Part 115 Un-rolling stones


The word from my urologist is that I have kidney stones, one of which may be large and which I can prepare to have an “exciting” time trying to pass. Due to their location, they would require a probe into my urethra to break them up (normally, lithotripsy would be used to shatter the stones, a much easier procedure). He is unconcerned for now, however, believing that I have more pressing health demands. If I were piloting an airplane filled with people and traveling overseas, it may be a different story. Instead, he suggests I return in six months, unless something dramatic happens.

At home I open the front door, responding to a tentative knock. Brooke has been next door and has come back. Her big brown eyes stare at me as she requests to watch LOTR (“where Aragorn falls off the cliff”). Then she hands over a leaf that she has picked especially for me.

I am having fairly active days at work. At home one afternoon I snack on a few pieces of popcorn and a couple of chips. Later I eat some high fiber soup, which abruptly gets caught in my throat and I vomit it up. I am seriously bummed at this point. Becah and I discuss getting another dilation before the planned Florida trip in July, or the possibility of instead getting it prior to Thanksgiving where I could use those holidays and the Christmas ones to recover. I have enough combined holidays and personal leave days then to get me through the end of the year. But I am worried that I won’t be able to eat decently and will have to wait so long before doing anything about it. This is the first day since the stent has been removed that I am seriously troubled about my prospects. I consider a future of eating only creamy soups, hoping even that will work.

In the following days my eating difficulties persist. Becah and I are discussing the possibility of postponing our Florida trip yet again, and possibly proceeding with the full surgery. I dread the thought of these options, but am realizing I may have no choice. The Band-Aids we are sticking on my throat aren’t holding. We watch another episode of “Friday Night Lights” before bed, no conclusions made.

I bring the kids to choir practice with me on Sunday, and everyone comments about how cute they are. We all go swimming later, having the pool almost to ourselves. My friend Mike comes over later, informing me that he fears he is turning into a recluse. I chide him that he cannot do that. In the evening Brookie wants more of her show. She has now taken to calling me “Boppy”, a variation of the Spanish “Papi” that she learned from watching the TV show “Dora the Explorer”.

On Memorial Day the kids and I go see “Pirates of the Caribbean IV”, in 3D (or is it “Pirates III”, in 4D?). We have great seats and a lot of fun (everyone must be out of town). After swimming in the afternoon Bree and her friends perform a Hannah Montana dance number they have been practicing for a school talent show. Bree craves applause, so we heap it on her, guaranteeing her future diva status.

After failing to get even the creamy chocolate ice cream down, I give up, and decide have the surgery on my esophagus. More dilations are pointless. Once again, there will be no Florida vacation. Becah and I sit the kids down and tell them. Surprisingly, they take the news much better than I do.

Brooke (who is now out of school) comes by my office with Becah the next morning. She is entertained by a co-worker’s book collection and his foot massager. Brooke and I play chase in the hall for a few minutes. I meet later in the day with Allison at Dr. Bl-s’ office. She suggests that I could go to Florida, having a dilation before the trip. But she also notes that, because my esophagus has shrunk so badly, I would need an additional dilation to prep it sufficiently for the procedure prior to the trip. This is getting more ridiculous by the minute, so I raise my hands and end this crazy speculation. She will set the surgery date for June 27.