Port Flush

I breeze down the hallway, stepping around slow moving people who are in the thralls of cancer treatment, people with ashen faces and pain filled eyes, people stooped over and barely shuffling along. I am happy happy happy that I am so much better these days, despite the occasional tired day.

Yet.

Yet three days ago when I went to bed, every joint and gland in my body hurt. Yet I had to be careful what clothing I wore because certain glands felt swollen and tender. I have not had that sensation for a long time - certainly not since the chemo and radiation treatments. I am worried. That whole ton of stuff I went through was supposed to get me years of symptom free status. Best case was ten years, though the bell curve begins at about two years. I haven't had two years. Really, less than one.

Well, no sense getting all het up about something that has already disappeared. Today I am here just to ensure that my port is still viable. After all, I will see the oncologist in early November (and remember to tell her how tough that last chemo was!), and then get my next round of chemo. Surely she will run bloodwork and if anything is concerning, she will let me know. [and somewhere in there is a subconscious desire not to go through anything else unless I am pushed].

Today, the nurse and I laugh out loud when we see the beautiful pinkish tinge of blood freely flowing through that blessed port.