Archive of ‘port’ category

Things that Supervened

A new year! Golly!

I wish I could tell you I had an epiphany, a moment of clear brightness, where all my problems were swept away in a neat, tight, fit-for-Hollywood ending, but alas, that is why I mentioned them in the context of being a movie ending. That sort of thing really only happens in movies.

No, to be honest, life snails forward as always. And I don’t begrudge that. If wellness came in spurts, in quick little pinches, all your hard work would feel like it actually added up to something quantifiable in short terms. I like being able to look back over the rocky, mountains of the past and be able to say ‘see? just there? it happened, it changed. now, why didn’t I see that…?’ if that makes any sense at all. I don’t know. I’m having problems making sense a lot.

We went to the ER the other day to get my port needle changed. Now for those of you who aren’t too clear on what a port is, or why we would have to go to the ER to get it changed, I am with you! The procedure take a grand total of about 5 minutes (including getting undress and dressed and small talk). We waited about 4 hours in the chemically-clean smelling ER for a doctor to OK the procedure, which is just done by an IV nurse. It is all very confusing.

I am beginning to feel the beginning of something a lot more like rational anger growing inside of me. Can you believe how ridiculous this is? How has my healthcare plan been terminated by the government? Why have Lyme patients been blacklisted and forced out the country like a ‘communist’. Why are we turned away like Lepers to desolate islands?

With all the knowledge, it seems appallingly bold as brass of them (ie; the head jefe’s- no body knows exactly who they are though…its a nest of nastiness to be sure.) to continentally stick by their stubborn ‘the-earth-is-flat’ speeches, even after Aristotle, Galileo, Magellan brought the truth to light.

It is shameful.

I hope that thought of all the sickness they have profiteered from keep them up at night.

“There is no crueler tyranny than that which is perpetuated under the shield of law and in the name of justice.”

~Charles de Montesquieu 


It is sort of nice being home. Familiar, and it makes the ‘stuff’ a little more tolerable.
I saw a lot of the people I used to know, which was amazing! They are all so different, taller, older, its wonderful! It makes me feel a little more normal to just be able to hang out with old friends, and just relax.

I went to see the doctor the other day, which really wasn’t so bad. Most of the Lyme doctors just talk about the symptoms, rather than poke and prod very much, for which of course I am very grateful. They did, however, ‘access’ my port for the first time, which wasn’t quite as fun as I thought it would be *rolls eyes*. Its not that it hurt, because really there was very little ‘true’ pain associated with it. Even the stitches don’t hurt, but then again I am on hella strong meds, so that might have something to do with it.

Anyways, I didn’t watch them put it in, put the feeling was rather bizarre. The port under your skin must be sort of pinched/pushed in a very unnatural way which is very uncomfortable.

I went to the bathroom after, and cried a little, for my life, I guess. The thought of having a needle in my chest was just overwhelmingly awful. And the thought that I will have a needle in my chest, everyday, changed every week, indefinitely, scared the shit out of me, and I wanted to give up right then and there. But that sort of weakness is temporary, the kind that just knocks the knees out from under you for a moment, and brings your heart rate right up.

Of course I am way over that by now. I do not permit myself such displays of weakness often, because my greatest healing power is in my optimism. But I have a touch of the ‘realism’ in me, which wacks its hard, steely reality into me every now and again.

Everything, when it is fresh, and you are alone to ponder it, seems a million times worse. That is a darkness I fear most.

The Onomatopoeic Procedure

Today- well gosh, its now yesterday!- was a very…new. And different. The kind of day you hope you only get once, lest it’d ruin the memory.

I’m in California. Stereotypically, it was sunny today, and I barely needed a sweater. We went on a wonderful outing, and spent some time at a doctors office. A doctor of vein related thingys (okay…there is  a science word I could insert here, only I’ve clean forgotten it. Blast.), who was very nice. And on time (woah bear.).

It went well! I should start by saying that. The proof is in that I am writing this now! The procedure is simple enough. Wash wash. Snip snip. Push push. Thread thread. Glue-a-dee Glue. See, not so bad?

I had to have an IV in. I’m totally pro at dealing with this now. We can count pinpricks, if you like. Just two, tiny little bruises on the back of my hand, bringing to mind the bite of a little snake. And hardly a mark in the crook of my arm, so little so that it looks like a faint scar! Kodos to her, hunh? Drip drip.- I forgot that in the above onomatopoeic poem- a little saline, and some numbing stuff.

My chest looks GROSS. Not gonna lie. I miss the good ol’ days when it was just me, no plastic and cuts and such. The top incision is tiny, half-inch. I wonder what it feels like, cutting through skin with a scalpel? It makes my little waterproof shell and stretchy covering seem rather flimsy and useless, rather like the first drops of rain ripping wholes in an umbrella. Anyways, through this first little incision, I think they slide a little string/tube/wire/whatever down the vein they’ve found, and down. I don’t really know why. Ask a grownup. Now, once they’ve done whatever it is they’ve done with that, they make the ‘cut’. Its about an inch and a half, give or take a bit of my skin, and that is where it goes. As it is now in me, I suddenly feel awkward talking about it. My little new plastic bit (I’m slowly being bought out and replaced!). Its about the size of a quarter, only round, like those bouncy balls you get out of quarter vending machines in the antechamber of malls. They have to push  it, and less than and inch from the incision. That is very uncomfortable. Force of that magnitude had yet to be felt by that part of my body. Ow. Quite impressive force I might add!

 It feels big under my skin, which is currently stretching to keep up with the new thing. You can feel it from the outside. A ball. A lump. Under the skin. Above 2 thin burgundy lines. Surrounded by a hardened purple tinged layer, which is like skin glue, to hold the skin together. It was stitched, too. Neatly.

Its sensitive. To touch. Or tense my chest muscles. My heart feels huge in my chest, as I consciously will it to beat a little more to the left, farther from the new bits.

Oh I’m on a lot of pain meds. Oh I’m in a lot of pain (generally. today was a bad day all round). So I may not be making the words go together nicely. I took pictures of the wound. I think it is better to have that sort of thing facing you. If I don’t look at it, it will be the monster creeping under the bed, the dark shadow in the night, the blackness of midnight, and it will be magnified and blown out of proportion. Everything looks better in the light. I’m debating whether or not to post the pictures. I’m thinking, well, on one hand, if you have to get a port in, maybe you’d like to know? Maybe it would help to see? If it were me, I’d want to know. Its better out there, than dark and wild hidden.

If you are going to get a Port in, know that if you are anxious about it, about the unknown, that it is not as bad as it seems. And I also know that that doesn’t help. But, Lidocaine is greeaattt. Yah, it hurts a little after…no…actually it is more just uncomfortable. It feels awkward and unnatural, but damn straight it is!!

It was really hard for me to be able to face this. Blood turns my stomach, even spilled tomato juice. I took this picture.

The truth hurts. It helps, & I’ll take it.
“Only by acceptance of the past, can you alter it.”
~T.S. Eliot

Break Things

I’m in California. I have arrived. I actually thought I’d just curl up on the plane and stay there, travel the world on a Unite Express. Hopefully they were headed for the tropics. Somewhere where the sun blots out all the shadows, and tans excellently.

I was exhausted when I woke up this morning, which never bodes well for a busy day.

I had to transfer so many times today. House. Car. Out of Car. Bathroom. Airport Chair. Aisle Chair. Seat. Walk to the Bathroom. Back. Aisle Chair. Wheelchair. Car. Car. House.  I may have missed a few transfers there, but you get the general idea. Going up up up made me feel sick too, so nauseous. You know that feeling when you take of, and for a moment you get so heavy, before your weightless (it happens in elevators too)? That feeling drives me mad.

But we’re in a hotel now. And its quiet now. And there is no moving. I feel so nervous about tomorrow. With a hand on my heart, I wonder what it will be like to have plastic under it, in just a few hours time. The idea makes me want to break things.

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