You must be as tired of reading about my port draws as I am of writing about them. Yet it is a very real part of my cancer treatment, this weekly pilgrimage to the cancer center. I am vastly familiar with the drill.
Leave 45 minutes before your scheduled appointment because it will take you 20 minutes to park in the garage (5 mph? really?). Check in and wait to be called for vital. Joke around with the staff. Sit in the curtained room and wait until the nurse is free. Watch while she sterilizes her hands and emancipates a half dozen tubes, various paraphernalia, needles, swabs and gloves from their sterile wrappings.
Then she puts on her sterile mask and the gloves and picks up an amazingly
l-o-n-g needle.
1 -2 -3 (take a deep breath in) stab. Hold your breath until you see the blood running so you know the port is still viable. Chat with the nurse while she withdraws the necessary amount of your vital fluids (my veins should be totally full of heparin by now). 1 tube. 2 tubes. Then deep breath while she takes the needle out and plasters the spot with a gauze bandage.
This is why I can't go to a regular lab to have the procedure done. It has to be a sterile environment. After all, they are accessing a vein quite near my heart. It would definitely be a bad thing if they inserted an unwanted germ or two along with the needle.
This draw went smoothly and I am released to return to my other world, the one where I am not thinking about cancer or medical stuff. The one where I am still exploring exciting opportunities of engagement and service. The one where the boys and I are working out this semester's interactive schedule so we know where everybody is and when they will be home - no small task indeed.
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No, we don't get tired of reading about your port draws. It's a big part of life for you right now. You must getting very tired of having them done, though. What amazes me is the way you walk out the door and into your other life. I'm afraid I'd let cancer become my whole life and wallow in self-pity. I admire how much you accomplish, in spite of fatigue, pain, sickness, and the many time-consuming inconveniences that go along with battling cancer. I hope Drew and Kiel know how lucky they are. (I know you know how lucky you are to have them.)
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