This was my second surgery in one month. It was smaller than the first one, most are, so it surprised me with how traumatic it was.
The main reason I got a port was to minimize the amount of times I was going to have to be poked by a needle. The port allows the chemo to go directly to my heart and not through my veins, which have a hard time having chemo entered through them. Sometimes veins can completely shut down and be unusable if chemo is introduced to the body through the veins. A port can handle the harshness of the chemo and protects the veins in my arms. My oncologist prescribed one for me and told me I was going to have to have it “placed” at the hospital. I would have to make an appointment to get it done prior to starting my chemo rounds. The way she said it to me made me feel like it was no big deal, just one more step in this process. It probably is no big deal to her, someone who is always wading in the cancer treatment waters. She made no mention that it was a small surgery. Looking back, starting chemo felt far more scary than having my port placed. My subconscious just decided that I didn’t need to worry about getting my port “placed” and I didn’t even consider how that port was going to get placed.
I scheduled my port placement two days prior to starting chemo. In fact it was scheduled for Monday December 7th, right before I started Chemo on Wednesday, December 9th. When I made the appointment I thought it would be good timing, a brand new port for my first day of chemo. It also had to be done on that day because that was the only time available. I was told I needed someone to drive me home after the procedure, this should have been my first hint that this was going to be hard. I asked Chris to take the day off, again, and come with me to my appointment. He was happy to do it.
We arrived at the hospital and accidentally parked on the opposite side of where we needed to be. This was our first time at this hospital and hospitals are confusing. When we finally figured out where we were and who needed to check us in, we were ushered through a maze of hallways to a waiting room. When I was called in I was greeted by a kind nurse and led through another maze of hall ways that landed me in a small room with a hospital bed where I was asked to get undressed and put on a gown. I did as I was asked and immediately got under the covers of the hospital bed. I remember being really cold and having to wait a really long time before the surgeon came in and gave me a run down of what was going to be happening to me on the operating table. Like I said, this was a bigger deal than I had made it in my head and with every sentence the surgeon uttered caused the anxiety to rise. The surgeon noticed the change in my countenance and stopped going through the motions of describing my procedure. His face became gentler and he said “you know, I had cancer too about 12 years ago. I understand what you’re going through. I understand that you are scared and that is okay, but I promise you I will take good care of you while you are with me.” He noticed me. He took a moment to acknowledge my humanness in the middle of his rehearsed pre surgery spiel. That meant a lot to me and was a kindness I desperately needed
A few minutes later I was being rolled back to the OR and was shocked by the chill in the room against my naked body covered by a thin sheet. No number of warmed blankets could take the chill away. I was scared. I was told that the drugs they were giving me would keep me awake during the procedure and I didn’t like that. I didn’t want to be awake, I didn’t want to witness another invasion of my body. As they administered the anesthesia I mercifully fell asleep.
I woke up in the recovery room with Chris smiling at me and a couple new wounds to care for. The port was placed on my right side above my breast and thread over my collar bone and into one of my arteries. It looked like I had a power button on my chest. When I was less groggy I got dressed and we went home.
I can’t remember what I did when we got home, but as the day progressed and the pain meds wore off, the pain started making itself known and I started to FEEL the tube that they thread over my collar bone. It was the strangest feeling…yet another strange feeling that I have no comparison for. I became so aware of the tube, it was at the forefront of my mind. Every move I made felt like the tube was rubbing up against my collar bone, because it was and it was miserable. I tried my best to stay still and sat in my bed as much as possible. Even with little to no movement I could feel the tube that was most definitely not supposed to be in my body. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
When the evening came I stupidly tried to help with dinner. Why? Guilt. Guilt pushed me to push my body to do things it shouldn’t have been doing. I didn’t need to be helping with dinner but there I was wincing every time I moved my arm because I could feel that damn tube and port just under my skin. My brain didn’t know how to process the pain and it all culminated in an epic panic attack. I didn’t see the panic attack coming, it just attacked me, like the name suggests. Chris was just as surprised as I was when I began hyperventilating and tears started squirting from my eyes. He immediately told me to stop trying to help and sent me back upstairs when the worst of the panic attack was over.
In my dismay I went to Facebook to find out if this was a regular experience for port placements, because my oncologist made it seem like it was no big deal. I thought it was going to be no big deal. It was a big deal. Another mishap of not researching the procedures I was undergoing. I am a part of a Breast Cancer Group on Facebook and I posted about my experience with the port placement. The feedback was immediate. Yes, the port placement was a unique type of brutal. I wasn’t the only one who had a hard time getting used to a foreign object in their body. I now had 3 foreign objects in my body. My body was collecting foreign objects and each one brought with it’s own unique pain, a pain that I had nothing to compare it with.
In my minds eye I could see this button with a long tail tightening around my collar bone with every movement, like a python. My senses didn’t recognize the feeling of the port every time I moved. It was a sensory nightmare. A lot of this experience was a sensory nightmare. One horror after another. Deep down I knew that the horrors were just getting started. Chemo would be next and I’d have to put this port to work. That’s what it was there for, chemo. I did know what to expect with chemo. I knew it would be a bad time. One bad time after another. Despite the horrors I was facing, I also knew was that I was going to get through it and I’d have good times during the bad times too. I just had to be willing to see all the good, all the light in the darkness.
One bright spot on this evening was that I had my favorite ice cream. That was my dinner and I was happy about that!
