Port-a-porter
The port removal was somewhat of a traumatic experience, but thankfully that damn thing is out! Here's what happened in the last 24 hours:
5 pm last night: I got a call from interventional radiology (IR) that I didn't need to worry about fasting because they don't use any sedatives, and they would be performing the procedure in the holding area. This conjured up images of me sitting in a chair next to a magazine rack while people walked in and out of the room, tripping over my outstretched legs as the doctor cut into me with unsterilized equipment, blowing his nose every other minute while smoking a cigarette.
7 am this morning: Jason advises me not to get into any vans with moon-shaped windows, and wishes me good luck with my Mexican-style surgery.
8 am: I report to Radiology, and they put us in a stark, lonely area called "Patient Holding." It was worse than I'd feared because there weren't even any magazine racks. But luckily, I was moved into the IR holding area, which looks better and has actual beds and medical equipment and lots of nurses and doctors. In fact, it has so many nurses and doctors that the place is a zoo. People here clearly like their jobs and get along really well, and I lay on a bed in a curtained-off area next to the supply closet (where another procedure was actually taking place) and eavesdropped as they discussed super important things like how much parking costs and who was going to happy hour tonight. They talked about me a few times (I wanted to say, I can HEAR you, it's just a CURTAIN separating us), and one woman complained at length about a particular nurse whose attitude she was sick of and didn't want to deal with anymore or she would report her to the boss. I silently prayed that I wouldn't get the mouthy nurse, but a few minutes later, who walks in but the mouthy nurse. She was actually very nice and not rude at all. And, most importantly, she took me into an actual operating room!
9 am: The mouthy (but nice) nurse preps me, and then we just sit there and wait for the doctor. I told her to make sure that he does a neat, clean job sewing me up. I am pretty worried about several things: 1) that I'll get the same humorless doctor as the last time; 2) that whoever does the procedure messes up on the closing; and 3) that I'm going to do this totally and completely AWAKE, with not even a sedative to calm me down.
9:15 am: Dr. B walks in, which is good news because I'd discussed with him earlier in the morning about how I want the scar to be as neat as possible. He tells me that he almost went into plastics, and that he is very careful. Hurray for Dr. B! He's chatty and very nice, so I'm pretty calm until he starts shooting me up with lidocaine and then cuts into me and I can still feel it. More shots, and I can STILL feel him as he rummages around and pulls out the port. Yowch! Feeling like a wimp, I ask for more lidocaine. I don't understand why it's not working, but it's not. Dr. B says, "I'm waiting to stitch you up because you're oozing a lot right now." Mmm, that's a pretty thought. More lidocaine, please. Ten shots of anaesthetic and several stitches later, he's pretty much done. I felt those last stitches burn and sting, but I just grimmaced and got through it, knowing that soon, I would be port-free.
10 am: I just got up and walked out of the OR. Crazy!
5 pm last night: I got a call from interventional radiology (IR) that I didn't need to worry about fasting because they don't use any sedatives, and they would be performing the procedure in the holding area. This conjured up images of me sitting in a chair next to a magazine rack while people walked in and out of the room, tripping over my outstretched legs as the doctor cut into me with unsterilized equipment, blowing his nose every other minute while smoking a cigarette.
7 am this morning: Jason advises me not to get into any vans with moon-shaped windows, and wishes me good luck with my Mexican-style surgery.
8 am: I report to Radiology, and they put us in a stark, lonely area called "Patient Holding." It was worse than I'd feared because there weren't even any magazine racks. But luckily, I was moved into the IR holding area, which looks better and has actual beds and medical equipment and lots of nurses and doctors. In fact, it has so many nurses and doctors that the place is a zoo. People here clearly like their jobs and get along really well, and I lay on a bed in a curtained-off area next to the supply closet (where another procedure was actually taking place) and eavesdropped as they discussed super important things like how much parking costs and who was going to happy hour tonight. They talked about me a few times (I wanted to say, I can HEAR you, it's just a CURTAIN separating us), and one woman complained at length about a particular nurse whose attitude she was sick of and didn't want to deal with anymore or she would report her to the boss. I silently prayed that I wouldn't get the mouthy nurse, but a few minutes later, who walks in but the mouthy nurse. She was actually very nice and not rude at all. And, most importantly, she took me into an actual operating room!
9 am: The mouthy (but nice) nurse preps me, and then we just sit there and wait for the doctor. I told her to make sure that he does a neat, clean job sewing me up. I am pretty worried about several things: 1) that I'll get the same humorless doctor as the last time; 2) that whoever does the procedure messes up on the closing; and 3) that I'm going to do this totally and completely AWAKE, with not even a sedative to calm me down.
9:15 am: Dr. B walks in, which is good news because I'd discussed with him earlier in the morning about how I want the scar to be as neat as possible. He tells me that he almost went into plastics, and that he is very careful. Hurray for Dr. B! He's chatty and very nice, so I'm pretty calm until he starts shooting me up with lidocaine and then cuts into me and I can still feel it. More shots, and I can STILL feel him as he rummages around and pulls out the port. Yowch! Feeling like a wimp, I ask for more lidocaine. I don't understand why it's not working, but it's not. Dr. B says, "I'm waiting to stitch you up because you're oozing a lot right now." Mmm, that's a pretty thought. More lidocaine, please. Ten shots of anaesthetic and several stitches later, he's pretty much done. I felt those last stitches burn and sting, but I just grimmaced and got through it, knowing that soon, I would be port-free.
10 am: I just got up and walked out of the OR. Crazy!
posted by Rachel Troxell at 4:37 PM
3 Comments:
Now you can start your extensive shopping trip for you well deserved, and much needed upcoming vacation! Congrats and lots of love from Baltimore!!
Ouch X 100!!! When someone says "this won't hurt a bit," that person is referring to herself and not you!
Glad the port procedure is over!!!
Whoa. You are SO brave.
I'm glad it's out.
-- Jamie
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