To all of my new followers, if you are unaware of my upcoming feeding tube surgery that is scheduled to take place this coming Tuesday the 13th, read this, this, and this.
For everyone else, as you know I was supposed to get a feeding tube last summer, because I weigh less than most 8-year-olds, but a week before the surgery, my surgeon decided the procedure was too risky. There is a chance my weak lungs could collapse when they take me off the breathing tube that is inserted to keep me alive during the surgery. Awesome.
So, for the past year, while my doctors have been debating what the best course of action is, I have been drinking these super-high-caloric milkshakes like it is my fucking job, in hopes of gaining some weight so I can put off this independence-crushing, not to mention dangerous surgery.
Well, I failed miserably. In fact, when I went to see my main doctor last month, I had lost 6 pounds since last year, bringing my weight to a whopping 46 pounds. My doctors, my family, and I all reluctantly accepted that I needing to have the feeding tube surgery, despite the obnoxious risk that it might kill me.
I was assured that my doctors and surgeon were all on the same page, and my new pulmonologist wrote me a very convincing email explaining that he firmly believed, based on my life history and uncommonly high lung-function test scores, that I would have no problem coming off the breathing tube. I slowly accepted that a feeding tube was going to be a part of my future, and convinced myself that I would get through the surgery just fine.
Tomorrow, my dad and I will be driving to Delaware to meet with my surgeon, since the surgery is only a week away. This is the same surgeon who told me not to get this procedure last year, so it will be interesting to discuss why he changed his mind.
This trip tomorrow is weighing pretty heavy on my mind right now; I don’t expect to get much sleep tonight, because the outcome of the meeting is going to greatly determine my attitude towards the surgery. If I get a sense that he is still even a little hesitant about doing the procedure, I’m going to be a mental basketcase for the following week. It’s terrible, but I strongly believe that’s what will end up happening tomorrow.
Either way, I am at peace with having to get a feeding tube. It’s going to be different, and gross, and unsightly, but who gives a fuck? Nobody sees my stomach for the most part, unless I’m wearing one of my sexy belly shirts, so it won’t be a big deal.
I will update you guys tomorrow about how it goes!
Afterthought: If something crazy happens during the surgery, like I slip into a year-long coma for instance, it will definitely help me sell more books down the road. Maybe I should be aiming for coma, or perhaps I’ll get lucky and they’ll cut my leg off or something. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to be successful hahahaha.