Getting Pee-vish

It's been another interesting week, which included pre-testing for Mr. Ginley's upcoming procedure, a ride in an NEMT to get there, and a phone call from his neurologist.

Here's lookin' at you, Kid*

First things first. NEMT (Non-Emergency Medical Transportation) is used for folks who need to get to doctor appointments or wherever without leaving their wheelchair. It's not cheap, but it's worth every penny to ensure your loved one gets where they're going without falling, which would result in another trip to the emergency room.

And none of us wants that.

The NEMT guy came to the door and helped Mark and I wheel Mr. down the ramp, then loaded him into the back of the van. I got to sit up front. We were delivered to the front entrance of the facility, where we checked in and waited to be processed.

At the end of the tests and instructions for the big day, Mr. was asked to provide a urine sample.

"Can't they take it out of the nephrostomy bag?" we inquired. Nope. We gave it the old college try in the nearby unisex bathroom, but to no avail. So the technician gave us a bottle and told us to fill it and drop it off at the lab, which I did the following day.

"I got a call from the lab," Mr. Ginley informed me as I walked in the door upon my return. "They said the urine test came back positive. I'm pregnant." 

Then he chuckled his endearing chuckle as I rolled my eyes and smiled. The only thing he's giving birth to is a mess of little kidney stones when they bust up the big one that's giving him so much trouble.

Later that day, I received a call from the neurologist's office telling me the blood thinner he was on was only supposed to be taken for 90 days, and that was likely what caused his bleeding ulcer. Didn't anyone tell us?

Nope. Communication in the medical community in the communication age leaves much to be desired. There's plenty of information in the system, but each doctor has their own specialty, and when things overlap, things are sometimes overlooked.

But that's a soapbox for another day.

Meanwhile, we wait with much anticipation for what Mr. calls the "boom-boom" procedure. 

We're hoping and praying it all goes smoothly so we can return to the "normal" routine that preceded this latest setback.

I gotta go now. The washer crapped out, and I need go shopping online for a new one, and probably a dryer, too.

Stay tuned!

*...in the beforetimes

Yucking it Up

"My 71-year-old husband tells long stories about himself to everyone. Family, friends, even strangers. I'm bored to tears hearing the same stories over and over, and I can see others' eyes glaze over to the point of avoidance."

In the beforetimes

This was the opening of a letter to Dear Abby the other day. This is our nightly ritual, me reading the advice columns from the daily newspaper.

I snuck a peek over the top of my ipad as I read it to Mr. Ginley, and he said, "Nice touch, changing the age to 71, like I wasn't going to recognize your letter."

We both burst out laughing, and he got that twinkle in his eye that keeps me from plummeting into total despair on the bad days.

When we'd wound down a bit, Mr. mused, "Laughter is the best medicine," and I had to agree. Not everyone understands our brand of humor, but that's okay, it works for us.

Reading the advice columns keeps us connected to the outside world. It helps to put our problems into perspective. Some of the letters are petty and silly, others are heartbreaking, and we're thankful we're not in their position.

The world has gotten smaller for the pair of us, but that's okay for now. We'll focus on enjoying the little things and let the big things take care of themselves.

Ramping Up

Are we making progress? I hope so. Sometimes it's hard to tell.

Photo provided by author

The wheelchair ramp was installed – on the day Mr. Ginley came home from the hospital. He got a test ride up the ramp and into the house. However, it was the ambulance drivers who brought him in, so I haven't experienced the delivery technique myself. 

Also, we are waiting for the rubber ramp to be installed on the inside threshold, which will help matters considerably. And my sister is going to provide special hinges for the inside door so we can manage easier access.

But, baby steps.

This week, Mr. had surgery to install a tube in his kidney to drain the fluid behind the kidney stone. This means I had to watch a YouTube video on the care and maintenance of the insertion area and the nephrostomy bag. (Or "pee bag," if you will.) 

Since he came home Thursday, Mr. has stayed in bed, worried about the hole in his back. This has made "toileting" challenging, and his PT has regressed. I'm going to work with him on his limbs today. Hopefully, we'll see some improvement in his mobility.

But, baby steps.

Next up is a pre-surgery visit in preparation for what Mr. refers to as kidney stone demolition and removal. He asked the doctor if he could push the plunger, but was assured he'll be under sedation for the procedure.

And so, the odyssey continues. 

The only bright spot for Mr. was the care he received from the nurses and other wonderful caregivers in his room at the hospital. He wanted me to mention Landon, Leah, and Skye, who were especially kind and thoughtful and treated him like a person, not just a patient. And Clo, who provided care along with a lovely Irish lilt and translation of a few common phrases in the native tongue of Mr.'s ancestors.

Go raibh maith agat.*

*Thank you in Irish. Linked to pronunciation.