Last Monday I got some overwhelming news about Chickadee. She needs a g-tube , and we need to get everything arranged. I sighed a heavy sigh and told the nurse practitioner I would work on Hubbend to get him to come around. Turned out he wasn't as far off that idea as I'd thought. He agreed to it with a fifteen minute conversation on the way home. I told myself it's normal. Our normal anyway. It makes sense, we understand it, it is time. We've had a year to get ourselves ready, since the word g-tube first came up really. But after I hung up the speaker phone, my irrational side could not accept what my rational mind had skipped over. That this is our normal. This is expected, it is in our life manual. My mind was screaming. My littlest sister already has a g-tube. I'm comfortable with idea, which is a big deal. I was comfortable with the idea of a g-tube last year actually, I just wasn't convinced of the need for it. Only one of her six spec...
The life of a train wrecked woman, trying to get back on track.