no fond mammaries

You may recall that I loooved the sedative concoction they gave me when they put in my port before chemo. It made me feel so relaxed that I came to understand that relatively speaking I move through life as anxious as a mouse that's been dropped into a snake cage. This was a startling realization for someone who prides herself on being pretty steady, grounded, and, well, relaxed.

Here is the port where it sat for months in its subterranean position. You can just make out the tube that snakes (more snakes!) up and over the clavicle, above the port, on its way to my jugular vein.

I was awake during the whole procedure, back on that fine January day. While I was being operated on, I passed the time admiring the ceiling tiles and the metal tracks along which they can maneuver various large machines. Here you can see how lovely and interesting the tracks are.

Given how pleasant that first experience was, I had very much been looking forward to the surgical procedure during which the port would be removed and they would give me those yummy sedatives again. In January, the procedure and the drugs only lasted about 20 minutes, but a roller coaster is only about 3 minutes, and it's still worth it for the thrill, right?

Well. There was a different doctor this time. One who doesn't like the patient to be in the way of his work, I think. When he arrived, he shook my hand, and said to the nurse, "Start with the Ativan." When I asked the nurse why I needed that, she said, "Dr. X likes to have patients start with Ativan. You'll feel it in a second." I guess maybe after that I got the happy drugs, but I don't remember the next, um, several hours. Laura says that in the recovery room I sawed wood for an hour and a half. Now and then we would converse. Converse? I have no memory of any of it. I was puzzled to find an appointment card in my bag a few days later. Apparently I had discussed and agreed upon a time for a post-op check up. And how did I get out of the building?

I do recall that right before we left, the nurse observed me scratching something on my wrist, and she said, "You're itchy. Take this Benadryl." Ohhhkaaaaay, I must have said, in a slo-mo voice. I was a rag doll. All floppy. Too floppy to enjoy being floppy.

Laura drove me home (this is my best guess) and I slept for FIVE hours. At one point, Laura brought me up a bowl of cereal. I must have asked for something to eat? I no longer trust my mammary (ha). I fell asleep 3 times while eating the cereal, and woke up when the spoon clanged against the bowl.

Here is the port, sitting on the kitchen counter, having served its purpose well. But there are no fond memories of its removal for p. No memories at all.

Fun chemo trivia for the day, just to end with something educational. Here is a shot up my nose. As you can see, I have no nose hairs left. Unfortunately, it is difficult for me to capture this phenomenon by camera, as the flash can only penetrate so far up before the cavern darkens. But when you look all the way up my nose, you can actually see my brain.