Home

We finally made it home early Wednesday morning.

No, we never caught a military flight home. Showing up at the passenger terminal on Hickam Air Force Base in the middle of the night all dressed for flying with everything packed gets pretty old fast. We weren't even close to making it on those flights. Here's a little snapshot of a couple days we tried to get on a flight back to the mainland:

How am I not category 0.5??

So, never mind the flights to Japan and Guam. The Air Force flies there pretty regularly, but that was the opposite direction from Tennessee. One flight to Travis Air Force Base, outside San Francisco, only released 10 seats, yet 144 people (including us) tried to get on. We were category 6, but they rarely went lower than 3. Salt Lake City went up to category 4 for their 20 seats--we tried to get on that one too. Here's the last day we tried to fly home:

We were so close to continuing our vacation on Kwajalein Atoll

I was hoping to get on the flight to Fort Worth, which was then planning to fly to North Carolina. Unfortunately, 120 other people showed up with us at 1:10 AM for 16 potential seats. It was looking increasingly hopeless for us to ever make it home on a military aircraft, so we bought tickets through Priceline. The cheapest thing we could find left at 8 PM Monday night and arrived in Los Angeles the next morning. After a three hour layover we flew to San Diego for another 3 hour layover (the closest I've ever come to Comicon) and a change in airlines (American to United). We then took a United flight to San Francisco and a two hour layover before our final flight to Atlanta, which landed at 11:30 PM.

LAX - mommy got no sleep on the red-eye flight

San Diego - probably the nicest airport I've ever been to

San Francisco - I guess Betsy can sleep through anything

While on the flight to Atlanta, Betsy struck up a conversation with a father who told her his four year-old son was tube fed. Betsy asked if I could meet him after the flight and he said that would be great, so while I was waiting for our luggage, I got to meet Gage.

My hero, Gage

Gage is a super cool kid who has a button. He used to have a PEG tube but recently switched to a button because it's more practical for an active young man like him. I could tell he was as excited about meeting another tubie as I was. He introduced me to his entire family in the airport, including mom and dad, two siblings and his grandmother. He loves Legos and The Lego Movie. He even broke into an excellent rendition of "Everything is Awesome." I think he could've talked with me the whole night, but his parents said he had to get to bed. Words can't describe how inspiring it was to meet other tubies like Gage and Jesse Jones who overcome the setback of having a feeding tube with such a positive attitude. 

It was still a three hour drive from Atlanta to Knoxville. We could've sayed at my sister-in-law, Katie's house ("Hey Brian, watcha doin") because she lives just outside Atlanta. However, she wouldn't have been able to drive us home for another couple days and we didn't relish the idea of being so close to our goal--much less living in Katie's house; you should see that place!! Budget rent-a-car was offering a really good deal on cars and it was technically only 5:30 PM Hawaii time (even though we'd gotten very little sleep) so we got a car at the airport and drove home. We had to stop at Waffle House for coffee and a Real Food Blend.

Thanks, Jesse, for the Real Food Blend!!

We didn't end up pulling into our driveway until just after 5 AM. It sure felt good to be home though.

The dog acted like he didn't care, but I think he missed me deep down

Hawaii was an amazing experience. Watching F-16s getting refueled, the Polynesian Cultural Center, meeting Jesse Jones (and Gage!), the beaches on all four sides of the island, snorkeling, Waimea Falls, great seafood, touring the USS Missouri battleship and the Bowfin submarine. Oh yeah, and Grace got to do this:

What?!?!?

So, even though we'll be paying off our credit card until the year 2034, it was a fantastic experience. I'll try to write more about eating in Hawaii on another post.

Tubie Log - Day 14

What day is this? Friday? Saturday?

How long have I been here? Weeks? Months?

What does my dog look like?

Oh that's what he looks like. But what's that white stuff?

Every day is the same. Partly cloudy...high of 87°...chance for afternoon showers...I could be a weatherman here. Might as well. I'm never leaving this island. 

I've depleted my supply of Real Food Blends. A fellow tubie here, Jesse Jones, has been kind enough to give me some RFB's and Liquid Hope to last a few more days. Liquid Hope is nice because it has more adult size portions, though the chickpeas give me eczema. What will I do if I run out of food? The Asian kid traveling with me looks tasty. She might fit in my Vitamix. Wait...did I just type that out loud?

Gluten free?

The locals are starting to recognize us now. Cute Chinese kid. Twenty-something wife with an older gentleman dragging a blender everywhere. The one who drinks Mai Tai's in 5 seconds down a feeding tube.

Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh....relief from my misery...

Went to another role call this morning. This one was to Oklahoma. Every time, we have to pack all our stuff, change into long pants with socks and shoes, and sit in the terminal while a bored enlisted guy reads out the names of those who've been 'chosen'. 

If there's only one seat left, I'm leaving them. I wouldn't say it to their faces, but I can admit it here in my private diary.

The chosen ones don't look much different from me. A few desperate families ecstatic about being picked while the rest of the crowd looks on enviously. Unkind thoughts flit through my mind. 

Those two don't deserve to get on. They look far too happy. They haven't suffered enough to merit a slot out of here. Can Grace take them out and make it look like an accident?

That couple has 5 kids. Five bratty, snot-nosed kids just took our coveted seats to freedom. Are they not aware of over-population issues? Ever hear about birth-control?

I don't think that old guy's gonna make it to the aircraft. If I scare him really bad, could I induce a heart attack and take his spot?

I'm in a group of about 50 people. There're around 150 who want off the island, but we're the only ones foolish enough to believe we have a shot. We stare morosely into empty space, wondering where we'll stay tonight. When is the next flight? Can we squeeze one more night out of this hotel or will we have to find another one? How can we go another day in that tiny, economy rent-a-car, sleeping on a strange bed, pulling my blender around from meal to meal.

A no-notice flight to CA just got announced. Time for a little more disappointment.

Then I'll drown my sorrows in a Mai Tai on the beach. It's a tough life. Not sure how much more I can take...

I know you feel our pain.

We may just walk in the ocean and keep on walking.

We're unwashed and stinky, but at least we're stinky together.

Trapped in Paradise

The good news is we're in Hawaii. The bad news? We are unable to find a flight home. I think I mentioned something in my last post about the fact that we are low on the priority scale for Space A military flights back to the mainland. We are priority 6 out of 6, and it turns out there are quite a few military types here on vacation or military troops who live here and have some time to catch a flight to the Continental US (CONUS) to see their families. I blithely said something about, "we'll worry about that later."

So now it's been almost a week. We've had an awesome time. You may have seen some of the pictures on my facebook page or on the Traveling Tubie site. I'll try to share some here as well, though I can't add any clever captions. I had plenty of amazing experiences. 

We rode on a refueling plane on the way here and got to see F-16s getting refueled several times over the Pacific.

This could be a recruitment poster.

F-16s are tubies too!

We took Grace to the Polynesian Cultural Center where you can learn all about the native people on the islands in the South Pacific (New Zealand, Samoa, Fiji, Hawaii, and a couple more I can't think of right now). The presentation by the Samoans was a highlight because the guy was a comedian and made everyone laugh as he described how you harvest and eat coconuts. There was also a luau (with awesome roasted pig) and a show about Pacific island culture, complete with throwing fire around--Grace really liked that. They let me put all the great local food in my blender (I brought my Vitamix this time because I've had problems with the Blendtec) and they blended it up and brought it out to me.

I met Jesse Jones. This was my first time meeting another tubie in the flesh, so now I know I'm not so special after all. Jesse had throat cancer back in the 80s. He got more than 4 times the radiation I got to the same area as me (left side of head and neck). So he has remarkably similar symptoms to mine. He has very limited use of his left hand. Loss of feeling on the right side. He can't swallow anything. He has ringing in his ear. But his symptoms took years to show up and mine only happened after a year. He can only talk with a whisper. Also he requires oxygen 24 hours a day. This actually worried me quite a bit. If he is as bad as I am after getting 90 rads of radiation 25-30 years ago, then how long will it be before I require oxygen and only speak with a whisper even though I only got a paltry 20 rads? Hopefully that's a long ways off. 

I'm giving that sign because I'm Hawaiian now.

Anyway, Jesse doesn't let any of that get him down. He operates a website called drinkyourmeals.com where tubies (or anyone on a liquid diet) can get delicious meal recipes. He is biking 100 miles in September to raise money and awareness for cancer survivors. He rides 10-20 miles almost every day on his trike. It's a pretty awesome trike too. I have one but it doesn't have any of the features his has. Check out videos of him on youtube: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hcvEw_k54WA 

We've gone to the beach a bunch of times. Grace got to bury me in the sand. I think this was the best part of the trip for her because she's been talking about burying me since Tennessee (I'm really happy she's so eager to bury me). We built a bunch of sandcastles, only to watch them get demolished by the waves. Some people are really worried about protecting their tubes when they go in the water. I haven't had any problems though. I just let it hang out and took a shower after I got out.

Shortly before Betsy threw her in.

She liked burying my head even more.

We saw Waimea Falls today; a beautiful waterfall on the north shore of Oahu.

They used to have a show where they dive off cliffs into the pool, but they stopped doing that in 2003. Probably because some moron like me fell off and broke their neck.

We saw Dole Pineapple Plantation. Betsy and I came here several years ago and we wanted to bring Grace and let her try their maze (even bigger now).

Riding the Pineapple Express, kinda like the Polar Express, only with pineapples, and no santa, and we're in Hawaii...ok it's nothing like the Polar Express.

I did some snorkeling in Hanauma Bay. I was worried about snorkeling because I wasn't sure I could put my mouth around the snorkel tight enough to breathe. But, it worked out fine. Betsy and I saw fish, but Grace was a little worried about going out in the big waves. Hopefully we'll get her out there if we go again later this week.

Stunning scenery.

This brings us back to our problem. We are trapped here. The flight back to Tennessee left with very little notice (we missed it completely) on Friday. There was potentially a flight today to New Orleans, but they decided not to open up any seats. There will be a flight to Illinois on Tuesday, but I'm worried a lot of people with higher priorities than ours will also want to get on it. There are loads of flights to a base outside San Francisco, but those get filled pretty fast with people who are Priorities 1-3. Anyway, San Francisco is a long way from Tennessee if we want to rent a car or catch a one-way flight. Meanwhile, we are moving from one room to another on the island; basically any military lodging with an opening because staying anywhere else gets expensive. I'm worried that Hawaii's homeless population is made up entirely of retired military people still waiting for a flight back to the US.

Meanwhile little things about my traveling companions have started to grate on my nerves. For example, Grace can whistle. Grace is very proud of her ability to whistle. She believes that when she whistles, Hawaiian birds understand her. Not only can she whistle when she breathes out, but she can also whistle breathing in. Do you see what this means? She whistles All. The. Time. Nonstop. Without taking a breath. I'm living with a frickin' canary here.

I know what you're thinking. "Oh Boo Hoo, you have to spend more time in Hawaii while Tennessee is roasting in hot, humid, 90+ degree weather. Quit your whining and go lay in the sand."

Fine. I'll just go do that.

Went to watch the sunset right after I uploaded this post just so I can rub it in your faces. HA HA HA HAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!

Hawaii or Bust

As I write this, I'm still packing for a long trip of questionable duration. In the morning, I will be sitting on a plane headed for an Air Force reserve base just outside Los Angeles. The family will be sitting with about 25 other people on seats like this:

If you think this is bad, you should see the seats back in coach

Once we reach California, we'll stay the night at base lodging (like an inexpensive hotel room). The next morning, assuming our 50+ year-old plane hasn't broken down, we will fly to Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii. For free.

How did we get this opportunity, you ask? The Air Force does something called Space Available Travel. If one of their cargo planes is flying somewhere in the U.S. or overseas and they have room on the plane, they offer it up to active duty or retired military and their families. I was medically retired from the Air Force, so I'm eligible to fly Space A (we call it 'taking a Hop'). 

There is a pecking order to get on flights. For instance, if there are only 5 seats available on a C-130 flight to Germany and 5 active duty military members want to travel, they have priority over me. If 5 active duty military folks who have orders to Germany (meaning they need to go for work) want to go, they would have priority over anyone traveling for leisure. Being retired, I'm at the bottom of the pecking order. This isn't as big of a deal out of smaller bases like the National Guard base here in Knoxville, but when we try to fly home from Hawaii, it may prove to be a problem. I'll worry about that later.

The flight schedules for air base terminals are only released a few days in advance. We knew that the base in Knoxville takes one or two flights to the base in Hawaii during the summer, but we had no idea exactly when. So, two or three times a day, for the last two months, I've been calling the terminal and listening to their recorded message about upcoming trips. And for the last two months there's been absolutely nothing. Same message every time. I could repeat it from memory. "You have reached the 134th Air Terminal Space-A information line. Customer service hours are blah blah blah. The air terminal is located yada yada yada. As of 6 June, we do not have any trips available..." 

We've been calling this number every summer for the last few years, hoping to get a flight. A couple years ago, we got on a flight and our schedule was free so we packed up for the trip. We got completely psyched to go. We told Grace stories about Hawaii and how she would spend her birthday there. We got someone to take care of our dog while we were gone and Betsy's sister promised to look after our house. I booked rooms at three different hotels because no hotel had vacancies every night we planned to be there. I reserved a rental car. We made plans to meet up with friends for lunch the second day we were there. The morning of our flight, we drove to the terminal and showed up at the door with all our luggage in tow. "Oh, I'm sorry," they told us, "that flight's been cancelled." "Will there be another flight," we wondered? "No, not this summer."

So that was it. Dreams crushed. Birthday ruined. A bunch of reservations to cancel.

You can see why we aren't entirely sure we'll get to Hawaii until the plane takes off. Actually, I won't be sure until we take off from California. If I post an update tomorrow that shows Grace crying in a corner of the house, you'll know how the trip went.

What sort of plane will we be on? It is a Boeing KC-135 Stratotanker. A refueler. These planes were used during Vietnam to refuel fighter aircraft and bombers and are still in use today. The last time I was on one was a hop to Germany about 15 years ago. I got to see the plane while it was refueling an F-16. Pretty cool to watch.

They'll refuel your car on cross-country trips too

A gallon of gas is crazy expensive up here

The ride isn't the most comfortable. It isn't climate controlled, so even though the destination is Hawaii, we have to bring warm clothes and blankets for the trip. It's extremely noisy and will require earplugs. There's no flight attendant and no drinks or meals provided, though they said they'd have water. Not sure about the bathroom situation. I don't think Betsy will be happy if it's just a bucket behind a curtain. I'm not complaining though because Hawaii. Free.

For my own meals on the flight (should be four hours to LA and about the same to Hawaii) I'll bring Real Food Blends. Last month, the company asked me to try out powdered meals. I got a jar of turkey, papaya, and avocado powder. It is perfect for a trip like this. I just wish I had more to bring for every leg of my flight (they aren't on the market yet). What I ended up doing was dumping the rest of my jar (I'd used about half for a test meal) in a blender bottle. About halfway through the flight, I will fill the bottle up with water, shake it up really well, and have myself a turkey dinner.

Dehydrating retains essential vitamins and nutrients really well

Once we've arrived in Hawaii, we have reservations to stay at the Marine base on the east side of Oahu for a couple nights. Then, we were able to rent a cheap studio apartment on the north shore for four nights. After that, I have no idea where we'll be--maybe just sleep on the beach? I have enough medications for three weeks. I've got my blender, a few syringes, a few Real Food Blends and two swim suits. Grace and Betsy may or may not be packed. I'm really only concerned with 'Team-Brian' so they could be dressed in rags with no food. Should be an adventure!!

I'm prejudiced

I have to get something off my chest. I've been holding it in because I'm afraid of offending anyone with my narrow-mindedness. I try not to let my emotions come out around my daughter because I don't want her growing up filled with hate like me. 

You see, I'm extremely prejudiced. There is a certain race of humankind...no....I can't even accept that they're human. They're a lesser species to the rest of us. My child shouldn't have to go to school with their children. She doesn't need to use the same bathrooms, drink out of the same water fountains. I don't want to see them move into my neighborhood. They should be shipped back to whatever country they came from.

I'm talking about dentists.  Dentists and those minions they innocently call 'oral hygienists'.

I'm a rabid anti-dentite (Mobile: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ythrdCsOFJU)

They've got my daughter thinking the dentist's office is a magical place where you get toys and no one gets hurt. When we tell her she has a dental appointment, she can hardly wait to go. Everyone in Dr. Malone's office, from the receptionist to the dentists themselves, treat her like a princess. In the dentist chair (a torture device as far as I'm concerned) she gets to lie back with headphones and watch cartoons in a TV on the ceiling. The hygienist announces that she's just going to "tickle" Grace's teeth as she lightly cleans them with a soft toothbrush. She gently admonishes my daughter to brush and floss her teeth twice a day. Then Grace is sent on her way with two toys and a pat on the head from the dentist. 

Grace' dentist's office complete with puppies, kittens, unicorns, ponies, butterflies, happy sun, and rainbows

Where is this coming from?? When I was her age, I hated going to the dentist. "Tickling" teeth??? Are you kidding me?!? Dentists only exist to make your mouth bleed. The whole oral hygiene industry is a vast conspiracy by the powerful toothpaste lobby. It's my firm belief that brushing more actually fills your teeth with plaque!!! I've found reliable sources online supporting this (I choose not to share them now, but they're out there). Why do the British have bad teeth? Because they brush ALL THE TIME!!! I should know. I'm an American, and if there're two things we're good at, it's our humility, wisdom, vast knowledge about other cultures and mathematical ability.

Destists caused me nothing but pain throughout my young life and lectured me the whole time about how I needed to take better care of my teeth. Normally, their lectures involved bringing out the gigantic model mouth so they could demonstrate how to floss. Each time, I would watch intently like this was my first flossing lesson.

"If you can brush and floss the giant mouth then surely you can handle your tiny mouth"

"Oh, so it goes between the teeth?? I've been doing it completely wrong!" 

"How do you brush again? A circular pattern?" 

"You avoid the gums, right? No??? Wow, Never have I learned so much at the dentist office!! I will go right home and brush and floss every 90 minutes until my next visit!!!"

But I didn't. A year later, I was back in that chair, getting my gums scraped off, listening to yet another lecture.

"Still not flossing, eh? Guess it's time for another remedial lesson!"

I bring all this up because I went to the dentist yesterday. I get free dental care from the Veterans Administration, so the chair I sit in for my cleaning looks more like this:

Here's what a military dentist office looks like. There's a drill and pliers in there somewhere.

It starts out innocently enough. The hygienist and I exchange pleasantries. She has me lie back while she gets out her tiny mirror to have a look around.

"Oh, you've been taking GREAT care of your teeth! Whatever you're doing, don't change a thing!!"

OK, I'm thinking, my brushing paid off, not to mention the fact that I don't even put food in my mouth. I'll be out of here in five minutes.

"Let me just take care of a couple places." Suddenly, she takes out the dreaded dental pick. You know what I'm talking about. These medieval things:

For thousands of years, dentists have used this weapon to terrorize humanity

The VA is old-school. There're no electric toothbrushes here; just picks and drills. If I'm in pain, they give me a shot of whiskey or I bite down on a strip of old leather to mask my screams.

This is my nightmare

So, the hygienist begins to excavate my mouth. 

SSKREEEEE SSKRRREEEEEEEEE SSSKKREEEEEEEEEEE SSSKKKRRRAAAAAAAAA SSSSKKKKKRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

All the while, she's humming to Nickelback, Train, and Katy Perry tunes. After every scrape, she wipes the blood and gum tissue on my bib.

"Yeah, this looks so good!! Just a couple more places."

"The happy mouth makes everything less scary, doesn't it?"

All I can do is say, "Mmmrrrmmmfffff rrrruuuummmmmffffffffffff hhhhiiiiiirrrrrrrrmmmmmffffffffffffffffff!!!!!!"

SSSKKKREEEEEE SSSKKKKRRRRAAAAAAAAAA SSSSKKKKKRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

"Well, maybe three more spots."

SSSSKKKKKKRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"OOOOWWWWWW!!!!  HHHHelllllllllmmmmffffff Mmmeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!" I mumble.

"What's that, honey? You need suction?"

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Almost finished, dear!"

SSSKKKKRRRRRRRRREEEEE SSSKKKRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!

Finally, the torture is complete. I get up from the chair and look down at a bib covered in blood. 

"This went way better than my last appointment!"

Woozy from severe pain and loss of blood, all I can do is rinse some of the blood and gum tissue out of my mouth and stumble out of the office after promising to come back for another cleaning in 6 to 9 months. 

I'd like to say that this is the last time I'll ever step foot in the dentist's office. I'd like to say that they'll never take me in with their stories of cavities and gingivitis.

I'd like to say that, but I need to go brush my teeth. 

Clogs

Clogs are annoying. Depending on where I am and what my mood is, they can be SUPER annoying.

No, not these clogs.

Not these either (could've shared a really gross picture here)

I can't possibly claim to be the first to write about dealing with clogs in the feeding tube. Eric O'Gorman has an excellent guide on his tubefeeding blog YouStartWithATube. He also has a section devoted to it in his book, Complete Tubefeeding. If you're confronted with a clog, I recommend you start there. I want to talk about the way my attitude shapes how I handle clogs.

Blendtec has been letting me down lately. I know, I can't believe I just wrote that either! Don't get me wrong, Blendtec's customer support has been superb. They've sent me a free blender and two free containers. I make Almond butter all the time in my Twister Jar. The Wildside Jar is perfect for large dinners when I eat out. It's been extremely convenient to tell restaurant chefs to just hit the 'Soups/Syrups/Fondues' button and let the blender do the rest. Up until a couple months ago, this has worked perfectly.

But lately, ever since my trip to Snowmass, Colorado, the blends haven't been smooth enough. This always happens when I'm away from home too. The latest incident was in North Carolina. My sister and her two little boys came to visit from Nürnberg, Germany, last month. We went to visit our grandparents over Memorial Day weekend and stayed in a cabin near their house. 

Superman--the kid on the left--likes to randomly say "UNDERWEAR-SOCKS" or "BUTT-NUTS" What's up with that?

Three cousins with their grandparents. Hard to believe how different Grammy' & Grandpa's lives were at Grace's age.

Four generations. My big sis is on the far left and Aunt Susan is on the far right. Why's there an Asian kid in the photo??

My sister loves to cook and made some really delicious, elaborate meals during our stay. The last night, we grilled out at the cabin. I put a buffalo burger, salmon, butternut squash, and broccoli in my Blendtec for dinner. As usual, I hit the 'Soups/Syrups/Fondues' button. I've never had a problem with broccoli in my blend, especially cooked broccoli, but this time there were still chunks left over in the blender. I thought I could force them through the tube if I pushed hard enough, but no such luck. I had numerous clogs. Each time, I would refrain from pushing hard enough to cause a complete mess--I've learned my lesson there. I dumped out the syringe-full that I couldn't force through my tube, walked to the sink, and cleaned out my syringe. The offending chunk of broccoli was too large to get through the syringe and get stuck in my tube. This actually made it easier to clean out because I didn't have to deal with food caught in my tube. I put the pitcher back on the Blendtec, and ran it at a high speed for about half a minute. I thought everything was smooth enough, but when I sat back down and tried eating I quickly had more clogs.

I got so frustrated that I finally just gave up eating the dinner, dumped out my blend, and had an Ensure that I brought on the trip. Only problem is, I failed to close the side port on my feeding tube after I cleaned it at the sink. So, when I poured the Ensure into my tube, I dumped a large portion of it in my lap (see handy diagram below).

I frequently wet my pants.

Perfect.

Meanwhile, the rest of the family already finished eating, cleaned the kitchen, and they were singing and dancing next to the table. The whole time, while I was dealing with numerous clogs, I kept my mouth shut and avoided complaining. I'm more 'the quiet one' in the family. I normally don't contribute much in the way of conversation. Part of the reason for my silence is that I'm harder to understand and I get out of breath when I talk too much. Another reason is that we were always taught to 'be tougher' growing up. Complainers were looked down on. The very best people in our view could get knocked down, pick themselves up, and keep fighting without a word. My grandfather is the epitome of stoicism. He's a self-described "man of few words" who lived through the Great Depression and was awarded both the Silver and Bronze Stars during World War II. Another reason for my silence is I'm pretty non-confrontational. I don't like to make waves or cause a big scene if I'm having trouble eating. 

Anyway, that's more stuff to talk to a therapist about, but the problem with suffering in silence over clogs is that the frustration and embarrassment--not to mention the hunger--builds up inside you and can make dealing with the problem ten times worse.

"Serenity now......insanity later" http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Ow_9MglZrhs

I've found that overcoming clogs is so much better when I talk about it openly with the people around me and look at it from a humorous perspective. It also helps me immensely to be part of tubefeeding groups online and swap clog stories.

I recently asked a couple groups I follow on Facebook if anybody had any really good clog stories. I got some fantastic responses! 

Shifra shared this story: "Oh gosh, where haven't I spilled the feed!!! When we did gravity feeds we spilled it everywhere. Now that we push the feeds it's much better. I think the worst was in the car when I was feeding my son and somehow it spurted out onto the ceiling and all over me and him. That was a huge mess. :-(  "

Megan writes, "My feeding tube got clogged with riboflavin (which turns cement-like if you don't mix it with enough water) and when I finally pushed hard enough to get it to unclog, it went, well, everywhere :)" Megan was kind enough to include pictures so we can fully share in her misery:

We call this "getting baptized"

Katelyn said, "I get so frustrated with clogs (lol) I literally have temper tantrums like a little kid. Yesterday I got clogged and we tried to flush with coke and it literally sprayed ALL OVER the bathroom. Like, full 360 spray covered the entire bathroom and my husband. He just looked at me and shook his head. Was a good time."

DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, but Courtney told a very entertaining story to the group, "This is going to sound bad, but my friend told me nutmeg can get you high (I get rx med marijuana for seizures but didn't have another rx until the next visit) so I just dumped the nutmeg in without water and then I put water in the syringe. Basically did everything ass-backwards. Had to get my mom to help me unclog it. Worst lecture of my entire life. She used a turkey baster to get most of it out :o thick shit gets clogged easily, my suggestion would be use warm water to thin it down. I heard about carbonated drinks helping getting tubes unclogged but I hate that feeling."

In case you're curious, here's an entertaining article explaining how Nutmeg does, indeed, give you a high, but it also gifts you with, "dizziness, nausea, cottonmouth, paranoia, difficulty urinating and, the coup de grace, a hangover that feels like God taking a dump on your soul."  (http://www.cracked.com/article_16178_7-common-foods-that-can-actually-get-you-high.html#ixzz34T5fbQZ8)  

Another story comes from Stephanie: "I had a carrot stuck in a cranny of my GJ connector for a month. Also, my dad found me fighting with my G tube standing over the toilet and asked me what I was doing...I told him my G tube was clogged. He asked me how I clogged it...I had eaten some pizza the night before and there was an undigested red pepper floating around in my tube the next morning! Luckily I got it out!"

Kelly sprayed a blend across the room and into her husband's guitar.

Rachel shared this incident: "My husband was feeding my son in the waiting room at an appointment while I registered him. I walk back over to them and my husband says, 'Can you take care of that,' while pointing at another child in a stroller near us. There was a spray of [blended diet (BD)] all over the back of the stroller. As an added bonus, the family was not native English speakers."

Rebecca is another caregiver to a tubie: "Our 21 year old son has "girly" posters on the ceiling in his room. I was trying to get his j-tube unclogged (formula) and sprayed a group of his beach beauties. Not quite the spray tan you hear of...."

Jen said, "Our first month of BD was at an [ICU]. The first day of the diet, I ended up spraying not just any ceiling but the hotel's popcorn ceiling. It wasn't an easy explanation to make about why a green substance was on the ceiling!"

Lindsey had a couple stories: "I was in target and the pump kept beeping...I finally took pump and bag out of the backpack to inspect. I squeezed the bag too hard and the top flew off from the pressure and covered me including face and hair, my child and the contents of my cart..."

"Or there's this one...just a good ol' syringe flying out of the port this time."

More immersive baptism

Jayne writes, "We were feeding our daughter in a cafe whilst eating lunch with our other 2 daughters. The blend had beetroot in it so it was very red. We hadn't connected the extension tube correctly and so 2 x 60mls of bright red food was pushed "onto" her stomach. She looked like she had just been shot and was bleeding!! Made for a very messy cleanup!"

Finally, here's a non-clog-but-still-messy story. Sarah was, "sitting at a friend's house, on her nice black suede couch, daughter on lap, feed running. Suddenly I feel very wet, pick her up and I was soaked--along with her couch! I guess that's not a clog story, but it was so embarrassing, I had no idea what to do! There really wasn't any way for me to clean it other than trying to soak up what I could. She was so nice about it too, she had 2 little kids and said the couch wasn't new or anything and had spills and thrown up on it enough already it was no big deal. I couldn't help wishing I could clean it better though. Much more careful about where that connection is now...."

If you have one and you'd like to share it on the blog, then please respond in the comments. The most important thing, when dealing with a clog, is to have the right attitude. You're not alone! We've all been there! Laugh it off and share it on one of the tubefeeding forums so people who understand can laugh at you...er...I mean laugh with you...we're laughing with you...not at you.

Last surviving member of PT-157..........died???

According to the National Vietnam Veterans Foundation, four out of five people who claimed to have served in Vietnam didn't actually serve there. 

A 2009 article in the New York Times says that in that year, the Associated Press found that the VA was, "paying disability benefits to 286 supposed prisoners of war from the Persian Gulf war of 1991 and to 966 supposed prisoners of the Vietnam War. But Defense Department records show that only 21 prisoners of war returned from the gulf war, and that fewer than 600 are alive from the Vietnam War."

Also, the Marine Corps Times found 40 erroneous profiles in 2009’s Marine Corps Association Directory, including false claims of 16 Medals of Honor, 16 Navy Crosses and 8 Silver Stars.

So, I go from these sobering statistics to making my own claims about military honors. Well, they're not really MY military honors. I was a mediocre-at-best intelligence officer in the Air Force. No, the military honors I'm referring to are my grandfather's. Last year, I posted an article he wrote about his experiences during World War II and his role in picking up the survivors of the PT-109. My grandfather later took part in JFK's Presidential campaign in 1960. Here he is sitting with then-Senator Kennedy at a campaign event in Michigan:

90% of kids aged 18-25 probably think my picture with Adam Sandler is cooler than this one. That's pretty sad.

Grandpa took part in a portion of Kennedy's whistle stop tour, where JFK made brief stops at small towns to give stump speeches. Grandpa recently told me that at most of those stops, a gentleman would always come up to the Senator after the speech saying, "Hey, Mr. Kennedy, I served with you in the Pacific! I was part of the crew that rescued you when your boat sank!" Kennedy would immediately look to my grandpa and say, "you know this guy?" to which he always replied, "Nope. I've never seen him before." In his article, grandpa says that, "during the Presidential campaign in 1960 Kennedy made the remark to me, 'Lieb, if I get all the votes from the people who claim to have been on your boat that night of the pickup, I'll win easily.'"

Today, people still claim to have "rescued the President" back in 1943. Consider the case of the late Jack Gardo, from Greenville, South Carolina.

Mr. Gardo's hometown newspaper did a long article about him on the 50th anniversary of Kennedy's assassination last November. In the article, he claims to be, "the last surviving member of PT 157, the boat that rescued Kennedy." The article quotes Gardo's daughter saying that "on the anniversary of Kennedy’s death, he gets emotional about it."

Shortly after that article was published, Mr. Gardo passed away. His Obituary talks about his role in rescuing the future President. The Huffington Post picked up an Associated Press story about his death. As did the Charlotte Observer, Boston Globe, Boston Herald, NY Daily News, Portland Press Herald, and several smaller newspapers around the country. Local TV stations jumped on the story as well. So did Fox News and PBS News. The news even went worldwide. English language newspapers from Japan to Nigeria carried the news of Mr. Gardo's death.

A few days later, Mr. Bridge Carney--a gentleman who has interviewed my grandfather numerous times about his service--contacted the reporter who originally broke the story about Gardo's death and informed him that Jack Gardo did not even enlist in the US Navy until late August 1943 (a couple weeks after the PT-109 incident). Mr Gardo did serve with PTs in Kennedy's squadron and apparently did serve some time on the PT-157. This is where he heard the stories of the rescue and took them home as his own.

The reporter wrote a retraction and it came out in the AP a few days later, but it received much less coverage. I had to dig for it, but found it in San Jose' and Santa Cruz's local news. In other words, the internet is apparently full of lies. I naively believed you could trust everything you read on here.

The reporter actually visited Mr. Gardo's widow after he uncovered the truth. He showed the widow that her husband's claims of having been on the PT-157 on August 7, 1943 were obviously not possible. The widow cried.

I do have some satisfaction that Mr. Gardo's family knows the truth, but I also feel bad about it. You know what I mean? He's probably told the story of how he rescued the President countless times. His family would have felt a great deal of pride in the man's actions during the war--as much as I feel in my Grandfather. He most likely inspired family and friends to be better people, as Grandpa inspires me. But did his fabricated story help him with his business? Did he make more connections and earn more money because of the lie?

Ted Robinson is making money off the story. Ever heard of Ted Robinson? I hadn't either, but the NBC affiliate in Sacramento did a long article about him last November. He also claims to have rescued Kennedy--from the article, you'd think he did it single-handedly. The article makes several claims about Mr. Robinson, "the pauper who saved a president." Yet, many of the details about the circumstances leading up to the sinking of the PT 109 are completely wrong in the article, according to every official account, including my grandfather's. The details about the rescue are even more ridiculous. "The unit commander asked Robinson to go in and rescue [the PT-109 crew]," according to his interview. In fact, according to Naval Archives, Mr. Robinson did not serve on board the PT-157, or even in the South Pacific theater, during that rescue. He served on the PT-108, but not until late August, after the PT-109 incident and after my grandfather was reassigned to England.

Bridge Carney called up Mr. Robinson and concluded that, "he is a hard headed SOB." Robinson insisted that he was part of the rescue. Yet when questioned again, my grandfather and another survivor from the PT-157 (Welford West, he passed away earlier this year) did not remember him at all. So, Mr. Carney called Robinson back, told him he was not in the ship's logs and no one remembered him being there. He demanded to be put in contact with my grandfather. Grandpa spoke on the phone with him and told him he didn't remember him--my grandfather has an excellent memory. Robinson kept pressing grandpa until he finally said, "well, if you say you were there then so be it."

My grandfather's admission satisfied Robinson enough, and he continued marketing his book, Water in my Veins. The book details his Naval service and close relationship with the President. I gave the book a bad review on Amazon. I know it's a futile, petty gesture but it made me happier.

The thing is, both Gardo and Robinson likely had perfectly fine Navy careers. They didn't "rescue the future President" but they did their jobs. They were honorably discharged. They were part of America's greatest generation, serving in combat far from home. Why did they feel the need to embellish their part in the war? All it does is diminish the truth and take away from the men who were really there.

Here's the actual crew of the PT-157. Grandpa's in the middle, wearing shorts.

Here's a picture of grandpa and Welford West (seated) last year at a book signing. They're with my grandmother (far left) and Betty Lynn, who played the role of 'Thelma Lou' on The Andy Griffith Show. She lives in their rest home in North Carolina. She also took part in USO tours in the South Pacific during the war to boost morale.

When asked if they'd rather be pictured with Adam Sandler or Betty Lynn, 99% of seniors said, "Adam Who???"

And here's grammy and grandpa with Grace and my sister's two boys last month:

Inspiring future generations

So anyway, did I mention I went through basic training and freshman year with one of our NASA Astronaut candidates, T. Nick Hague?? I saved his life from a ravenous pack of wolves!!! True story. I'm writing a book about it.