After my four-hour double
mastectomy followed two weeks later by my excision of skin surgery above the
area where my tumor was (which, lucky me, I was wide awake for, listening to
eighties music in the operating room. Oh Cher, if I could turn back time…), I
now have to place a port on the left side of my chest to welcome chemo.
Easy peezy? For most people,
probably yes. For me, not so much. I’m TERRIFIED!
I hate the operating room. I
hate the needles. I hate the drugs. I’m semi-awake as they place me on the
cold, hard table. The drugs give me a woozy
sensation. I shiver and the nurses swaddle me like a baby with plenty of warm
blankets. The doctor says a few words and I’m out for the count.
I wake up. Another foreign
object in my body, check. I feel like crap, check. Some pain, double check!
After a few days, the pain
subsides and now my port is just this achy thing that tugs at me like an annoying
itch. Sometimes, I feel it; sometimes, I don’t even remember it’s there.
During my reconstruction
surgery, the port is removed. Like a lover parting ways, he came into my life
when I needed him, but now, it was time to go. I’ll never forget how he helped
me SO much during chemo. I don’t know what the veins in my arm would’ve done
without him. I’m forever grateful to my port.
Every once in a long while, I
can still feel a pang, an ache in the place where he once inhabited my body. My
poor achy breaky port… he was worth it.
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