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The next day we received a call. The doctor told us that despite all the fluids, you were still very weak. You could barely lift your head. And when they tried to keep you upright on your legs, you kept falling down.
The doctor gave us options. She said they could put a tube down your nose and start tube-feeding so you can get the necessary nutrition, but couldn’t tell us how long that would be sustainable.
We asked if it could be done for the next two weeks until we got home from our cruise. We also asked if this would help you get better given that we knew about the tumor in your tummy. If any treatment would help you in the long run.
The doctor answered all of our questions with patience. They weren’t the answers we wanted to hear, Kirby. She said that you were so weak that they weren’t sure if you would be able to bounce back from it. Though she didn’t say these exact words, I knew as a nurse that this was a situation of “Failure to Thrive.”
We were told that even if you did bounce back from this, you’d be at high risk for surgery to remove the tumor. Any medications to slow its growth would be too hard on your kidneys . After answering all our questions, we told her we would call her back soon after we made a decision.
The thing is, Kirby. The moment I knew she hinted at “Failure to Thrive,” I knew what our decision would be. I looked up at your Dad and said, “I know what we have to do.” And then I broke down and sobbed. I’m sure I startled other passengers.
In our small cruise cabin, we both sat on the bed and cried for what seemed like a lifetime. We both knew that we couldn’t be there to hold you and hug you. And I knew – OMG I should have known – that I should’ve been there to help you THRIVE. I didn’t want you to fail at thriving. I can’t tell you how intense my guilt felt at that moment.