Port Draw

So Monday I had my port checked to see if it was healed enough to use. I waited in the radiology pre-surgery area which was bustling and overflowing with patients. A normal Monday post weekend crowd. My curtained area had a single hard plastic orange chair on which I sat facing the watercooler across the aisle. People flew past my curtained cubby - orderlies, nurses, doctors, patients, staff pushing carts, the mail person, a group of three radiologists chattering away about someone's results and how to deal with the complications - the traffic was non stop.

The woman in the cubby next to mine was fussing about not feeling well, about to hurl, wanting to go. The man on the other side was moaning quietly, obviously in pain of some sort. Not exactly a pleasant place to have to spend a Monday afternoon. After what seemed like a good hour, a short bald man poked his head in my space and asked if I was there to get my port checked. Yes, I nodded. OK, he would be right with me after he checked the woman next to me who was insisting she be seen first. No hurry. I can wait. I am not about to hurl.

He looked at my scar and stitches, frowned a bit, then said, "Well, it isn't as far along in the healing process as I would like it to be, but you can use it. Don't get it wet for the next few days, OK?" He scribbled his signature on a form and disappeared. OK. The nurse signed off on the form, dated it, and I headed up to the Infusion Center for my first bloodwork drawn from a port.

I checked in and sat in the pleasant waiting area - what a delightful change of scenery! There were several others waiting to be called, and the receptionist was joking around, singing and chatting with people who obviously had been coming there often. After about ten minutes, a middle aged couple walked in, and you could tell that the woman was not feeling well from the way she held herself stiffly and slightly bent over. Her face was pasty white, her breathing a bit labored. Her head was swathed in a colorful turban, and she left her husband (at least, I think he was her husband) to check in.

There was a discussion. They did not have an appointment. I thought the woman would pass clean out at the hint of trouble. I understand feeling like that. I prayed that she would be able to get what she needed to feel better. They called me back for weighing, measuring, temping, and directed me to injection room 2 where I settled in. The technician came by to let me know she was behind but would get to me as soon as she could. No hurry, I assured her. I can always use a little nap, and I closed my eyes and dreamed of beaches and warm white sand and the ocean softly shushing on the shore.

Suddenly I heard a sharp "Well! The nerve! What am I supposed to do now?" I opened my eyes to see the sick lady stooped over in front of my cubicle, in a froth. Her husband zipped out to the intake area to find out what to do. They had told this woman to go to injection cubicle 2 also, probably assuming that I was done and gone. They redirected her to the cubicle next to mine, and I could hear her discontent softly uttered as she sank into the recliner, her husband taking the chair in the aisle. I felt bad for her. I know how it is to feel like crap. I prayed for her again.

The pretty technician buzzed past me to talk to the woman, letting her know that as soon as she was done with me, the lady would be next. Oh, no, I don't want to increase this woman's pain. "Please, take her next. I can wait." I called. "Are you sure?" "Oh, yes. Please take care of her first. I will just pop down to the ladies room." The iced tea was definitely calling.

When I returned, the lady and her husband were gone, hopefully to a place of rest and recovery. I pray God touches her and heals her. Lord knows, none of us want to be in that place!

The nurse laid out a cavalcade of sterile stuff, warned me that this would pinch a bit until I built up some toughness in my skin, stabbed, filled and was out in thirty seconds. How wonderful not to have multiple unsuccessful sticks. Sure hope this port heals up good. Of course, I suspect it is the chemo that is preventing a normal recovery, but this too shall pass.