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.