Aye, Aye, Matey! The Port Has Sailed!
O.K., The port has been removed, and it wasn’t all that bad. I registered at the hospital the day before. I had been told that my appointment was at 8:00 for the next day. Awhile after leaving the hospital, I received a phone message confirming my 8:00 appointment with a 7:00 arrival. Oh, well, what’s one hour earlier? One less hour to be up without food or coffee so there’s a bright side. Krista drove me to the hospital, and Kathi met us there. We signed in at Radiology and then went to the main waiting room. They called me in shortly. I asked my escort if anyone ever ended up in another department (like Intensive Care) from having this procedure. She assured me that this would be very easy. Problem was she thought I was having a port placement. When I said it was a port removal, she said it would be even easier. The next lady showed me my assigned bed, took out a drawstring bag and had me spell my last name as she wrote it on the bag. She led me to a large restroom (this was all very familiar, been there, done that), gave me a pair of hospital socks with the ribbing on the bottom and a johnny shirt, and told me to take everything off, put my clothes in the bag, and put those on. I mentioned that they were going to be working on my arm. She reiterated to take everything off. I said, “You really want me to remove my underwear? You know they’re working on my arm?” She replied in the affirmative and said that I would be spending one hour in the Recovery Room following the procedure and should I need to use a bed pan, it would be hard for someone else to operate my underwear. I had not worn a bra anyway, and I wasn’t planning on using a bed pan so I kept the rest of my underwear on. I went out to my assigned bed. She took my vitals, wrote them on the sheet, said the bag with my belongings would be under the bed, and left. The next nurse came by. When she noted that my blood pressure was one-hundred-ninety-something over 102, she said we might not be doing this today. Fine by me, get the bag out from under the bed; and if I leave, I’m not coming back. No, I didn’t say those words out loud; but I certainly thought them loud. The nurse said she would call the doctor and see what he had to say. Someone had come by and placed a blanket on my bed. I ignored it. I am woman! Hear me roar! I don’t need a damn blanket. She called the doctor who said to start me on an IV with medication to lower the blood pressure, and the plan for removal was still in place. Another nurse came by. Someone put the blanket over me, and it was Heaven, nice and warm. What was I thinking to ignore this luxury of a heated blanket? As I continued to ask the first nurse questions, the second one directed my attention to her as she said she would be going into the procedure with me. I said she was my new best friend. I told her I was a big baby and very scared and nervous. She might have guessed that, given the blood pressure reading. She said she would give me something when we got inside. Now, she truly was my newest bestest friend ever. Here we go, rolling bed to the cubby I remember where they take care of ports. The technician in that room was all about business. Good cop, bad cop. I liked the other one who brought me down there better. They asked me to slide over onto the table. You know that table is about six inches wide; I wasn’t sure where the rest of me was supposed to go. I asked if I would have to lie completely flat as I was on the table. Bad cop said they would put a pillow under my knees so I could bend them. Good cop immediately slid a pillow under my head. Good cop said I’ll give you something now. Love her. The other one, all about business, was on the other side, preparing my arm. Good cop asked if I was feeling anything yet. When I responded no, she said she’d give me more. Love her more. After awhile, I became aware of bad cop working on my arm. It didn’t hurt (that’s what everyone had told me), but I certainly knew someone was doing something to my arm, like pulling on that area. Finally, we were done; and I was rolling to Recovery. It was mostly uninteresting there. The guy next to me (thankfully, I couldn’t see him) said he had to pee. They handed him something and said he’d have to use that or the bed pan. Fortunately, I didn’t need to, so after an hour I was getting dressed and ready to go. Krista and Kathi met me, and we went out to the car. In no time, we were eating a glorious breakfast at Hash House a go go. The paper they gave me at the hospital said to: follow all directions, if bathing the next day to cover the bandage so it wouldn’t get wet, and to take the bandage off the day after that. Two days later the bruising was extending from where the port had been (midway between my underarm and my elbow) all the way down to the crease opposite my elbow. I called the hospital. I got Good Cop on the phone. I could tell it was her because she had a recognizable accent. She asked if I had any pain? No. Any fever? No. Any swelling? No. Then, not to worry. I kept it covered with a band-aid for way longer than need be because I didn’t want to look at it. I don’t feel any different. I don’t feel as if it was a milestone in my cancer career. I just feel that the cardiologist scared me about having a foreign body in my arm; and now it’s gone, and that’s one less worry. Honestly, it’s hard to believe that all of this started for me in February, 2007; and here it is three years later. Upcoming is a mammogram and a visit with the oncologist. Hope all things medical continue to be uneventful. So, anyone with a port, don’t be a big baby like me. Talk to your oncologist, and do what he recommends; and know that it’s a piece of cake to walk in the park.

Best Words I’ve Ever Heard…

I love you with all of my heart. Till death do us part. In sickness and in health. I will. I do. You’re the love of my life. Grow old along with me; the best is yet to be. Will you marry me? It’s a girl; she’s perfect. It’s a boy; he’s perfect. Ten fingers and ten toes. There’s another baby in there. The surgery went fine. The results of the tests were good. Yours is the winning lottery ticket. Hello, we’re from Publisher’s Clearing House! You’re being promoted. You’re getting a raise. Found your keys. Found your wallet. Found your purse. You came in first place. You’re receiving the Most Valuable Player award. You’re in the pageant. You’re the soloist. You won the lead. Your manuscript has been accepted for publication. Yeah, Baby! Heard some of these? I’ve heard a few. Make you smile? Make you feel good? Me, too, but none of those top the best words I’ve ever heard as of last fall. Straight from my oncologist (I love Dr. Manno): “You’re doing great.” It just doesn’t get any better than that! Since that time, there has been sad news at school as a teacher’s husband died from brain cancer within a very short time of being diagnosed. Now, another teacher has been diagnosed with cancer. One thing we know for sure; cancer is an equal opportunity employer (attacker). Most of the time, I feel lucky and blessed that I got off as easy as I did. If you’ve read any of this before, you know I didn’t think it was easy at the time. You never really get beyond cancer. Well, probably some people do, but I’m not one of them. Now, I’m facing up to having the port removed. I’m scared. I’m scared of hospitals. I scared of procedures. I’ve asked about the situation in that I’ve had a broken collarbone in between the port and my heart, but the oncology nurse and Kathi’s friend, who is a P.A., both said if that was going to be a problem, it would have been one a long time ago. O.K., that’s good. The nurse and Donna both told me that I’ll be awake through the whole thing; that’s not happy. They will watch a heart monitor to make sure my heart doesn’t go crazy when they start pulling the tubing out. Great! Then they will continue to watch to make sure I’m good to go. Simple. Fifteen minutes. I don’t believe in elective surgery. Sounds like an oxymoron to me. So, I always think the worst…glass half empty, hexes, bad karma, etc. I need Krista to go with me. She saw me through so many other situations in which I was a big baby, I think she’s the woman for the job. I hope Kathi comes, too. If anything goes wrong, Krista’s going to need her. Here I go again…strike that hex. I had to choose the day carefully. I can’t do it on the 12th because my mother died on the 12th in 1997. I can’t do it on the 13th because that’s just plain unlucky; triskaidekaphobia folks get that. Then the 15th is my mother’s birthday, can’t do it then…so the 14th is what it is. The procedure to insert the port was a walk in the park, a piece of cake. I hope I’ll be walking in the park and eating a piece of cake after the 14th. If all goes well, I’ll report back so that other cancer survivors won’t be scared like me to have their ports removed. It if doesn’t go well, then someone else can walk in the park while eating a piece of cake.

I went for a regular visit to the cardiologist, who has never received any awards for bedside manner. My blood pressure was sky-high on my leg so he took it with a cuff on my right wrist. It was better but still high. When I explained about the blood pressure on the leg…lymph nodes removed on one side, port on the other, he asked what I was using the port for. I said not for anything at the moment, but having had cancer, you never know when you might need it again. I said I had planned to ask him what he thought about leaving it in. He said, “Well, it could be a problem, if you got an infection. It is a foreign body in your arm.” He added, “It could be a problem if a blood clot went from it to your chest.” Needless to say, that was very helpful information, scary, too. A couple of weeks later when I went to the Cancer Institute for a port irrigation (flush), I asked the nurse her opinion. She said that whatever you do, anything is a risk. Now, that’s my point. Isn’t it a risk for another surgical procedure? My oncologist never made it sound risky to leave the port in. I asked the nurse what most people do. She said that people usually have them removed about six months after the end of treatment. It’s been nine for me. Then I did recall that when I had a broken collarbone, the P.A.’s first action was to send me to the hospital for an ultrasound to make sure I didn’t have a blood clot. I have been looking forward to my next appointment with my oncologist to once again ask his opinion. I think I’ll have the port removed, but it will be scary to undergo another procedure. Hopefully, it will be preferable to a blood clot in my chest. The cardiologist said to check back with him after I’ve seen the other doctor, to send him copies of any test results, and then schedule a heart echo. He also mentioned a stress test. I’ve already failed that once, and it caused me to have an angiogram. Quite sure I still can’t pass a stress test, don’t even want to try.