I am sitting in my son’s room, pumping his last bottle of the day through his NG tube while he sleeps. 

I am so done with the NG tube. It is time to get the G tube. I know this. We are ready. More importantly, he is ready. He is so frustrated by the tube in his nose and the tape on his face. It’s just time. 

Selfishly, I don’t want to go back into the hospital. We haven’t been admitted to the hospital since January. We have been so incredibly lucky. 

I dread packing for the hospital. I dread having Kiran hooked up to all the wires and machines in the hospital. I dread the waiting during surgery, the anxiety I am sure to feel. I dread sleeping on the uncomfortable couch, hearing every alarm, waking up every time the nurse comes in. 

It is for his good, and it is a necessary next step. But I hold so much dread in my heart for next week. I look at him sleeping peacefully in his bed at home, and I want to weep. For him, for my husband, for all who love him, for me. 


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