One Week after Deportation
So, last Tuesday was the day. Spent the morning fasting in anticipation of having my port removed at 1 pm. We were told to get to the hospital at noon. At noon sharp, we checked in, and waited. And waited. And waited some more. I understand things get backed up, emergencies happen. But I was hungry. And anxious. I knew it was not going to be a big deal, but seriously, my flesh was going to be cut into, and I remembered that when I had the port put in I got a little claustrophobic with a drape over my face. Finally, at almost 4 pm, I was wheeled into the OR, given something to relax me, and before I knew it, the port was out. The dressing I was worried about changing did not exist because the incision was superglued shut. The area was numb, so no pain. When we got home I had a little snack because we were going out to dinner with our neighbors. By nightfall the anesthesia was wearing off and the site was a little sore, and that persisted for a couple of days, but in the scheme of