Well, the port removal wasn't as psychologically traumatic as I was letting on. Or was it?
I remember I would feel it uncomfortably scrunched against my shoulder when I rolled onto my right side at night. Sometimes it's the annoying things that you really miss.
I have had that port since January 13th of 2010 which makes it over a year old; and it has been gone for over a week and a half. The incision is healing nicely which surprises me considering that other bruises in the very recent past have taken a month to go away.
The big bruise has gone away and the other odd looking spots are clearing up.
A couple of the stickies in the middle came out way too early when I took the first bandage off two days after the surgery. Sticky tape strips are a series of long skinny white adhesive strips covering the incision.
So I now have a bit of a scar in the middle of the incision. The outside stickies held pretty well, and were on days longer.
Actually, it will all be closed and that is the only thing I really care about.
I have had innumerable "port accesses" where a special needle had been inserted, and since my port was a double port (I like to say double barreled) both ports would have to be flushed; and I would get two needle sticks for the price of one.
Ouch. I actually prefer the other sticks. The ones in the forearm, wrist or hand.
Maybe neither are really great.
The port was the last little remnant of cancer treatment that tied me to the UNC Cancer Hospital and required me to go in monthly for flushing.
Now I'm trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life as I recover from the R-CHOP chemotherapy and the Revlimid. I had six R-CHOP infusions and three cycles of Revlimid (about 3 months worth) and I am not very fit for work.
I had no idea that recovery would take so long. Issues include: not being able to walk as far as often as I would like which would help with the diabetes; my muscles being sore for a long time after I walk; feeling tired if I walk a day or two in sequence.
The R-CHOP ended in mid April of 2010; Revlimid ended in the first couple of days of the following August.
I'm not over it yet.
On top of this I have stenosis in the neck and thoracic region of my spine which predisposes me to headaches when I have a stressful situation; or focus too much on the computer I use for programming.
So I am seriously considering retirement; or at least a half-time retirement if possible. Primarily because it would give me more time to sleep and tend to recovery.
Like last year I am looking forward to the beach as a place where I can feel the openness of the sky above the Ocean on a daily basis. At least for a week.
I'll bring plenty of drugs for my neck: don't want any stinky little headaches showing up.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Thinking about that little sore spot where my Port used to be.
It is the second day of my port being gone and I am simply emotionally devastated. There's only a sore spot left where it once was, and I know they won't put it back on for me. Every once in a while the area stings a little. When I reach over to touch it there is a raised spot where some gauze is located and it's almost like I still have a port.
I am sure that these feelings will pass.
I wasn't supposed to take a shower today, so as we were going somewhere I took pains to wash my hair and other places without doing a full shower. An odd process, but one that I know I can do again should I have to.
Tomorrow I am supposed to change the bandage after I shower with it on. I think I have about a weeks worth of bandages and I should change the dressing each day.
I find it strange and peculiar that "dressing" goes both on a salad and on a wound. What were they thinking. Let's hope that I don't get my salad and wound confused in the days ahead.
I am sure that these feelings will pass.
I wasn't supposed to take a shower today, so as we were going somewhere I took pains to wash my hair and other places without doing a full shower. An odd process, but one that I know I can do again should I have to.
Tomorrow I am supposed to change the bandage after I shower with it on. I think I have about a weeks worth of bandages and I should change the dressing each day.
I find it strange and peculiar that "dressing" goes both on a salad and on a wound. What were they thinking. Let's hope that I don't get my salad and wound confused in the days ahead.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
In Memory of My Port
My cute little port was installed January 13th 2010 and now is out on March 8th, 2011. I have had it over a year.
It was a sad moment but this morning between 9:30 and 9:45 my port was removed from my upper right chest/shoulder. I got a look at it as it was a little gummy, covered in ooze and damp looking. It actually looked a little bug-eyed (it's a double port). A purple little bug eyed monster.
Mary, my fearless driver, compatriot and wife, and I arrived at the hospital at 7:12 and ambled our way up to the escalators and the first check in station. I was number 12 on the list and was given a little blue laminated piece of paper with that number on it.
After a thorough processing, and a long wait, we were headed to Vascular and Interventional Radiology where we were checked in again (although without the paperwork) and redirected to the waiting room. Where we waited about 10 minutes before I asked somebody at the desk labeled "Check In" if we were in the right place. She said that we were and there was a phone around the corner (behind a wall) where we could call the Catheter Lab and tell them that we were waiting.
If dentists were real doctors they would force you to strip stark naked and wear a bib while they did tooth extractions. This was a similar experience. At least they gave me a blanket. And let me keep my diaper like undies on.
There was the little room with the curtain and the instructions and I found myself propped up on a gurney being rolled down one hallway and up another. I was thankful that someone who knew the way was pushing.
I had been lost in this hospital before; hoping I wouldn't step out the wrong door and be locked out and stuck on the opposite side of that monster from my car.
Eventually we were outside a room which looked like an operating room of sorts. There was a long skinny table in the middle of this room that had six to eight flat panel monitors across from where the wielder of the scalpel would stand.
The nurse or tech who had pushed me was so short that she could easily step under the monitors.
But I actually never left the gurney. That's where they did it.
She was there, then the guy who was going to clean my chest area was there and got busy and I was duly cleaned up and they put a mask on me to keep my dirty breath from contaminating the area that was going to be open soon and ready to receive my germs.
A blue sheet of something antiseptic looking was put over my blanket and what looked like blue dish towels were draped over the area bordering the cutting space.
I don't know how long we waited for the surgeon but eventually he arrived and proceeded to keep up a running conversation while he worked on me. Asking me about what state I was from and when I answered Wisconsin he started talking about the areas the he was familiar with. I'm sure it was to keep my wide awake mind off the fact that I was being sliced open and a once useful leftover from chemotherapy was being pulled and pried out of me.
The pain killer was the same one dentists use - lidocaine. And it reminded me of a tooth extraction - one of the big ones.
The basic method was to pull the catheter - a long plastic looking hose that went into a deep vein. I asked them and they said they were not going to do anything like suture the vein. The vein would heal itself. They just basically yank on it until it comes out.
That old double barreled port was a bit of a problem to get out. It had a lot of scar tissue around it and I could feel it being tugged, pulled and what felt like pried off my pectoral muscle.
But it finally came out and the doctor held it where I could see it. Viola!
It was a sad moment but this morning between 9:30 and 9:45 my port was removed from my upper right chest/shoulder. I got a look at it as it was a little gummy, covered in ooze and damp looking. It actually looked a little bug-eyed (it's a double port). A purple little bug eyed monster.
Mary, my fearless driver, compatriot and wife, and I arrived at the hospital at 7:12 and ambled our way up to the escalators and the first check in station. I was number 12 on the list and was given a little blue laminated piece of paper with that number on it.
After a thorough processing, and a long wait, we were headed to Vascular and Interventional Radiology where we were checked in again (although without the paperwork) and redirected to the waiting room. Where we waited about 10 minutes before I asked somebody at the desk labeled "Check In" if we were in the right place. She said that we were and there was a phone around the corner (behind a wall) where we could call the Catheter Lab and tell them that we were waiting.
If dentists were real doctors they would force you to strip stark naked and wear a bib while they did tooth extractions. This was a similar experience. At least they gave me a blanket. And let me keep my diaper like undies on.
There was the little room with the curtain and the instructions and I found myself propped up on a gurney being rolled down one hallway and up another. I was thankful that someone who knew the way was pushing.
I had been lost in this hospital before; hoping I wouldn't step out the wrong door and be locked out and stuck on the opposite side of that monster from my car.
Eventually we were outside a room which looked like an operating room of sorts. There was a long skinny table in the middle of this room that had six to eight flat panel monitors across from where the wielder of the scalpel would stand.
The nurse or tech who had pushed me was so short that she could easily step under the monitors.
But I actually never left the gurney. That's where they did it.
She was there, then the guy who was going to clean my chest area was there and got busy and I was duly cleaned up and they put a mask on me to keep my dirty breath from contaminating the area that was going to be open soon and ready to receive my germs.
A blue sheet of something antiseptic looking was put over my blanket and what looked like blue dish towels were draped over the area bordering the cutting space.
I don't know how long we waited for the surgeon but eventually he arrived and proceeded to keep up a running conversation while he worked on me. Asking me about what state I was from and when I answered Wisconsin he started talking about the areas the he was familiar with. I'm sure it was to keep my wide awake mind off the fact that I was being sliced open and a once useful leftover from chemotherapy was being pulled and pried out of me.
The pain killer was the same one dentists use - lidocaine. And it reminded me of a tooth extraction - one of the big ones.
The basic method was to pull the catheter - a long plastic looking hose that went into a deep vein. I asked them and they said they were not going to do anything like suture the vein. The vein would heal itself. They just basically yank on it until it comes out.
That old double barreled port was a bit of a problem to get out. It had a lot of scar tissue around it and I could feel it being tugged, pulled and what felt like pried off my pectoral muscle.
But it finally came out and the doctor held it where I could see it. Viola!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Surprisingly it really was once more.
My CT scan came out clear. I am cancer free, in remission and will probably stay that way.
In my discussion with my oncologist, if I don't have a strong feeling about it, that was the last CT scan until I have symptoms.
On another note - since I am cancer free and have been at least since April of last year the port will be coming out. Next Tuesday.
Well it's been fun but "I won't have anything to write home about". But I am getting a book together and will publish it sometime within the next year.
For those of you who want to have a copy of your own "My Secret Lymphoma".
In my discussion with my oncologist, if I don't have a strong feeling about it, that was the last CT scan until I have symptoms.
On another note - since I am cancer free and have been at least since April of last year the port will be coming out. Next Tuesday.
Well it's been fun but "I won't have anything to write home about". But I am getting a book together and will publish it sometime within the next year.
For those of you who want to have a copy of your own "My Secret Lymphoma".
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