Part 135 Swallow again


On my final weekend in the hospital, I am visited by Dr. Ki-, associate of Dr. Bl-, who is somewhat familiar with my situation. He refuses to fall for my begging for something wet to press against my lips (it is a shame that I am willing to risk aspirating liquid into my lungs just for a taste of Pepsi, but I am).

Dr. Bl- has approved another swallow test for me. I have the feeling that it may be premature, but my desire to eat and drink again, fueled by wishful thinking, means I eagerly return to the test room. After the usual wait (including chat TV interspersed with the standard summer “lose weight fast!” commercials), I am pushed into the test room, where once again the sadly familiar faces of the speech therapist and her physician cohort are staring at me. They are a trace more congenial this time (maybe they feel sorry for me, or maybe their bad press from my last visit returned to them), but still cautionary that I am attempting this too soon to expect a dramatic difference from last time.

I try the array of liquids as before, tilted up on a platform with my head turned slightly to the side. The monitoring staff comment quietly to each other and someone gently shakes his head. Failed again.

I am soon back lying in the hospital bed in my room. Jim is standing beside Becah, attempting condolences. I glance at the wires leading to the j-tube, realizing that I continue to be dependent on this source of nourishment. I still feel that my decision to have the esophageal reconstruction was a mistake, and I am trapped in this condition with no options. I worry that my vocal cords may have been permanently damaged from the surgical complications, and I plunge further into my depressed state. Becah has a difficult time reassuring me that everything will be alright – I can see the distress and doubt on her face. Jim explains to me that my situation is only temporary, describing it as a one step back before the two steps forward. He smiles awkwardly and wishes me well.

Becah and I watch as he leaves the room. We are at a loss for what to do.