The Port is Out

This past Thursday, I had an appointment with my surgeon to remove my port. I wrongly assumed that I would be in the hospital and knocked out for the procedure like I was when they put it in. However, I had my biopsy at the same time as the insertion of the port so the first surgery was a bigger deal, but still. I would not have known any different had I not called the Monday prior to find out about the recovery time. The only reason I cared about the recovery time is because I was asked to help with vacation Bible school starting the following week. I wanted to know if I would be okay in a week's time to be able to assist with the cleanup crew on the last night. The nurse explained how the procedure would work. They would not be putting me out. I would feel no pain, only a little tugging when the port was pulled out. I would recover in no time.

Pain or not, I DID NOT like the idea of being awake for the procedure, but the same surgeon who put the port in was the same one scheduled to take it out. While in the hospital last summer, Dr. Meluch told me that Dr. Polk did not have the best bedside manner, but he was the best surgeon. I put a lot of trust in Dr. Meluch's opinion, therefore, I put a lot of trust in Dr. Polk. As long as he was in charge, I would let him perform the procedure the way he saw fit. My trust in the physician did little to calm my nerves. My apprehension intensified as Thursday drew closer.

I had a plan to get my mind off the procedure. My sister suggested listening to music. I planned on bringing my headphones and doing just that. I also planned on bringing my palm cross that my mom had given me to hold during chemo treatments. I planned on holding that and squeezing it if necessary. I also planned on eating a light breakfast as suggested since I had no idea how long it would be until I was able to and in a mood to eat again. I forgot all about my morning prep plans.

I did, however, go for a walk/jog the that morning before leaving for my appointment. The jog did a lot to calm my nerves, at least temporarily. Along the way, I found three pennies and a dime. Every time I find a penny, I pick it up and read the inscription, "In God We Trust." I pause and remember God and His love for me. I take it as a sign to slow down and put my trust in Him. I always seem to come across pennies when I need this reminder the most.

I said a small prayer of thanksgiving and thought, "Are You simply wanting to comfort me or are You preparing me for something above what I expect? Is something going to happen that I won't like?" I quickly dismissed this concern and thought, "It doesn't matter. Knowing I can trust in Him is a comfort, whether things go smoothly or if I hit a rocky patch." The run turned out to be more therapeutic than normal.

My friend, Mike, took me to the doctor's office. As is usually the case, I was not seen at the time of my appointment. I had to wait an extra half hour. The intake person told me that the procedure was no big deal. He said they would deaden the area then "I won't tell you what happens next." I told him I didn't want to know what happened next.

The man who took my vitals asked how I was doing. I confessed that I was quite nervous. He told me it was not big deal. I would feel a slight tug and that was it. Several people told me it was no big deal and assured me that it did not hurt. How did they know? Did they ever have it done to them?

As we waited, Mike pulled up a video on YouTube about the procedure. It amazes me how a simple Google search will pull up information on just about everything imaginable. Mike told me it looks like it only takes about 8 minutes. The guy on the video watched the procedure as it happened. I told Mike that I cared nothing about watching the video or watching it happen to me. I planned on keeping my eyes closed the entire time. Mike promised not to watch the video until I left.

They finally took me back. I waited in the room for what seemed like an eternity before the doctor arrived. When Dr. Polk finally came in, accompanied by another doctor and a nurse, he shook my hand and asked if we knew each other. I told him he was the one who put the port in. He said he thought so and asked if it was lymphoma that I had. It was. I thought to myself that this man either has a remarkable memory or this information was on my chart and he read it before coming into the room.

The time had come. With my hospital gown on, open to the front, I lay on top of the little operating bed. "Something must not have been right," Dr. Polk said. "I never put the port on the left side." I was going to suggest maybe it had something to do with doing the biopsy at the same time, but I was too scared to speak. I simply lay perfectly still and quiet with my hands at my sides.

I heard the three of them chatting as they prepped for the procedure. Dr. Polk apologized, but I told him I didn't mind. It was a good distraction for me. I opened my eyes and saw the giant syringe the nurse handed to him. I immediately closed my eyes again as he brought it closer to my chest. "Now this will burn." He emphasized the word "will." It reminded me of the shots my podiatrist gave me on the bottom of my feet when I had plantar faciitis, how he pushed the needle in, moved it around, being very specific on making the fluid go where it needed to go. It burned all right. That was not comfortable at all.

I figured they would wait a while for the shot to take effect, but apparently, there is no need to wait. He started immediately. I kept my eyes closed and concentrated on my breathing. I made an effort to keep my arms at my sides and relax my hands, keeping them opened and not balled into fists. I did not feel the cut, but I felt the tug. Not so bad yet, but a little nerve wracking. I thought we were just about through until I felt the tug again. At this point, I realized he had merely unhooked the port and now he was attempting to get it out.

He stopped and turned around. My eyes were still closed, but I could tell what he was doing by the sounds, light, and slight breeze as he turned away from me. As he turned he said, "Well, one thing I have to say about you. You heal quite well." I didn't have to ask what he meant. I immediately knew how to translate that statement. In other words "this sucker does not want to come out."

When he turned back around, I made the mistake of opening my eyes. I saw the bloody scalpel in his hand. I closed my eyes again. I could not feel a thing, but I knew he was cutting more as he tried to free the port. Then, the real tugging started. My whole chest heaved up and down as he tugged. I did not need to feel it to be able to imagine what was going on. I knew how hard he had to be tugging in order for my chest to move like that.

When the procedure first started, I sang the song "God is an Awesome God" silently in my head. The words were calm and precise. As he tugged, cut, tugged, cut, and tugged some more, my body tensed. My hands slowly inched toward my stomach. I repeated the line "God is an awesome God" over and over and over and over again. The voice in my head screamed these words.

Sensing my tension, the nurse and doctor asked me if I was okay, if I felt any pain. "No," I reassured them. "I'm just nervous." The nurse tried to calm me by reminding me of the benefits of doing this procedure in the office rather than in the hospital. She told me that Dr. Polk was the only one in that building who did this procedure in the office. The others made their patients go to the hospital. By doing it here, though, I was saving a ton of money by not having to pay for the hospital room and every single person in that room. I was saving time because by the time we were done with the procedure, I would just be finished filling out the admittance papers at the hospital. By not having to have anesthesia, my recovery time will be much quicker. I told them that I did appreciate all that, but I was nervous nonetheless. Thank goodness I forgot to eat breakfast. The growing trepidation I felt may have caused me to throw it all up. That would not have been good.

When the port finally came out, I heard a small popping sound like a cork when it is pulled out of a bottle of wine. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the tugging was over. As he neared the end of stitching me up, I could feel it. I opened my eyes and saw the bloody thread as he pulled it up. I closed my eyes once again. I winced a couple of times and he apologized for hurting me. Even though I could feel that part, the pain of the stitches was nothing compared to the anxiety I felt as he tugged at the port trying to get it out.

When the doctors left and the nurse cleaned me up, she gave me instructions for the next few days. Leave the bandages on until Sunday. It was okay to get it wet, but don't soak it. Refrain from using that arm or putting any pressure on it for the day, but I was free to go back to work on Friday if I felt up to it.

I asked about how I would feel when the shot wore off. She told me it would not hurt like I thought it would because the port was not in muscle. Any anti-inflammatory would do. I asked when I could run again. She told me I could walk as much as I wanted now, but should be able to run again by Monday.

Before I left, I put my shirt back on and stuffed my bra in my pocket. I had no intention of trying to put it on again for at least 24 hours.

Mike took me home and made sure I had everything I needed before leaving for work. Since I did not have any anesthesia, my head felt fine. My chest was tender and I was exhausted from exerting so much energy on nerves. I was propped up on a lot of pillows with one on my chest to keep Bailey from jumping on me. I spent the rest of the day in bed. I stayed home Friday as well. I had already planned on taking both days off when I thought it was going to be more of an ordeal than it was. I decided to keep the day off and continue to rest and heal. Even though I only needed to take something for the pain once, I was still a little tender and reluctant to wear a bra.

The bandage is still on today and the tape itches some, but other than that, I feel fine. Nothing to it after all, except for a little anxiety. It was mentally the final barrier to truly being cancer free. Even though I still have to get CT scans every three months for a while, this was a big hurtle to real recovery. It was the major obstacle keeping tied to Nashville. Now, come my one year anniversary date, if my mind is still set on Texas and it be God's will for me, I will be able to finally go home...on my terms. As I told my ex the other day, I never felt like we set down any real roots in Nashville. I am ready to do so, whether here or back home. I'm just ready to settle down, whatever that looks like and wherever that is. I'm tired of wandering.