My Funny Port-a-cath

Today is my least favorite day of the month. It’s subcutaneous injection day  at the chemo infusion center. If you look at the photos of my face and upper chest, the big bandage is over my “port-a-cath,” which is used for my blood draw,  sometimes. Mainly this is an expensive tap into my body, which the nurses flush monthly with heparin to keep it free of clogs and of any infections. That port, which cost over $47,000, was surgically installed in the hospital in March of 2015 about 3.2 milliseconds after they suspected I had cancer. Its never been used for anything but the occasional blood draws. And not all nurses are trained to use it. You can tell me cancer isn’t a successful business model, and I will sell you a bridge that connects Brooklyn to Manhattan.

“Through a port (sometimes called by brand names such as Port-a-cath or Mediport) inserted in your chest during a short outpatient surgery. A port is a small disc made of plastic or metal about the size of a quarter that sits just under the skin. A soft thin tube called a catheter connects the port to a large vein. Your chemotherapy medicines are given through a special needle that fits right into the port. You also can have blood drawn through the port. When all your cycles of chemotherapy are done, the port is removed during another short outpatient procedure.” From breast cancer.org http://www.breastcancer.org/treatment/chemotherapy/process/how

Mostly, It Looks as though I have a plug used for charging an electric car. Just call me Nicole Tesla. It’s my personal anachronistic device or my PAD. Funny story – While getting a quick car wash a few months back, the gothic teen who was on cashier duty that day asked me if it were a new kind of under skin piercing. I told her what it was and she said, “wow cool!”  I had to laugh instead of becoming indignant. I said, well not really, and I hope you never need to have one installed but you can use me to charge your Prius. To whit she asked, “really?” And with that, I said absolutely, wished her a good evening and reminded her to get a mammogram.

So I get three types of injections today:

Faslodex – two HUGE viscous injections given in tandem by two nurses  into my upper gluteus maximii. It takes 30-40 seconds to get these suckers into my body

XGeva -subcutaneous into my abdomen

Zolodex – subcutaneous into my abdomen

Yes they hurt. A lot. But I’m a good patient and the nurses in the infusion center are angels in human form. Bless their love and compassion.

 

Ilene

Female. East coast transplant living in the Bay Area of California. Living with Stage IV breast cancer. Married to the coolest guy in the universe who occasionally suffers from serious depression. Love my stepsons, although I never thought I'd have that thankless job - ever! And my best friend Simon is also my cat. How I have survived with stage IV: treatments including chemo and surgery; palliative oncology; tenacity; a dark sense of humor; support groups; and my newly reinvented career as a vintage and antiques maven. Some days I miss the old me who led a well respected and well paid life as a business strategist in high tech. So much for that. I blog to simply share my experiences and my poetic approach with others who have cancer of any kind or with their care givers and those who love them. If one person at the very least finds a little commonality or a friend out in the ether tor a smile, a common nod about this experience, or even a link to assistance, then I have accomplished a small but extraordinarily meaningful goal. Go team.

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