💜 Feeding Tube Awareness Week | February 1–7 💜

Feeding tubes are not a failure.

They are not the “end of the road.”

They are not something to whisper about or hide or apologize for.

For my daughter, Meadow, a feeding tube was a lifeline.

Meadow was born six weeks early. From the very beginning, feeding was hard—hard in a way that didn’t make sense yet. We went home without a tube, but that didn’t mean things were okay. At two months old, she had a terrifying choking incident. The kind that rewires your nervous system forever. The kind that makes you realize something is deeply wrong, even when no one has clear answers yet.

That hospitalization cracked everything open.

What we eventually learned was that Meadow was silently aspirating due to an underdeveloped epiglottis. She wasn’t coughing. She wasn’t choking every time. She was quietly breathing food and liquid into her lungs. On the outside, she looked like a baby who “just struggled with feeding.” On the inside, her body was fighting to survive every swallow.

In January 2020, Meadow got her first feeding tube—an NG tube.

On March 6, 2020, she transitioned to a PEG tube.

On May 29, 2020, she had her G-tube placed.

She would live with that tube for 1,257 days.

1,257 days of pump alarms and syringes.

Of middle-of-the-night feeds and schedules and supplies.

Of packing extra bags just to leave the house.

Of advocating in appointments, fighting insurance, learning medical language I never wanted to know.

Of explaining—over and over—that no, she couldn’t “just try harder” to eat.

1,257 days of grief and gratitude living side by side.

Because here’s the part people don’t always understand:

That tube didn’t take anything away from her.

It gave her things.

It gave her nutrition when her body couldn’t safely eat.

It gave her energy to grow, to heal, to play.

It gave her the chance to do feeding therapy slowly, safely, without pressure or fear.

It gave her time.

There were swallow studies. So many appointments. Endless feeding therapy sessions. Tiny wins. Big setbacks. Long pauses. Then progress again. It was never linear. It was never simple. But step by step, with the right care—and a doctor who truly listened—Meadow was allowed to move at her pace.

And on June 12, 2023, after 1,257 days, Meadow no longer needed her tube.

Not because the tube “failed.”

But because it worked.

I want to be very clear about this:

Needing a feeding tube is not something to be ashamed of.

Having one removed is not “graduating” in a way that makes current tubies any less whole or successful.

Some kids will have tubes for a season. Some for life. Both are valid. Both are worthy of celebration.

Tubies are not broken.

Parents of tubies are not doing something wrong.

And feeding tubes are not a last resort—they are medical tools that save lives.

This week, I celebrate Meadow.

I celebrate her strength, her resilience, her joy.

I celebrate the tube that kept her alive long enough to get here.

And I celebrate every tubie and every caregiver walking this road—whether it’s been 10 days or 10 years.

If you love a tubie, if you are a tubie, if a feeding tube has touched your life in any way—this week is for you.

Feeding tubes are lifelines.

Tubies are thriving.

And their stories deserve to be told loudly, proudly, and without stigma. 💜