One Porta-cath - REMOVED!
It's gone! No more freakish growth under my skin. No more recoiling at touching said growth. No more port for toxic chemicals to enter my body. I am so relieved and happy. The stitches are still disgusting but knowing there is nothing underneath them to gross me out is thrilling.
Let me start off the recounting of the removal "procedure" by saying that doctors lie. I'm not sure they do it intentionally, but they lie like rugs. Remember all the happy drugs they said I could have? Lie, lie, lie.
So I did my best to remain calm on our very long trip over to this hospital, but I was feeling pretty tense by the time I was sitting in the waiting room in my attractive blue dressing gown. I'm ashamed that these "procedures" make me such a nervous wreck. It's really unacceptable and unreasonable, but I have not mastered it yet and no amount of prayer or positive thinking or going to my happy place seems to help. Nevertheless I was confident that relief was coming my way as soon as I got to a nurse.
Who was lovely by the way, I do not hold Nurse I-can't-remember-her-name responsible in the least, but as she was explaining to me the procedure and that there would be no sedation I stopped her right there and asked for something calming. She really looked genuinely surprised and kindly offered to check with the surgeon, after which she came back with a little white pill to put under my tongue (Ativan) and told me I needed to now lay down on a stretcher because I was likely to be dizzy and I needed a stretcher soon anyway. I was ecstatic.
Soon they wheeled me in to the operating room and put the drapes all over the top half of me, including my head, which makes breathing difficult, especially when you are hyperventilating, but I expected calm to wash over me any moment, so I wasn't worried. Until the nurse asked if I was feeling better now - NO! So she said give it a few more minutes. When she asked again the answer was still - NO! Seriously, I felt like I could have written my son's algebra exam, I was feeling so sharp. She assured me everything would be fine and then she left me with the doctor.
The doctor, I can't remember her name either, was also lovely and almost put in enough local anesthetic, but when she told me to speak up if I felt any slicing, I did. Another dose of anesthetic proved tricky to find, but it didn't take toooo long and it did the trick. There really isn't a thing you can do when you're under the knife like that except try not to move ANYTHING, but I was breathing so rapidly that I was concerned I might cause her to slip up, which I guess only made me more nervous.
One small mercy there was that they had the radio on and the first song after she got started was, oddly enough, Black Velvet by Alannah Myles. Anyone remember that one? I am so totally dating myself. For brief, purposeful seconds I was back in my silver Dodge Charger, speeding my way to college on a pretty spring morning. Fortunately I know every nuance of that song, so I sang to myself for all I was worth, too bad it's not a very long song. I didn't know one single post 1994 jingle that came on after that. A few times the urge to dive off the table screaming was almost overwhelming, but I held it and the blanket together, which was literally soaked where I was clutching it. Ewwwww.
So, this is turning out to be really long, but so was the procedure! The doc admitted afterward that "this was probably the most difficult port removal I've ever done," and "your body grew around it at every possible point." Oh joy! I'm an overachiever ; ) I thought she was doing an inordinate amount of pushing, pulling, tugging and kneading. Ewwwwww.
Here's what they took out (not MY actual port, but a reasonable fascimile). It was larger than I thought!
Anyway. Lesson learned - Ativan is bogus.
The better news is: I had this strange sensation that I must have a chemo appointment coming up this week, but then joy of joys I realized I do not! I do not have surgery, tests or even a doctor's appointment! Next week is a different story, but this week is blissfully EMPTY!
Let me start off the recounting of the removal "procedure" by saying that doctors lie. I'm not sure they do it intentionally, but they lie like rugs. Remember all the happy drugs they said I could have? Lie, lie, lie.
So I did my best to remain calm on our very long trip over to this hospital, but I was feeling pretty tense by the time I was sitting in the waiting room in my attractive blue dressing gown. I'm ashamed that these "procedures" make me such a nervous wreck. It's really unacceptable and unreasonable, but I have not mastered it yet and no amount of prayer or positive thinking or going to my happy place seems to help. Nevertheless I was confident that relief was coming my way as soon as I got to a nurse.
Who was lovely by the way, I do not hold Nurse I-can't-remember-her-name responsible in the least, but as she was explaining to me the procedure and that there would be no sedation I stopped her right there and asked for something calming. She really looked genuinely surprised and kindly offered to check with the surgeon, after which she came back with a little white pill to put under my tongue (Ativan) and told me I needed to now lay down on a stretcher because I was likely to be dizzy and I needed a stretcher soon anyway. I was ecstatic.
Soon they wheeled me in to the operating room and put the drapes all over the top half of me, including my head, which makes breathing difficult, especially when you are hyperventilating, but I expected calm to wash over me any moment, so I wasn't worried. Until the nurse asked if I was feeling better now - NO! So she said give it a few more minutes. When she asked again the answer was still - NO! Seriously, I felt like I could have written my son's algebra exam, I was feeling so sharp. She assured me everything would be fine and then she left me with the doctor.
The doctor, I can't remember her name either, was also lovely and almost put in enough local anesthetic, but when she told me to speak up if I felt any slicing, I did. Another dose of anesthetic proved tricky to find, but it didn't take toooo long and it did the trick. There really isn't a thing you can do when you're under the knife like that except try not to move ANYTHING, but I was breathing so rapidly that I was concerned I might cause her to slip up, which I guess only made me more nervous.
One small mercy there was that they had the radio on and the first song after she got started was, oddly enough, Black Velvet by Alannah Myles. Anyone remember that one? I am so totally dating myself. For brief, purposeful seconds I was back in my silver Dodge Charger, speeding my way to college on a pretty spring morning. Fortunately I know every nuance of that song, so I sang to myself for all I was worth, too bad it's not a very long song. I didn't know one single post 1994 jingle that came on after that. A few times the urge to dive off the table screaming was almost overwhelming, but I held it and the blanket together, which was literally soaked where I was clutching it. Ewwwww.
So, this is turning out to be really long, but so was the procedure! The doc admitted afterward that "this was probably the most difficult port removal I've ever done," and "your body grew around it at every possible point." Oh joy! I'm an overachiever ; ) I thought she was doing an inordinate amount of pushing, pulling, tugging and kneading. Ewwwwww.
Here's what they took out (not MY actual port, but a reasonable fascimile). It was larger than I thought!
Anyway. Lesson learned - Ativan is bogus.
The better news is: I had this strange sensation that I must have a chemo appointment coming up this week, but then joy of joys I realized I do not! I do not have surgery, tests or even a doctor's appointment! Next week is a different story, but this week is blissfully EMPTY!
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