Any port in a storm

Yesterday, I got a new port.   I had recently written about my new line and getting it removed.  As a result, I now have a Bard Power Port.  It took most of the day yesterday to get it.  Or rather, it took about 30 minutes, but totaled over 6 hours at the hospital, at least an hour of which was sitting in interventional radiology as they prepped.

The circumstances surrounding this were far from ideal.  My oncologist chose the Hohn line I lost since it would likely have a lower risk for infection.   When you get a port, an incision is made, and they have to create a pocket under your skin, and then this is slipped in there, and then the line is routed to eventually spill into your jugular.   With the hohn, it wasn't tunneled, and so it went directly to the vein.  This procedure has some risks, especially when you have an ANC of 500.  In fact, I told a fellow Hodgkin's patient the following:  "As I laid on the table thinking about getting a 'procedure' under the far from ideal circumstances of a pretty decent neutropenia, I had little mental pep-talk with the few WBCs I do have left.  I reminded them to think about the outnumbered men at Valley Forge.  Hopefully they listened."  I don't normally talk to myself, or worse, my own cells, but I had little else to do while waiting during prep.


The procedure was performed under conscious sedation again.  I know I got fentanyl, but I'm unsure which benzodiazepine I got.  I don't think I got midazolam, and I didn't think I got that two weeks ago when I got my line.  The reason is that I definitely recall at least some of the procedure.  I was aware of them manipulating that port reservoir around under my skin, but the beauty of conscious sedation is that you really and truly do not care.  You simply lie there happily enjoying the altered reality.  When I got back to my room, I was still feeling very good.  It took about 2 hours until the meds wore off and I started feeling sore.  

The oncology nurse who scheduled this for me told me I would be quite sore for days.  The port is on the left side of my upper chest (the right side is still healing), and it is several inches above the nipple line.  It does poke out of the skin.  You can see and feel the line going up into the neck.  Right now it is bandaged, and must remain so until tomorrow (Sunday).  They used a type of superglue over the stitches, so, hopefully this wound is somewhat more impermeable, much like skin.  My #1 goal is to not get infected.   Anyway, the soreness is right at the site of the port, radiating a few inches in all directions, but longer up towards the neck.   Despite two percocet, getting sleep was pretty difficult.   They suggested an ice pack, and I did it twice last night.  Probably will again soon after finishing this blog post.

Monday I'll have my oncology appointment, and I'll get to use this for the first time for chemotherapy.  I do not plan on letting them draw blood from it, I'll get peripheral sticks.   

With the Port came an entire kit (seen below), including a "livestrong-style" bracelet in grey, a wallet card, and a keychain, all to alert others you have this port.   Right now, I'm trying to imagine the circumstances where this might be helpful.  In other words, should I put this on my keys and wear the bracelet?

So, that's the important business.  Here is an interesting story from Thursday:

Thank you, Lucy.  On Thursday night I was supposed to have dinner with a friend.  I got home from work at the normal time, and I found our house a total mess.  It was a mess that immediately screamed only one thing was possible, even from the first instant of seeing it:  One of the dogs was loose (we crate them during the day), and that dog was Lucy.  

There was shredded toilet paper all over the family room.  A huge piece of it leading back to the bathroom.   There were at least 3 separate piles of poo on the hardwood floor downstairs.   The pillows were thrown around.   And as I'm staring at it, I hear the all-too-familiar jingle of dog tags.  She came running down the stairs, but she knew she was guilty and immediately, out into the backyard she went.  

When I got to our bedroom, the scene was even worse.  She had gotten into our closet and specifically targetted MY things.  I found many of my expensive cycling clothes in a pile, with some shirts, a few of Sarah's sweaters, and some hats.   She had destroyed one of my hats as you can see.

 So, I guess now I have some sort of Milwaukee Brewers yarmulke, if I were to put it on my head.  Additionally, she left two additional piles upstairs, one next to our bed, and the other on it!  I honestly cannot figure out why she would make the effort to jump up onto the bed to poop there.  She also targetted two of my other favorite Brewers hats, and one, while not ruined, was full of her thick boxer drool.

She tore up the inside of the hat pictured below, and I may have to replace it, but today I went and picked up a ball cap buddy.  The clerk at Lids said it actually did work, although not to use it in the washer, as it would ruin the hat, and rather use the dishwasher.   (The info with it suggests you can use either).   So, it actually does seem to work.   Even though the inside of this hat is a little torn, it may still work.  Who knows?  Maybe it'll even be more comfortable now.

  

So, hats are obviously important to a bald guy.  That's not the point of this story.  Hopefully, it is funny to some of you.  It wasn't funny to me Thursday evening, but by Thursday night, once I realized that no actual clothes were ruined, it was.   Cleaning up the poop was no fun (especially after it dried on the hardwoods), but puppies are puppies.  Much like Lucy's last naughty episode, it was nice to enjoy a "normal person problem."  I'm still worried about a port infection, but at least I have some other things to worry about as well - or actually, not really spend much time worrying about at all because they really aren't that big of issues in the grand scheme of things.