First of all, many many thanks for all of you who have expressed their concern for Phil and his Big Summer (and Fall) of Mystery Ailments. I’ve been delaying posting anything because I’ve been waiting for some kind of closure. Nope, no closure yet, but there is a weird little kink at the end…
Let’s recap a little. Phil Crone (Cheap Fobotics Officer, Butt-Tag Maker, husband) had a horrible MRSA infection this summer, and just when it was clearing up, was laid low with a kidney stone. Scans to pinpoint the stone turned up another surprise–a tumor in the other kidney. After waiting a day for the stone to pass, a search party was sent in (ow) after it, and discovered…nothing. It just vanished. But that’s good, right?
So jump ahead 4 weeks, and another expedition goes in after the tumor kidney, with the goal of removing just the cancerous part laparoscopically. Unfortunately, after two sections were removed and biopsied (Phil being on the table this whole time) results were not what the docs wanted, and the whole kidney went bye-bye. But really, the only complication was that coming out of an extended stay in anesthesiaville, Phil bit his tongue so hard he was speaking Welsh for a week.
So on Monday last week, we came home from the hospital, certain that we were done for the near future and under warranty for at least a year. HAH! Wednesday morning, 5am, a day and a half later, Phil wakes up with–get this–a freaking kidney stone. And CT scans show it’s the same stone, stuck in the same place. Back we go to the ER, in they go with another expeditionary force, and….nothing. Can’t find it AGAIN. A very cranky Phil was discharged the next day (Thanksgiving, if you’re keeping score) and has been recuperating nicely since then, aided by the fact that football has been broadcast during every single moment of his recovery. Here’s a picture of Phil recovering:
Jump ahead to a week later, when the finest medical imaging technology available takes high-res, 3-d pictures of Phil’s abdomen and, amazingly, burns them on to a CD for him to bring to his doctor. (In retrospect, we should have burned a copy for ourselves and used one as a Facebook profile picture–suck it, cute baby ultrasounds!) So FINALLY, we get to the doctor’s office Monday to have them interpreted, and they find…wait for it….NOTHING! Either the stone has magically disappeared, or it’s a sentient, ninja-like being, taunting us with it’s ability to vanish at will. OK, I’m grateful for it’s initial appearance, leading us to the discovery of the tumor, but listen up, stone, the encore performance was just showboating. This kind of behavior is not winning you any friends. If you’re still in there, in some kind of witness protection program for tumor snitches, you better stay out of Phil’s ureter. We’re on to you.
Phil went back to work today, and though he’s not 100% yet, he’s at a firm 82% and climbing. So, of course—my turn to break down. Seriously. Had to go to a hand specialist today, who diagnosed a condition called “trigger finger” in my right thumb, and loaded it up with enough lidocaine and steroids to get it a tryout with the Carolina Panthers. Trigger finger—what an ironic thing for a pacifistic, weenie liberal do-gooder to get. I’ll be out of the workshop for at least a few days–can’t bend the thumb without outside assistance from the other hand. But I’m not complaining–at least I’ve had time to write to you, my workshop is getting a little cleaner, and unlike Phil’s stone, I know where my thumb is at all times.