(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.