Out of Sight

"I want to get rid of all the books," a frustrated Mr. Ginley said. 

Any

Stroky McStrokerson's Selfie

one who knows my husband understands that this has been the most gut-wrenching consequence of the stroke.

He's a lifelong reader, and his current difficulty in reading is devastating. We have books. A lot of books. But his doctor was very cautious about his ability to zoom through a 500-page tome again. She told him he'd likely come out of this with a significant blind spot in his left eye. 

The awful thing is it's not simply that he can't see properly out of his left eye; it's that his brain doesn't always process what he's seeing correctly. My sister got him a workbook with different exercises to do, and he's struggled at times. 

"I can't find 'Frank Sinatra' in this word search puzzle," he huffed the other night as I made dinner.

I looked at the list and told him Old Blue Eyes wasn't on the list of words he was supposed to find. 

On the other hand, he just got the sport trivia workbook I ordered for him, and he's already done a few pages in that and has done well. 

The brain is a weird and mysterious place. We're hoping it finds a work-around for his vision problems. In the meantime, he helps me with the Spelling Bee anagram I do in the New York Times, and he tackles the Sports Connection puzzle on my phone daily.

Of course, there are audio books. He's burning through those, along with AA batteries. He's also taken to listening to music at night before bedtime, which helps him sleep. At first, it was a little unsettling to hear him crooning in the other room, only because I wasn't sure if he was calling for me. But last night, I recognized a tune by the Moody Blues, so I trundled back off to my own slumbers.

This week, he'll be going in for this third try at kidney stone removal. Hopefully, this trilogy will wrap up that part of the program for good, and we can concentrate on everything else that needs to be fixed. 

Fingers crossed. 

I Wanna Hold Your Hand (Again)

 I was sitting on the edge of Mr. Ginley's bed the other day, holding onto his absent fingers.

At Big Sur, in the beforetimes

"Come on, squeeze my hand," I said quietly.

And he did. 

It was the first time since his stroke almost seven months ago. And it was grand.

He hasn't been able to replicate this bit of magic since then, but that's okay. It all takes time, as we have been reminded again and again.

Meanwhile, our granddaughter turned a year old this week, and she and her Dad paid us a visit. She's such a delight. I found Raffi's "Bananaphone" on YouTube and played it for her. We all grooved to the tune our son and Kevin used to like listening to in the car.

Those were the highlights of the week. No major mishaps to report, thank heavens. 

Y'alls prayers, virtual hugs, and good thoughts and such must be doing wonders.

Thanks to one and all!

Naming Names

I don't know where the thought came from, but I was ruminating this week on brainstorming sessions with Harry in the before-the-beforetimes. 

Someday, we visit Sweeties again

We'd spend an hour or two trying to name a new product line or that year's plush animal to be sold for the company's favorite charity. Each of the writers would have a list, and we'd toss out names to each other to see if anything stuck. It was fun and wonderful working in that creative environment.

Maybe that's what inspired this week's blog.

"What if we combined our names, like 'Brangelina.' What would we come up with?" I asked Mr. Ginley.

These are the kinds of discussions we have now, amidst the mayhem that has become our lives.

"Of course, it depends on which form of our names we use. William or Bill, Barbara or Barbie." Possibilities include:

• Willarbie
• Barbilliam
• Bariam
• Willbara
• Barbill (my personal favorite)

Given how much of a team we've become, it only makes sense to give us a name. 

As you can see, it's been a pretty quiet week. There were a few highlights.

Mr. walked 50 feet this week. (Woo hoo!) And, for the first time the other night, he moved the toes on his left foot. Which is clutch to his recovery.

His nurse, Serena, took blood so we didn't have to go have it done at the hospital, and she did a wonderful job. It's no small feat considering someone's small veins. 

We're inching closer to the next kidney stone procedure. Please, dear God, let this be the last one.

In other news, we signed a contract to get the back of the house painted. I think we're going to put off replacing the back door for now. 

Thanks, dear readers, for hanging with us. Know that we love to hear what y'all are up to. 

As always, we live vicariously through others.

Keep those healing thoughts and prayers coming, please! 

Late Night Rambles

 "Chirp."

"What time is it?," Mr. Ginley murmured. 

"20 to 4," I replied.

He hit the light on the clock and took a gander.

"3:40," he gurgled.

"Chirp."

"What was that?," he inquired.

This conversation took place in the wee hours this morning, as I was emptying his pee bottles and covering him back up.

"Chirp."

"It's the smoke alarm," I diagnosed. "I changed out the batteries in one of them when it went kaput last year, but I think it was the upstairs one. This must be the one downstairs."

In the beforetimes, Mr. replaced the batteries on Halloween, but last year, the VERY BAD DAY occurred before the trick or treaters came around.

"Chirp."

"I'll just get the step stool and remove the battery," I said. 

"You should use the ladder, that ceiling is pretty high," Mr. Ginley replied.

But I didn't have it in me to shlep the big ladder up from the basement, so I stood on tiptoes on the step stool and tossed the battery out.

"I'll bring up the ladder later today when I'm fully awake and put in the new battery," I told him.

"Chirp."

Sigh.

I went over to the steps leading upstairs and cocked an ear.

"Chirp." 

Up I went, dragging the step stool with me. Turns out, the culprit was the CO2 detector. I replaced the battery, reversed my steps, and carried the step stool back to its home in the kitchen.

Blessed silence.

Just another night of high jinx at the Casa de Ginley.

This is why I live vicariously through all of you on Facebook. 

P.S. Progress report on Mr. Ginley: He walked 25 feet this week. Watch out, Stroky McStrokerson is on the move!

P.P.S. This week, we celebrated our anniversary: 38 years of marital blisters bliss.

Groundhog Day

When the doctor came out to talk to me after Mr. Ginley's latest kidney stone surgery this week, my heart sank. I could see from the look on his face that this wasn't going to be our last rodeo.

I can smell this memory (Krispy Kreme)

"There were embedded stones," he said. "We cleaned those out, but it weakened the walls of the urethra, and we couldn't go any further up to tackle more without risking injury. Which would mean an 8-hour operation to fix it. We'll be going back in again in 4 weeks."

I felt like Bill Murray in the movie Groundhog Day. Ding. I got you, Babe. 

It fell on me to go to the recovery room and explain to my beloved, who had been so eager to put all of this behind him, that we still had miles to go.

He took it better than I had anticipated. Was he being brave for me? Probably.

We knew the drill. I arranged for the home health nurse to come and remove the catheter in 2 days. He started on a course of antibiotics. (These caused horrible diarrhea, I won't get graphic here, you're welcome.) And he continues to feel the urge to pee every 15 minutes.

Not much joy in Mudville.

The next procedure is scheduled for early June. In the meantime, we'll continue to work on his PT. (OT has ceased for the time being, because his hand hasn't come back yet, and all he can do is keep it limber until it does.) His transferring continues to improve – most days, he's at minimum-assist, for which I'm grateful. And he's doing exercises to strengthen his core and his good leg to keep them in the game.

And so it goes. 

Every day, I remind him of our "one day at a time" mantra.

Although, as Ilene pointed out, some days "one moment at a time" is all one can manage.

Wearing the Crown

 "I dreamed that England made me King William V."

These were Mr. Ginley's first words this morning.

"You mean, like King Ralph?" I inquired, referring to the 1991 movie starring John Goodman as the mensch who would be king.

"Ya, just like that," he said sleepily, still in the throes of slumber, apparently. "They found out I was the closest blood heir to the throne. But they didn't want you to be in the ceremony. I told them, 'If Barbie can't be there, I won't be there.'"

I was touched. 

"Was there a King William IV in real life?" I wanted to know.

"Ya, he came before Victoria, he was her uncle. Wasn't king for very long, though." [Seven years, almost to the day. Thanks, Britannica.]

"The first thing I did was end the troubles in Ireland," he continued.

"I bet the food was good," I noted, knowing his priorities. And thus sent him back to dreamland, hopefully to enjoy all his favorite delicacies as regent of GB.

Back here in the land of reality, Mr. continues to take more steps as his left leg works valiantly at regaining its former functionality. His hand remains a stranger, but we have hope.

Thursday marks six months since the stroke struck. Also coming up this week is his next procedure, which will hopefully be the final kidney stone blast extravaganza. Once we've gotten through that, we'll continue to work on transferring, so he can get from his wheelchair to the car seat and be free to roam beyond the cabin. 

The dream is to have him sailing through the MetroParks again, side by side with moi, taking in the wonders of nature and experiencing the great outdoors again.

Which, I believe, is a more realistic dream than becoming Bill V.

Fingers crossed. 

I See You

Back in the day when Sears was a shopping mecca in search of a rebranding strategy, they came up with the tagline, "Come see the softer side of Sears."

It was a nice strategy, really. With a heavy focus on power tools and man cave whatnots, they set out to woo apparel shoppers.

These days, I feel as though I'm experiencing the softer side of my husband.

When I look at Strokey McStrokerson, who do I see?

Haberdashery in the Beforetimes

A stroke victim? Someone to be pitied?

Nope. I see my husband, my honey, a man of great determination and courage. With that wry sense of humor and ability to remember historical facts, sports figures, and where we put the extra blade for the lawn mower. 

And yes, the guy who donned an elephant hat in the store that one time.

These days, he's quieter, more introspective, more sensitive to those around him. The temper of the beforetimes has been replaced by gentle remonstrations when I get angry or frustrated. 

In other words, we have the softer side of Mr. Ginley. 

This week, he took eight steps using his bad leg. It was quite the accomplishment, with hope for many more. I promised him a shillelagh when he can walk again.

I can't wait.