Sleep, Spit, Repeat: my nightly routine, 16 years later

"What do you do at night? Do you still have to manage your saliva?"

That’s a question I’ve been asked before, and the short answer is: yes.

Just because I lay down and close my eyes doesn’t mean the saliva issues I deal with during the day suddenly disappear. They don’t. The need to spit doesn’t clock out when I do.

Ever since my time in the hospital and getting a G-tube, my sleep habits have changed. I used to sleep on my stomach, but now that’s no longer an option. For some reason, I always end up falling asleep on my right side, even if I don’t start there. That’s just what my body prefers now.

The good news is that I don’t have trouble falling asleep—never really have. But that doesn’t mean I sleep through the night uninterrupted.

Waking and Spitting: The New Normal

I often wake up during the night and use my cup to spit out excess saliva. Sometimes I wonder if that’s the reason I woke up—or if something else stirred me. There’s no way to know for sure. Either way, the need is there, and I take care of it.

There have been a few rare nights when I slept a solid four to six hours straight—and when that happens, I’m thrilled. It feels amazing. But most nights, I’m up at least once or twice. Thankfully, I don’t usually have a hard time getting back to sleep.

Early Rising, Always

No matter what kind of night I’ve had, I almost always wake up early. If I’m always awake by or before 6:30 a.m., that’s pretty standard for me. If I somehow sleep past 7, it’s considered impressive. But if I make it to 8 a.m., now that’s rare—and I mean rare.

On the rare occasion I make it to 8:00 a.m., my mom has actually come to check on me, just to make sure I’m still breathing. That’s how uncommon it is. It’s not meant to be dramatic—it’s just a funny truth about how in-tune my family is with my routine.

The Patch Factor

One thing that does affect my saliva level is what day I’m on with my scopolamine patch. (mentioned more in-depth in previous posts) Whether it’s day 1, 2, or 3 makes a difference in how much saliva I produce. I’ve learned to recognize those patterns and plan around them—because when you live with something daily, you become a quiet expert in how your body behaves.

What My Nighttime Routine Really Looks Like

One question people might wonder is: Do you choke while sleeping? And the answer is—thankfully—no. I don’t need to be propped up on pillows or sleep in a recliner. I can lie flat just like anyone else.

That said, I do have to be careful with when I eat my last meal. Because of some acid reflux issues, I try to wait at least an hour or two before lying down. If I don’t, there's a chance the liquid food could come back up—especially if I cough while spitting. It’s not something I like to dwell on, but it’s part of the reality. Sometimes when I clear my throat or cough a little to get the saliva out, that effort can pull liquid back up, and that’s definitely no fun.

Keeping It Simple: No Special Gear, Just a Cup and a Towel

My nighttime setup isn’t complicated. I don’t have special bedding or fancy tools. When I was in the hospital and had zero control over my saliva or nasal drainage, they used to place a washcloth on my shoulder to catch the excess liquid. But I’ve come a long way from that.

Today, the only thing I keep nearby at night is a white Styrofoam cup with a paper towel tucked inside—the same setup I use during the day. It sits on my nightstand within reach, and that’s all I need to manage my saliva until the morning.

Whether I’m Home or Away

If I’m traveling—whether it’s vacation or just staying at someone else’s house—nothing really changes. I don’t need a lot of special prep. I just make sure I have a fresh cup ready before bed, and that’s it. That one cup usually lasts me through the whole night, all the way until breakfast the next day.

With a little planning, I can rest just about anywhere.

Do I Still Dream?

Yes, I do still dream. I’ve never been someone who dreams a lot, but I do have them from time to time. The G-tube or saliva management doesn’t interfere with that. And thankfully, the waking moments I do have during the night don’t rob me of peace.

“I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.” Psalm 4:8

Saliva and Spiritual Spaces

One area where I’ve become especially aware of my saliva management is during public worship and prayer time at church. While I don’t usually feel self-conscious about it in day-to-day life, there’s something about being in a sacred space, around others, that can make me feel a little more guarded.

I’ve found that I sometimes hold back during worship, not because I don’t want to praise freely, but because I’m concerned about how things might look if I appear messy or if someone notices me spitting. It’s not about shame—it’s about wanting to maintain reverence while also navigating something practical and very human.

But I’m working on that.

Because the truth is, God already knows. He knows my needs, my process, my heart. And if I’m going to worship Him in spirit and in truth, I have to let go of what people might think and focus instead on what He sees—and He sees surrender, not embarrassment.

“For man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7

“Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.” 1 Corinthians 10:31

Managing saliva isn’t something I love talking about—but it’s real, and it’s part of my life. I hope by sharing these details, you can see that God’s grace reaches even the parts of life that feel uncomfortable or unspoken.

Healing looks different for everyone. For me, it’s been slow, practical, and deeply spiritual. And if you’re walking through something similar, please know: you’re not alone.

“He knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.” Psalm 103:14

I’d Love to Hear from You

Have you had to adapt your nighttime routine for a health reason? Do you sometimes feel like you hold back in worship due to a visible struggle?

Feel free to share in the comments, message me privately, or just know I’m praying for you. Your journey matters.

16-year Anniversary: July, 24, 2009

As I share this, I can’t help but remember that sixteen years have passed since the wreck. Sixteen years of surgeries, stretching seasons, unexpected turns, and silent prayers. Some nights I lay down and wonder, Lord, is this really all the farther I’ve come? But then other nights, I feel a holy hush settle over me—and I realize just how far His grace has carried me.

I think about all I’ve lost—physical ease, old dreams, plans I once held tightly. But then I remember all I’ve gained: faith that’s been fire-tested, compassion born from pain, and a closeness with God I never would have known without the breaking.

Healing hasn’t been flashy or fast. It’s been quiet, sacred, and sometimes invisible. But it’s real. And on this anniversary, I don’t just thank God for the distance I’ve come—I thank Him for every moment He’s never let go of my hand.

“And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten...” Joel 2:25a

Father,

For the one reading this who’s carrying quiet pain or unspoken struggles, I ask for Your peace to wrap around them tonight. Remind them that they are not alone—that You are near to the brokenhearted and acquainted with every detail of their journey.

For every loss, let there be unexpected gain. For every sleepless night, let there be a whisper of Your presence. For every change that feels hard, let there be grace that feels deeper.

Lord, restore what the years have taken. Renew what has grown weary. And let Your glory shine through the cracks of our stories.

Thank You for being the God who stays—not just in the daylight, but in the long, silent nights.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Be encouraged. 🧡

Feeding Myself, Finding Freedom: my journey with a g-tube

“But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.” James 1:4

What Does It Mean to Truly Rely on Others?

When I first had my G-tube placed, I had no idea how dependent I would be. In the hospital, the nurses handled everything for me—adding the extension, holding the syringe, pouring the formula, even administering crushed and diluted medications through the tube. It all happened without me having to lift a finger, because at that time... I couldn’t.

The feedings were simple in schedule—just three meals a day—but physically and emotionally, it was anything but simple. I was weak, healing, and overwhelmed. I didn’t have the strength, coordination, or understanding to participate in my own care. I just had to be still, let someone else take over, and trust the process.

The Transition Home: More Calories, More Challenges

Once I returned home, my schedule changed drastically. I was in physical, occupational, and speech therapy three days a week, three hours at a time. That much movement increased my need for calories—and fast. I couldn’t survive on three small feedings a day. I needed five, sometimes six, just to keep up.

But each of those meals still had to be administered by someone else.

It’s one thing to be dependent in a hospital setting, where care is expected. It’s another thing entirely to feel helpless in your own home, having to ask someone every few hours, “Can you feed me?” Or, “Can you crush this medicine for me?”

That stage of life required humility, patience, and a whole lot of grace—not just from God, but from those around me, too.

Gradual Progress: A Milestone in My Hand

The first real sign of independence didn’t look like much to most people—but to me, it was a miracle.

I could hold my own syringe.

My hand didn’t wobble as much. I could brace my arm just enough to steady the extension. Someone else still had to pour the liquid, but the act of me holding it—of physically participating in my feeding—was monumental.

It was a moment where I felt my body obeying again, just a little.

“Despise not the day of small things,” the Scripture says in Zechariah 4:10. And I didn’t. I celebrated it.

Learning to Pour, Bit by Bit

From there, I graduated to pouring small amounts of formula myself. I couldn’t do it from any container—I needed wide, short ones where I had a steady grip. My dexterity was still weak. But I was pouring. I was contributing.

Each stage wasn’t just physical progress—it was spiritual, too. Every new step was a reminder that healing doesn't always come all at once. Sometimes, it’s gradual. Sometimes, it’s slow. But always, it’s in God’s time.

“Faithful is he that calleth you, who also will do it.” 1 Thessalonians 5:24

“He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.” Isaiah 40:29

Growing Capable: From Partial to Full Independence

“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” Philippians 4:13

After those small, early milestones, I gradually began doing some of my feedings completely on my own—not all of them, but just one or two a day to start. It was a matter of endurance and timing. Some parts of the day I had more energy and stability, so I’d feed myself during those windows. Other times, I still needed help.

But that’s how growth works—it’s not always linear. Sometimes progress feels slow, even invisible, but it’s still happening.

Practice, Therapy, and Confidence

Through continued therapy and intentional practice, my coordination steadily improved. Little by little, my hands stopped trembling as much. My arms grew stronger. The movements became smoother. I was building not just muscle, but confidence.

Now, I’m able to prepare my tube feedings entirely on my own. I gather the syringe and extension set, which locks securely into my G-tube—just a small, button-like piece that protrudes slightly from my stomach. It’s what’s known as a Mickey button, and though it’s a permanent part of my body, it’s also become something I’ve grown quite comfortable managing.

Creating My Setup: Simple, but Mine

I’ve also developed my own little system—a setup that works for me. I lay a hand towel across my lap like a large napkin, just in case of spills, which still happen from time to time. Feeding myself isn’t always clean or perfect, but it’s mine.

That towel isn’t just fabric—it’s part of my independence. It represents my readiness. My ability. My ownership of this process.

“For thou hast girded me with strength unto the battle: thou hast subdued under me those that rose up against me.” Psalm 18:39

From Synthetic to Whole: Rethinking My Nutrition

Over the years, what goes into my body has also evolved. I used to rely strictly on hospital-supplied formula—calorie-dense, shelf-stable, but not very wholesome.

Eventually, I began using over-the-counter protein shakes and powders, tweaking my nutrition to better fit my needs. Now, I use a combination of those protein supplements and real food blend pouches for my main meals. These are made of pureed, whole foods—balanced and easier on my stomach. They also give me a greater sense of eating something real, even if it doesn’t pass through my mouth.

I’m currently back to three meals a day, carefully calculated to meet my body’s needs. On days I go to the gym, I try to reach up to 2,500 calories. My baseline goal is at least one gram of protein per pound of body weight, because I know that protein builds strength and keeps me full.

There’s a strategy to all of this, and it’s one I’ve learned through time, prayer, and discipline.

The Gift of Feeding Myself

I no longer have to wait on someone else’s schedule. I don’t have to feel guilty for asking for help or worry about whether someone is available. I can respond to my body’s needs when I feel hungry. And yes—I do feel hunger and fullness, just like anyone else. Occasionally, I’ll burp and taste the food I’ve put into my tube. That may sound strange to some, but to me, it’s a reminder that my body is still connected to the act of nourishment.

This autonomy is one of the greatest gifts God has given me in recent years. Not just the ability to feed myself, but the freedom to do so confidently.

“The Lord is my strength and song, and is become my salvation.” Psalm 118:14

“And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” Galatians 6:9

Freedom to Come and Go

Being able to completely manage my tube feedings now is a tremendous blessing. It gives me freedom—not just the ability to eat when I’m hungry, but the independence to come and go as I please.

Whether I’m at home, visiting a friend, out for a day trip, or even on an extended trip for several days or weeks, I can take care of my feedings without help. I don’t have to structure my life around someone else’s availability. That kind of independence is something I once only dreamed of, and now it’s part of my daily life. And I thank God for that.

A Lighthearted Spirit

One more thing I want to say—because it matters. I’m not sensitive or easily offended when it comes to talking about my G-tube. In fact, I’m very open about it, and I even joke about it myself sometimes. So if someone else cracks a joke or brings it up, that’s fine with me. It doesn’t upset me or make me feel ashamed. It’s just part of my life, and I’d rather laugh about it than let it weigh me down.

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.” Proverbs 17:22

This tube doesn’t define me—but it has certainly helped shape me into a stronger, more patient, and more joyful version of myself.

One Step at a Time

They say Rome wasn’t built in a day, and I try to keep that in front of me when progress feels slow. Every new movement, every time I pour without spilling, every feeding I do myself—each one is a brick in the foundation of my healing. I'm not where I used to be, and that alone is reason to give God praise.

Sometimes we rush toward the end goal, forgetting that the journey is what shapes us. But I’ve learned through this process that the small victories are sacred, and the daily steps are holy ground.

“Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in his way.” Psalm 37:23

Final Thought

If you’re walking through your own slow journey—whether it’s with a feeding tube, chronic illness, or just the process of learning to do life differently—know this: progress isn’t always loud, and healing doesn’t always look like it used to. But every step counts. And every step brings you closer to strength, stability, and the peace God has for you.

Up Next…

I often get asked, “What do you do at night? Do you have to spit your saliva while sleeping?”
That’s a great question—and I’ll be addressing it in an upcoming post. So stay tuned!

Be encouraged. 🧡                                                                     🎵Hold On