Saturday, June 28, 2025 – Day 319

Saturday, June 28, 2025

Good morning, world!

We’re five days out from my feeding tube surgery, and let’s just say…it’s been a hell of a ride—and I’m not convinced it’s over. Lucky me.

Nicole flew in early yesterday morning. I stayed home while Cindy ran airport duty, mostly because I didn’t want to stray too far from the bathroom. I’ve been loading up on over-the-counter remedies to relieve a stubborn case of constipation. So far, no luck. I even stopped taking narcotics, since they tend to gum up the works. Still—nothing. Not exactly the “fun weekend with Dad” experience I was hoping to give Nicole.

She came through the door with her usual sunshine—bright smile, warm hug, and an energy that made me feel instantly better. She told me she was up for whatever the day brought, and that she’d support me in whatever I needed. That’s Nicole—loving, grounded, and unflappable.

One of the first things we did was take a walk around the circle drive. I brought out my new fancy red walker, courtesy of Di. I had a feeling I’d be needing it soon—and sure enough, it’s already earning its keep.

The walk felt good, but didn’t do much to solve the issue at hand. Back inside, we flushed some warm water through the feeding tube—trying to stay hydrated and maybe, just maybe, the warm fluids would help the body get moving. Hydration? Yes. Movement? Not yet.

Next step: the suppository. Yep, we were officially out of gentler options. So I assumed the position, got things where they needed to go, and waited. Gurgles ensued… but still no urgent signals. I gave the throne a 30-minute shot—nothing.

So, we walked again. More OTC meds. Then I decided to try a lunchtime formula feed. I hadn’t eaten anything but toast all day. I set up my supplies, flushed the tube (more hydration), and started the feeding. First bolus: 60 ml. Almost immediately I started gagging. I paused, focused on breathing, and after a few minutes, the nausea passed—but so did my appetite. Lunch was officially over.

I headed upstairs to rest. I needed a break from the whole mess—literally and figuratively. We were planning to meet up with Mark and Barb at Hop’d later in the afternoon, and I wasn’t about to let any of this screw it up.

Around 4:00, we packed up and headed to the brewery. It was a typical Friday at Hop’d—good crowd, familiar faces. I only had one beer (playing it safe), but by 6:00, I was cramping in my shoulders, arms, and legs. Possibly dehydration again.

Back at home, I gave the toilet another go—still nothing. Then Cindy handed me the dreaded Fleet enema box and said, “Try this…or I’m taking you to the ER.” I froze. Which path of misery to choose? I reached for the box. ER seemed like overkill.

I’ll spare you the details—you all have vivid enough imaginations. Let’s just say: success at last. The pipes were cleared. The big question now is whether this is a turning point… or just a brief intermission.

Later, I joined Cindy and Nikki for a drink and some wedding talk—mostly dresses, which I happily zoned out for. Still, way better than talking about my digestive woes.

After about half an hour, I decided I’d hit my dress discussion limit and called it a night.

This morning, I feel better. I have an appetite again, and I’m hearing gurgles from below—a promising soundtrack. Let’s see where this goes.
 Have a great Saturday. 
Love you guys ❤️