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 things, no big deal. A week later, there is no pain. I’m just waiting for the superglue to fall off, then I can submerge. But for now, showering is fine, just no swimming pools.

But more important than the actual removal is what it represents. I am cancer free, and my hope is, I will remain that way forever. I am on a PARP inhibitor and I have a lot of faith that it is working for me. Perhaps it is the power of suggestion or, my favorite, the placebo effect, but I feel my energy level is improving, and my general sense of well-being has returned.

When my oncologist first suggested I get my port removed I balked. Of course, if I had it removed the cancer would return! Plain old superstition. But as she said, she didn’t think I’d need it again, and if I did, I would get another.

So now, with the exception of part of my eyebrows that never grew back and an additional 10 pounds or so, I am veering back to my old self. That is not to say that there is a part of me that won’t always be on the lookout for symptoms or hints that it might be returning. And I will remain as a support to women who are at varying stages of disease and recovery.

But there is no denying that the symbolism of my “Deportations” is strong. And doing it makes me pretty darn happy.