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elfsWell, the good news is that they got the feeding tube in this time, and this time I didn’t immediately cough the whole thing up in one giant, disgusting mess.
Having gotten the tube in, I met with a different dietician and we had a lovely, sparkling conversation about food and diet and all that, and she agreed to change the formula I’m “consuming” from Pivot to Osmolite. The difference is that Pivot is made entirely of molecules that are “pre-digested;” that is, they’re the molecules of protein, fat, and sugar that your digestive tract can absorb without any processing. Osmolite, on the other hand, is made of things like safflower oil, soy protein isolate, and maltodextrin– the chemicals from food that require some sort of processing by your digestive tract (mixed with stomach acid & bile, and handled by the bacteria in your microbiome) before your body can absorb them.
That was the good news.
The bad news is that we’re flying blind here. We have no idea if my duodenum has opened enough to process any bile, much less enough to process the Osmolite. The feeding tube is still in there, taking up some of the space, too. Worse, the “reduction in bile recovery” they were seeing earlier (you might recall my rant about precision in language from earlier) seems to have been an artifact of my being “nutritioned” intravenously: without stimulation in the digestive tract from the substances being pumped in by the feeding tube, my liver had little reason to produce as much bile as usual. Now that the feeding tube is active, it looks and feels like bile recovery is as high as it’s ever been, and there has been no change, no healing, in my duodenum at all.
The CT for tomorrow has been canceled. My lead surgeon came in today at around 8:00pm. I expressed surprise that he was here so late. “Oh, I had an operation that took longer than expected, and I figured I owed you an end-of-week visit.” He said the CT scan had been cancelled because they only do one if they think it’ll show something that will change the current course of action, and until they start to accurate bile recovery counts there’s no reason to suspect that it will. He tried to make it sound “chipper” by relating tales of people who ended up nil-by-mouth for the rest of their lives, but that only upset me more. He said, “I want to give it at least two months.” The last time I talked to him he said duodenal injuries like mine usually resolve “within two weeks.” I also said that my floor doctor had put into motion the idea of doing this waiting at home, with a cart for both the bile recovery and the feeding. “Never sent anyone home with both tubes in them. That stomach pump tube has to be replaced every four weeks anyway. And you’ve had so much trouble keeping the NJ [the feeding tube– Elf] unblocked. Not sure that’s a good idea. But it’s your call. You’re the patient.”
I’m not handling all his very well at all.
Omaha did show up today, and we held hands and took a walk and she helped me get undressed and chaperoned my taking a shower so a nurse didn’t have to. After I was dressed, the nurse came to hook me back up. She said, “I’ve never seen a couple quite like you two before. You’re so lively. Like, I hear you arguing, but it’s playful, it’s not like any other couple I’ve ever met. It’s really nice to see.”
I taught her the word biritululo, which means to “argue loudly over something trivial as a way of relieving tension,” and how Omaha and I use that word to make sure any arguing we have is really identified as utterly trivial compared to the love and affection we have for one another. She was surprised when I said that we’d been at this for 36 years, and I did say that the first few years were “rough” (and they were), but since we stuck it out (we’re both children of divorce, so I think we’re just too stubborn and committed to doing anything but making it work), but now we’re just… us, and happy to be together.
I spent an hour or so playing Dead Space. It runs surprisingly well on my Ubuntu Surface Pro Six. And I played a little of Tesla vs. Lovecraft, which is hilariously fun.
But I miss food. I miss being able to move in bed without pain. I miss my life. I miss being able to think clearly. I miss… everything that’s not this sucky, lousy, little world, this hospital bed, these tubes, these medications.
I miss living.
Having gotten the tube in, I met with a different dietician and we had a lovely, sparkling conversation about food and diet and all that, and she agreed to change the formula I’m “consuming” from Pivot to Osmolite. The difference is that Pivot is made entirely of molecules that are “pre-digested;” that is, they’re the molecules of protein, fat, and sugar that your digestive tract can absorb without any processing. Osmolite, on the other hand, is made of things like safflower oil, soy protein isolate, and maltodextrin– the chemicals from food that require some sort of processing by your digestive tract (mixed with stomach acid & bile, and handled by the bacteria in your microbiome) before your body can absorb them.
That was the good news.
The bad news is that we’re flying blind here. We have no idea if my duodenum has opened enough to process any bile, much less enough to process the Osmolite. The feeding tube is still in there, taking up some of the space, too. Worse, the “reduction in bile recovery” they were seeing earlier (you might recall my rant about precision in language from earlier) seems to have been an artifact of my being “nutritioned” intravenously: without stimulation in the digestive tract from the substances being pumped in by the feeding tube, my liver had little reason to produce as much bile as usual. Now that the feeding tube is active, it looks and feels like bile recovery is as high as it’s ever been, and there has been no change, no healing, in my duodenum at all.
The CT for tomorrow has been canceled. My lead surgeon came in today at around 8:00pm. I expressed surprise that he was here so late. “Oh, I had an operation that took longer than expected, and I figured I owed you an end-of-week visit.” He said the CT scan had been cancelled because they only do one if they think it’ll show something that will change the current course of action, and until they start to accurate bile recovery counts there’s no reason to suspect that it will. He tried to make it sound “chipper” by relating tales of people who ended up nil-by-mouth for the rest of their lives, but that only upset me more. He said, “I want to give it at least two months.” The last time I talked to him he said duodenal injuries like mine usually resolve “within two weeks.” I also said that my floor doctor had put into motion the idea of doing this waiting at home, with a cart for both the bile recovery and the feeding. “Never sent anyone home with both tubes in them. That stomach pump tube has to be replaced every four weeks anyway. And you’ve had so much trouble keeping the NJ [the feeding tube– Elf] unblocked. Not sure that’s a good idea. But it’s your call. You’re the patient.”
I’m not handling all his very well at all.
Omaha did show up today, and we held hands and took a walk and she helped me get undressed and chaperoned my taking a shower so a nurse didn’t have to. After I was dressed, the nurse came to hook me back up. She said, “I’ve never seen a couple quite like you two before. You’re so lively. Like, I hear you arguing, but it’s playful, it’s not like any other couple I’ve ever met. It’s really nice to see.”
I taught her the word biritululo, which means to “argue loudly over something trivial as a way of relieving tension,” and how Omaha and I use that word to make sure any arguing we have is really identified as utterly trivial compared to the love and affection we have for one another. She was surprised when I said that we’d been at this for 36 years, and I did say that the first few years were “rough” (and they were), but since we stuck it out (we’re both children of divorce, so I think we’re just too stubborn and committed to doing anything but making it work), but now we’re just… us, and happy to be together.
I spent an hour or so playing Dead Space. It runs surprisingly well on my Ubuntu Surface Pro Six. And I played a little of Tesla vs. Lovecraft, which is hilariously fun.
But I miss food. I miss being able to move in bed without pain. I miss my life. I miss being able to think clearly. I miss… everything that’s not this sucky, lousy, little world, this hospital bed, these tubes, these medications.
I miss living.
no subject
Date: 2022-10-22 05:19 am (UTC)