Friday, July 29, 2016

G Tube

Well, the G-Tube is in.

What's a G-Tube, you ask?

A G-Tube is this tube that sticks outta your stomach so you can feed yourself smoothies. 


You're injecting pureed food into your stomach, with a syringe, to stay alive.

No shit.

It went down a little something like this...

First, the nurse at the hospital took this tube and rubbed some anal ease or numbing lube or some shit on it and then he shoved this tube up Randy's nose and slithered that motherfucker all the way down into his stomach. For reals. And Randy took it like a champ and only said "FUCK THAT HURTS!" once. Well, it was more of this deep, animalistic type of scream. He didn't really say that. He more or less yelled it. Did I say they put some numbing lube on the tube? Yeah, well, I'm not sure that it was really that numbing. That tube going up and then down probably burned like a red hot motherfuckin' poker. Right?! Sweet Jesus! Poor dude. 

This tube was used to put air into his stomach so it would inflate and they could then cut it open. I don't know all the science behind it. I just know it fucking works. And it hurts like a motherfucker going in. 

Then they took him in get a CT so they could make sure where to make the incision on his abdomen. And, through this incision, they'll stick another tube. Into his stomach. Right. Because you don't wanna be sticking a goddamned feeding tube into a person's liver. Right? Motherfucker.

So, while he still had the tube in his nose, which ended in his stomach, the super cute CT girl finds his stomach, makes her mark, and then they wheel him back to the procedure room. This room has some fancy pants name, but in my world it's known as the "CUT YOUR HUSBAND OPEN AND KEEP HIM ALIVE WITH A TUBE IN HIS STOMACH" room.

And there was some kind of radiation emitting x-ray machine that they were going to use, and my head was spinning...breathe...keep

So, they created a sterile field in the room, and anything that's blue you're not supposed to touch. Right! Got it! No touchy the blue.


EVERYONE IS WEARING BLUE!!!!! I can't even make a joke about Smurfs, because really, it's overdone. But the bottom line is, I'm not wearing blue, so I'm getting the fuck outta there. Seriously. Not my area of expertise. I'm a Health Educator. Not a nurse. Not a physician. No. Not me. Never wanted to be that responsible for others. The irony is not lost on me.

Right. So, I'm in purple, I'm the odd girl out, I'm not in blue. It's cool you guys. Bye, dude. I love you. Kiss him bye, and leave the room, sending up chi to the universe, as I walk out, Please Sweet Baby Jesus, no seizures. Please Sweet Baby Jesus, NO MOTHERFUCKING SEIZURES!!!!! Have a little mercy, please, universe. God. Whoever. Whatever. We're good people. We don't deserve this. It's not fair. Fuck you cancer. Fuck you. Thank you medical science for keeping him, and really, my entire family, alive. Thank you.

They gave him some serious dope. But he was awake through the whole thing. Doesn't recall a second of it, but he was awake.

The doc made an incision in the middle of his belly, because apparently his abdomen sits a little high in his body cavity, and they cut through skin and fat (which there isn't a whole lot of fat because the dude has lost 14 fuckin pounds since his first chemo on 7/13!) and then kept cutting into the muscle and then into his stomach
RANDY WAS AWAKE FOR THIS!!!!!!!!!!! And, again, thank you medical science. Thank you to the chemists for inventing amazing drugs that make this possible. Oh, and special shout out to the person who invented drop cloths, because there was probably a sheild between him and his stomach, kinda like they do when a woman has a C-section. I presume....I'm not jumping on the web to research...other things to vent my life to my blog. It's a form therapy, you guys. 

Then the doc used some contraption to pull his stomach up as close to his skin as they could get (go with me on this) and some how locked his stomach in place by using three silver disc-shaped objects that are on the outside of his body. They are about the size of a dime, maybe a little smaller, and they look like magnets. But I don't know what they are. All I know is that eventually they'll fall off and if I find one in the sheets, I'm not supposed to freak out. Right? That's really all I need to know about that.

So then they took a second tube that wasn't as long as the nose pokin' tube, but was way bigger around in circumference, than the nose pokin' tube...and they stuck this tube into his stomach, and then they basically put him back together all nice and neat. 

Except there's like 6 inches or so of a TUBE STICKING OUT OF MY HUSBAND'S STOMACH.

And I have to feed him. I don't have to feed him. I get to feed him. With a huge syringe.

Well that's my version of it. I'm gonna let Randy tell you his perspective. It's coming. Don't worry. 

And then we got home about 5 pm after they discharged him from the hospital, he puked. So, you know that sucked. And he puked for hours.

Because, really, is that tube gonna shoot across the fuggin room? Did we just waste a ton of time and money and stress and anxiety for a tube to shoot across the room because he's still puking?!?! Ain't nobody got time for that. 

So that's when I called Home Health. Because, the doc put in the orders. And, seriously, we are so thankful we have amazing health insurance and so thankful that Nurse Jackie came. Late. At almost 9 pm. But she's the on-call and this is her retirement job and so she does it because she wants to, not because she has to. And she came over and scooped Randy up off the bathroom floor, and got some meds in him and showed me how to properly feed him and then he crashed hard. 

And I learned that no, the tube will not shoot across the floor. Thank the Sweet Baby Jesus. Right? And I learned that Nurse Jackie used to work in the NICU. Her entire career. And she's a mom of two boys

And the reason she came late was because it's her job. But also, because I said, basically, "My husband is a stage 4 tonsil cancer patient, we have to be at the cancer center every morning by 7:25 so that he can get his radiation treatment, and the reason we got the G-Tube is for him to survive because the radiation and the chemo are killing his sense of taste. So, if you can please come tonight, when my two boys, who are ages 9 and 7, are not here, and one of them has epilepsy and autism, so if you're not able to come tonight, please tell me what to do...." Because, really, I don't like to play the Special Needs Parent Card. But, if you're gonna play the Special Needs Parent Card, that was totally the time to do it. I need to advocate for myself and my husband. I'm not ashamed to do so. 

So, anyway, he's been surviving on liquids. Ensure. Boost. Tomorrow I'll start making smoothies. 

I may just make chicken cordon blue, just to be a bitch, and put it in the Vitamix. 

Who am I kidding? 

That meal takes waaaaayyyyyyy too much energy to make. 

On the upside, the dude can consume calories again. 

And hopefully tomorrow will be better. We'll have another home health nurse come check on us. 

So so SO thankful to have made the decisions we did when we were younger to enable us to have the health insurance that we do. Why not everyone in America has the same privilege is beyond me.  

But right now, I gotta go whip up a $5 milkshake and get it in a syringe and into Randy's tummy to keep him alive. 

No pressure.

1 comment:

  1. Omg, you two... What an ordeal. Sending good mojo your way.