I Got a New Port

Just a quick note. Remember when I said I thought my port was funky and that it felt like something was just wrong? I was totally right.

It kept flipping, and I had to flip it back in order to go through with chemo, a whole process that was both very Cronenburg and pretty painful. And it was poking my heart.

Ever since I had it put in, I told them I felt like there was a little plastic tube poking my heart, and they looked at me like I was crazy. I had heart palpitations daily–I even went into the hospital one time because it felt like I was having a heart attack–but they said I was "a little tachy[cardic]" but otherwise fine.

So I just kindof dealt with daily heart discomfort for two months until the port kept flipping and we couldn't get it to work properly without great heroics, and they started to listen to me.

Lo and behold, it was definitely facocked, and before chemo #3, I got a new port. So my adorable-in-retrospect little pink hyphen scar turned into a murder scene on my chest once again.

Check out my tiny little pink scar, going into surgery:

And then I got out of surgery...

Someone said to me "It looks like you got punched in the tit!"

Me: "Yeah, by Edward Scissorhands..."

Oh a more positive note, I've been thinking about getting Phosphor a kitten when we get back from our cancer-cation, as he's been rather spoiled by being a grand-dog this whole time. Given I had a surgery and a chemo on the same day, I was fairly out of it for a few days afterward, once the steroids wore off. Lots of time to think about ports and scars and kittens and things.

What I've come up with: if Phosphor gets a kitten, I'm going to name it Edward Scissorhands. Thanks for the brainstorm, painkillers.