Dry Port

I am still coughing the kind of cough that sounds like you are about to expire. That long, rasping, wheezing, can't get a breath of air hacking that could almost be whooping cough. I debate about going in to the infusion center with this stuff, but the coughing spells occur only sporadically now, and if I play my cards right, I can be cough free during my visit.

I don't think I am still contagious, and I can wear a mask while I am there. I sure don't want to expose anyone to this stuff, especially if their immune systems are vulnerable. I ask at the desk whether I should be there. They isolate me so I won't unnecessarily spread anything to anyone else. But I do need my own levels checked to make sure I am in no danger.

The nurse chats happily with me as she unwraps a myriad of tubes and gear and unscrews tops and hooks up other stuff. She dons mask and pops the little antiseptic applicator and dobs away at my port. One, two, three insert wicked long needle now. Ow. Deep breath. Flush, flush, pull for blood.

Nothing. Shoot. She flushes again and again and tries for the red gold. Still nothing. I go through the gymnastics of raising one arm and then the other, turning my head, coughing (uh-oh), standing up, sitting down, leaning over, more flushing - nada.

The nurse suggests the old fashioned way of just sticking my arm and I refuse. The last time anyone tried to draw blood from my arm I got stuck a bazillion times and they still didn't get what they needed. I thought for sure I would end up staying for a TPA treatment, but I guess they didn't have time, so they booked me for Wednesday and sent me packing.

Hope I don't get dry dock in the meantime.