Dunphy update: Recovery Road. Three weeks out since my release from the hospital June 20. The scar from the incision on my neck is barely visible and they took the staples out of my chest a week or so ago so now I just looked liked a sewed-up pigskin.
I walk everyday and I’m up to a mile on most days; sometimes more.
I’m still lugging around this pesky feeding tube. I can get rid of it when I start to gain weight and there’s the rub. I’m learning how to eat real food again and it’s slow going. Some things agree; some things violently disagree.
The goal is 2,000 calories or more daily. It doesn’t take much to fill me up and it’s hard to eat if you’re not hungry. So at night I get hooked up to a pump that sends 700 to 1,200 liquid calories into me over a 10-hour period. So the rub is I’m not gaining weight, but on the plus side I’m not losing any either. More than you want to know right?
... Moving ahead, Rebecca, my rock and guardian angel through all of this, is going back to work Monday. I’m excited for her because she will be back in her element among colleagues putting out a newspaper most naysayers claim isn’t possible. It will be good to be among other adults discussing the day’s events and providing news readers need and can use instead of changing feeding bags and watching what foods agree or disagree with me. I can’t say thanks enough for all she has done and I know I could not have done this alone. To paraphrase a bit from Lou Gehrig: “I’m the luckiest man ALIVE.”
In the days ahead, I still have my freelance writing job with Southland Golf magazine ( I have been filing twice a month throughout this adventure and proud to say I haven’t missed a deadline or an issue).
I intend to sign up for physical therapy when the docs give the go ahead to see if I can rebuild some muscle and tone. And I may venture on to a putting green to see if I still have the old magic. Will be in touch.
Dunphy update: Recovery Road. Three weeks out since my release from the hospital June 20. The scar from the incision on my neck is barely visible and they took the staples out of my chest a week or so ago so now I just looked liked a sewed-up pigskin.
I walk everyday and I’m up to a mile on most days; sometimes more.
I’m still lugging around this pesky feeding tube. I can get rid of it when I start to gain weight and there’s the rub. I’m learning how to eat real food again and it’s slow going. Some things agree; some things violently disagree.
The goal is 2,000 calories or more daily. It doesn’t take much to fill me up and it’s hard to eat if you’re not hungry. So at night I get hooked up to a pump that sends 700 to 1,200 liquid calories into me over a 10-hour period. So the rub is I’m not gaining weight, but on the plus side I’m not losing any either. More than you want to know right?
... Moving ahead, Rebecca, my rock and guardian angel through all of this, is going back to work Monday. I’m excited for her because she will be back in her element among colleagues putting out a newspaper most naysayers claim isn’t possible. It will be good to be among other adults discussing the day’s events and providing news readers need and can use instead of changing feeding bags and watching what foods agree or disagree with me. I can’t say thanks enough for all she has done and I know I could not have done this alone. To paraphrase a bit from Lou Gehrig: “I’m the luckiest man ALIVE.”
In the days ahead, I still have my freelance writing job with Southland Golf magazine ( I have been filing twice a month throughout this adventure and proud to say I haven’t missed a deadline or an issue).
I intend to sign up for physical therapy when the docs give the go ahead to see if I can rebuild some muscle and tone. And I may venture on to a putting green to see if I still have the old magic. Will be in touch.
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