Dear Nasal Cannulas,
It was two years ago on Father’s day that Dad and I were in cahoots and we pulled the ventilator out. Okay, maybe it was a scary accident to Dad, but I knew what I was doing. I was through with that vent…well, at least for a week and then I got sick and needed it back, but that’s not the point… the point is, I know when I need help breathing.
Over the last several weeks, I’ve made it abundantly clear to Mom and Dad that I didn’t need help breathing anymore. I kicked and screamed the minute you touched my face and I proved I can whip you out of my nose and on the floor faster than I can crawl away when Mom is chasing me through Kellen’s floor hockey practice (and that’s pretty fast, just ask any of the onlookers who were giving mom the “wow, he’s a handful” looks of sympathy…hahaha).
I made it as clear as I could to Mom that it was time to call the doctor to have my overnight study, but she’s got this fear of bad news…something about being afraid of jinxing positive momentum. I mean seriously, she gets all cautious because she’s haunted by that first year, but I keep showing her in every way…I’m just not that same kid anymore. I’m stronger now and this face is waaaayyyy too cute for a harness on it. Those dang glasses are bad enough and at least they match my baby blues.
So anyway, this letter is getting a little drawn out…kind of like our two-year relationship…so let me put it to you as simply as I can.
I PASSED! I PASSED! Naa Naa Nuh Boo Boo! I don’t need you!
Oh, and to your little friend pulse oximeter (that stupid monitor that mom punched a time or two…or more). I quit it too!
Booyah! It’s good to be a free man.