tests confirmed he'd had a stroke. But his symptoms were worsening. More tests. Then he was transferred to Cleveland Clinic's main campus.

More tests. No change. No progress. Time for rehab.

So here we are. Mr. cannot move his left arm or leg. His words are slurred. He can't see properly. He has no appetite. The one big plus is that his cognitive abilities are mostly intact. He remembers all manner of song lyrics. He sang our song to me tonight. And he recited major portions of the St. Crispin's Day Speech. He is unfailing kind to all his caretakers, asking their names, and assuring them that they're the boss. He cracks jokes.

I cannot process any of it. 

And so, I take each day as it comes. I send prayers to the heavens and hope there is a positive response. I can't think about what will happen next. I'm too afraid.

On the way to the rehab facility last night, I listened to Linda Ronstadt and lost it when she sang, "What'll I do when you are far away, and I am blue, what'll I do?"

Then I dried my tears, put on my happy face, and went in to visit my husband. Fortunately, he's determined to work as hard as he can to get his body operational again. And so many people have been praying for us, that is a comfort, thank you.

As for what comes next, I cannot fathom. It's baby steps. Small bites. And, if those prayers are answered, a miracle.

A True Blue Spectacle

It should not be a surprise to anyone, particularly Mr. Ginley, that I am easily distracted and should not take on philosophical discussions when I'm driving.

attribution below

And yet, here we are.

I'm not sure how we got on the topic, but somehow we landed on John 2:1-11. For those of you who haven't memorized your bible verses (frankly, I had to Google it myself), this is the story where they run out of wine at a wedding in Cana.

Jesus' mom (aka Mary) turns to her beloved son and says, "They don't have anymore wine. Do that thing you do." (I may be paraphrasing.)

An exasperated Jesus turns to Mom and says, "It's not my time yet. You don't get to tell me what to do."

What I imagine was left out of the bible story is Mary turning to Jesus and saying, "Are you f-ing kidding me, Son? Do you have any idea what I went through to bring you into this world? Do you think anybody bought the story of how I got pregnant? It was no piece of cake explaining the whole angel visitation and Immaculate Conception thing to Joseph. I go through all that, and you can't work a little miracle for your mother?"

Then, with righteousness on her side, Mary sidles over to the servants, points at her son, and says, "Do what He tells you to do."

It's not been recorded what Jesus' reply was, but undoubtedly, He was reminded of the 5th Commandment to "honor thy father and thy mother." Or maybe He just got a case of the guilts. In any event, He caved, told the servants to fill the jars with water and take them to the man in charge. The head guy took a swig and went steaming over to the bridegroom. 

"Hey, dunderhead, you're supposed to serve the best wine first. Then when everyone is slobberknockered, you give them the cheap stuff because they're too stiff to know the difference." (Again, I may be paraphrasing.)

Thinking about this story made me wonder aloud how women came to be considered subservient in the church. Maybe it's the bad publicity Mary Magdalene got. (No she wasn't the hooker, the one who anointed Jesus' feet with perfume to atone for her sins. Although church leaders did their best to meld two different women into one.) 

It was the women who wept at His feet when Jesus was crucified. And it was the women who went to the officials to claim His body and discovered the stone was rolled back. And where were the apostles? They were in hiding. 

After my rant in the car, I nearly missed a turn. 

It was a miracle I didn't get us totally lost.

Attribution: Mutialulu, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

  

Algorithm Follow-up

Well, so much for my experiment.

attribution below

As my regular readers know, last week I created a blog, put it out on FB, and asked for those of you who saw it to like it (even if you didn't) so I could see who was seeing my blog posts.

Yes, I cheated a bit by featuring a photo of my feline, because a post with a cat pic will often pop to the top of any cat lover's FB feed.

Even with Maggie's help, I had just 4 viewers chime in that they saw the post. Mind you, this is apropos of nothing, other than my curiosity about how FB presents things. It confirmed what I already knew, which is:

1. If there is money to be made from a post, that will appear in my feed, no problem.

2. FB will present dozens of random sites to me daily, trying to lure me into joining a new group or following a celebrity.

3. If I really want to see what's going on with friends and family, I need to go to the little spyglass and click on the folks who have posts, scroll through, and like or ignore as appropriate.

I realize there are no revelations here. And yes, I'm going to continue to blog, not because I'm setting the world on fire, but because I need a creative outlet. 

If you're reading this, thanks!

If you're not reading this, I hope it's because you've walked away from your FB page and the rabbit hole that ensues.

Just for shits and giggles, I'm including a picture of a Corgi this week. Maybe a dog lover or two will pay a visit!

Photo attribution: Nglengna, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

I've Got Algorithm

 "I haven't seen your blog in awhile," my sister, Diane, mused recently.

"Well, that's weird," I replied. "I've been posting every week."

That's when I started paying more attention to my FB feed. As most of you have likely noticed as well, the top of the feed is chock full of ads, clickbait, and all kinds of stuff that the FB overlords think we want to see. 

I mean, sure I love a good cat video as much as the next crazy cat lady, but there is a limit. 

And soooo much political stuff. I know I need to keep up on the news, but isn't that what the news is for? FB was supposed to be a safe place, where you could see what friends and family were doing and spy on old boyfriends and such. The intrusion into my happy place is not appreciated.

I've started using the little looking glass thingy to see who of my friends/family have posted anything new. Now I go through and click on them instead of scrolling, and it's way more efficient. This, of course, is assuming that FB deigns to actually show all of the folks who've shared something, not just the ones with the most posts or the most popular ones.

That's when I decided to do my own little lab experiment. If you're reading this, bless you. And if you would be so kind, please either "like" it (even if you don't, that's okay, I won't take it personally) or post a comment (i.e. react in some way) to indicate that you've seen it. 

I'm just curious to see if my posts are actually showing up in my friends' feeds. 

Thanks in advance to all who participate in this little exercise of mine.

I'll update you next week on the results. 

P.S. If you're wondering, "what's up with the kitty pic?", I'm putting my thumb on the scale, so to speak, by throwing in a little cat porn.