Part 143 Adventures in j-tubing with radiologists, or, all you really need are some good Golden Triangle genes



The next morning erupts with attention-grabbing events – Becah is late for work, my tube is leaking and the site is swollen, the dog runs out the door and won’t come back, my throat is raspy. But Brett the dog eventually returns, and I have now gone two days with no fever or vomiting. I make the best of a long tube feeding session by writing a report for work. But the tube site continues to leak, and I must apply ice to bring down the swelling.

After the usual mixed bag night’s sleep, I am up at 4:30 to go to the bathroom, and my j-tube just falls out. Becah texts Dr. Bl-, then gets her by phone. Dr. Bl- talks Becah through the process of reinstalling the tube, which she successfully does. However, when I get in the bath tub, the tube promptly comes out again. It is early afternoon before it is deemed acceptable for us to leave for the medical center, and I am wasting away from lack of food. At the center an outpatient physician fills up the “balloon” that secures the tube, then checks the system with dye and considers it fine. I walk to meet Becah in the waiting room, and fluid leaks everywhere. We return to the room to find the doctor has already left, so we wait for his replacement, who tells me I need a larger tube put in but that it cannot be done today. He fills the balloon up with five CCs of water, which stings me the entire time. A male nurse comes in with some special lydocaine cream that instantly stops the pain. We call doctor three, who flashes in from inpatient. He is a handsome, studly-looking guy, and Becah is drooling. He reeks of confidence, tells doctor number two what he did wrong, fills the balloon to seven, and pronounces it fixed enough to go home. I am impressed, only until we reach the hospital exit door, where the leaking starts up again, and I go berserk.

Becah and I spend one and a half hours in rush hour traffic travelling home, me pressing a towel against me to prevent any sprung leaks. We fight and cry about our sorry two years’ plight and how much we need a break from this insanity.

We take Brett for a walk at home, only to have my tube start leaking again. We go back to the house and I lie down. Becah pulls the cord tighter, then accidentally cuts the tape that secures it. She reaches for the duct tape and fastens it back! Radiologists? Who needs them! Her blue collar gene pool from the east Texas “Golden Triangle” is all we need!