Farewell Feeding Tube

So, after two weeks of attempting to remove my feeding tube my hard work has finally paid off. Unlike in Liverpool, the nurses in Macclesfield have much more advanced tape to keep the tube stuck firmly to my skin. I could no longer perform my ‘hook & pull’ method to yank it free as whilst I’m flapping my hands over my face to secure a hold I’m spotted and mittens are placed upon me. No, in Macclesfield a new plan was required, a plan which requires patience, stealth and an unrelenting will to succeed. I named this ‘Operation Feeder’.

Operation Feeder consisted of clawing and scratching away at the tape over a large period of time. When I’m not picking I made sure I hid any evidence. If I worked too fast the big people would spot something was amiss, too slow and I would risk the weekly re-insertion of a new tube. I likened this to prisoners chipping away at their cell walls with makeshift pick-axes, rebuilding each morning so the guards did not notice. I’m a prisoner and I haven’t even reached my due date yet.

When the tape was sufficiently removed it was time to make the final pull. Two twins in their incubators sounded their alarms for me, distracting the big people and giving me a just the right amount of time to pull the tube away from my face. It hurt, but I was successful. It's now been over 48 hours and my face remains feed tube free. I still have plastic tubes up my nose but either way, I’m claiming this as a victory. Another result for Master Felix.

“What’s next on your agenda?” I hear you cry. Abolish thermometers? Milk on demand? Ward peace? These are on my agenda but the most pressing matter and the one which is closest to my heart (or nose) is obviously the removal of these oxygen tubes.

Each day, with the help of my parents, I can feel the trickle of cool, dry air reducing. I have managed to pull the small nasal plugs out of my nose on a variety of occasions but sometimes they stick and spike me. I know that if I can get my monitor to stay above 93% when I have had my Oxygen turned off, the nurses won't turn it back on. This can be tricky, but I am learning to meditate to control the machine. I will persist. Not just for me but for all the babies in this ward. One victory amongst the babies boosts the troops. Only yesterday for example we saw another of our friends escape. His parents arrived in the afternoon with a sort of flying chair. They strapped him in, hid his Oxygen canister in a tall bag, threw it over their shoulder and marched brashly out of the door. He hasn't returned and the nurses never questioned his disappearance. He’s made it "home".

Congratulations friend, I’ve made notes and I plan to share your success with my parents and any new arrivals. Once I find the right moment I’ll see you at “home” soon too.


(Here I am attempting to escape the cot, but as you can see the monitor is at 79% - it's about to alarm and send the nurses running)

 

Remaining persistent

Felix.