Normally I like to let my birthday pass without calling it to anyone's attention, but breaking your own rules every now and then keeps life interesting.
February 5th is my birthday. Yep: that's today!
It's my 51st birthday, so today marks my arrival on the back end of the Paul Serchia Century.
I can hardy believe it. For a whole year I have been evading paying money to AARP for an official membership in that organization while also carrying an official-looking AARP card in my wallet that is absolutely worthless.
Does that make me a fraud? Well, AARP, if you want your card back you're going to have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.
This February 5th, however, I have two birthdays to observe. Today, the very day that I am I'm turning 51, my G-tube is turning 2.
Yes, two months ago to the day I woke up in the recovery room at Kaiser Hospital and found a strange new rubber and plastic tail protruding from just north of my belly button.
Since that blessed event, I have fed no fewer than 372 cans of Isosource, and dozens of containers of Ensure, into the hungry valve of my G-tube.
My Isosource intake alone amounts to 139,500 calories. That's almost equivalent to a week of Whoppers!
Most of my meals have been in isolation. But if I were technologically savvy, I would share a G-tube feeding with you by posting a video on YouTube. (If I had beefy pecs and abs of steel, I probably would figure out a way to make that happen.)
You'll just have to imagine a 51-year-old geezer pulling a rubber tube out from under his shirt, poking it with a plastic syringe and then pouring fluid straight into the belly.
I've had many botched feedings over the past two months, but I'm getting more adept at pouring nutrients down the hose.
Here's a dilemma I'm facing even as I write: I need to drive to Koreatown to meet a friend but I haven't fed myself dinner yet.
No worries; I can do what every other Angeleno does in his or her car: chow down on the road.
One hand for the tube; one hand for the can of Isosource; two kneecaps for the steering wheel. I just went online to peruse the California Vehicle Code, and as long as I stay off my cell phone during mealtime, I see no legal reason why I cannot drive and conduct a G-tube feeding at the same time.
Don't mean to blog and bolt, but I gotta get outta here.
But before I do, join me in a little celebratory song:
Happy birthday, G-tube!
Happy birthday, G-tube!
Happy biiiiiiiiirthday, Geee-tuuube
Happy birthday, G-tube!
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HI, Paul -- I'd have sent a cake but wasn't sure how one blows out a candle, much less 52 of then (one to grow on)? Can a trach hole be trained to pucker? At least we won't have to worry about that next year -- you'll be huffing and puffing on your own. Anyway, happy (belated) birthday. -- Marvin
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