Kicking Cancer to the Curb: Getting Ready

A glance at the alarm clock told me it was 5:30 am. Unable to get comfortable, I decided to arise. Upon heading to the bathroom to grab a cold drink of water, I decided to quit fighting the sleep and just get ready for the day. It was not the anticipation that awakened me throughout the night, but the increase in swelling and throbbing in my right arm. The port in my right upper chest needed to go. Finally, today was the day.

In order to arrive on time for my port removal, we needed to leave by 7:40 am, so obviously I was awake plenty early. My first decision for the day was determining what to wear. Assuming they would make me take, “everything off from the waist up,” I didn’t worry about what I wore on top, as I’d be enrobed in their lovely, fashionable patient gown. But, with the hot flashes, I needed to be sure not to dress too warmly, in case they had me draped (covered) during the procedure. The last thing they (or I) needed was me sweating profusely while they are trying to suture or apply dermabond (glue to close the incision). So, I settled half way between pants and shorts and wore capris, which covered my legs to just below the knees. After dressing, I realized that my legs weren’t recently shaved. I’ve always wondered, “Do men worry about shaving their face as much as women worry about their legs?” Of course, a 5 o’clock shadow in a man, is admired by many women. The next thought was, “Why am I continuing to lose hair on my head while my legs continue to grow hair at the same pace, if not faster, than usual?” Doubtful that I would figure those answers out today, I proceeded downstairs to find Chris washing dishes (if you haven’t learned already, he’s nocturnal and that’s why he falls asleep so easily during daylight hours).

Chris wished to tag along, in hopes that he could observe the procedure (of course, I secretively hoped he would video record it). I’ll admit, we’re both science nerds and love to watch medical shows and continually learn about science, medicine and technology. Sometimes we wonder how we ended up with 2 kids that can’t stomach it at all (one even faints during movies that imply blood or pain).

After circling the parking lot to find a spot, which is odd considering I even have a physician parking permit, we finally found one that wasn’t a compact (so our car wouldn’t get dinged when opening the door). We hustled to diagnostic imaging and then waited in line for 10 minutes to check-in. After being asked if my procedure was related to an injury (hmm…not that I’m aware of, but I was asleep when it was placed), we sat in the quiet lobby, with its brightly lit, colorful fish tank, and waited to be summoned.

When my name was called, Chris and I rose to leave the area. Unfortunately, the delightful assistant informed Chris that he could not observe the removal of my port, as it occurs in a sterile operating suite. This surprised me, as the Youtube videos that I viewed showed minimally sterile technique, in an office setting. Yet, I wouldn’t argue with them being more cautious since my white blood cell count (WBC) is still at half of the lower limit of the normal range (placing me at higher risk for infection). Nonetheless, I was taken to a generic women’s dressing room, thankful that there was only one other person present (less explaining to do). Within 5 minutes of changing into my lovely blue, faded gown, I was escorted to the operating suite down the hall.

Upon arriving at the diagnostic imaging suite, I was greeted by a humorous, outgoing, dark-skinned male (we’ll call him John) and a petite, gray-haired, fair-skinned woman. These two would be helping the physician assistant (PA) during the procedure. John was very polite and cracked jokes about what type of doctor I was, hoping that I could perform bariatric surgery on him. I replied with my best winky-eyed face, “No, but I’d be happy to help with diet and exercise changes.” Meanwhile, the other assistant discussed my allergies and when I informed her of my adhesive allergy, she showed me the tegaderm-like bandage that they utilize and I retorted, “Well, I’ll know within 30 seconds whether I’m allergic to it or not.” After informing them that the SCCA (Seattle Cancer Care Alliance) uses a bandage that doesn’t cause me to break out in hives, the assistant ran down to SCCA and picked up the special IV 3000 orange bandage.

In order to avoid the gore that grosses my children out so much, I won’t dive into the details of the procedure--you can watch a Youtube video if you’d like to see it. They draped me from head to toe, so I couldn’t watch (bummer). While the PA was tugging on the hardware to grab the sutures holding it in place, I noticed that I wasn’t completely numb in certain areas. When he infiltrated the area with lidocaine, nerve pain shot into my shoulder blade and down my arm, just like the pain I’ve been encountering intermittently over the past 2 months. As irritating as that knife-like jabbing felt, it excited me. I felt encouraged, that indeed the port may be the cause of my arm pain, since it lay directly on that nerve. Of course, the swelling that ensued after the removal and the fact that the cavity created would eventually fill, left me with some concerns regarding persistent pain, especially if scar tissue decides to inhabit the region. Nonetheless, this procedure brought me one step closer to returning to work and to the life I previously knew well.

Before everything else, getting ready is the secret of success. ~ Henry Ford