A Foggy Christmas

It was almost Christmas, and it would be the first one I’d celebrate in my new home.  It was a shame I was fighting for my life, instead of enjoying the beautiful holiday.

My mother was living with me, and I wasn’t able to go out, so my family gathered at my house, as opposed to our usual dinner at my parents’.  Very few memories of the celebration stayed with me, but I do have a recollection of hooking up my feeding bag as the night progressed.  I didn’t want to have it run the entire next morning, so I was forced to walk around with the pole, ticking included.

The liquid entered my intestine a drop at a time.  The tube that connected the bag to my jejunal feeding tube was consistently cream-coloured, the colour of the liquid.  The occasional air pocket didn’t indicate any movement, nor did the amount left in the hung bag.  The drops that slowly fell from the bottom of the bag into the top of the tube was the only sign that would let me know the liquid was moving.

I was in bed before any one left our celebration.  It wasn’t that I wasn’t appreciative that my family was there, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.

 

Welcome to 2017!  Wishing you and your family the very best of health, peace, and happiness.  Show a little kindness, share a little cheer, and help those that need you.  Here’s to hoping you’ll all continue reading too!

Patricia

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