It''s game seven of the 2011 Stanley Cup Final and the Vancouver Canucks are down 4-zip with only a few minutes left. Tonight however I was playing chess, getting humbled yet again. Win or lose, the great thing about my life is that I can still do what I want, mostly. There are a few items however that distract me from filling my days with things that are interesting only to me,work and medical visits being those little things that tend to prioritize my goals in life.
For me it's been two months since I returned to full-time employment. In the IT/computer world this means strange hours, stress and deadlines. My doctor visits have mostly been "routine", whether it's a visit to my surgeon for a follow-up appointment, or a visit to a clinic for blood work or Port Flush. Since I'm no longer on chemo, the Port Flush hasn't failed to produce a blood return. That is until this past week where my monthly flush failed Then it was off to the Cancer Centre, where if they can't get it working, then the big guns come in: "Liquid Plumbr" for Ports, or something of that ilk. This visit would be my first return as a patient to the Cancer Centre in almost six months, and I started to think about my previous visits...
My appointment was for 1030 that morning, but because of logistics for my ride, I was there about 45 minutes early. I was pleasantly surprised when the receptionists greeted me by name. Perhaps it's these little qualities that make coming into the WRCC less stressful. From the moment you walk in the door you are greeted by a smile and kind words. You know there are people who genuinely care not only about the quality of treatment you receive, but that it's done with grace and dignity. You are never a patient, you are a person. Important stuff, that.
So I walked through those doors once more, relatively unworried, it was a simple Port Flush after all. Sure, the emotions that went through me as I walked up the stairs were contrasting and strong, my past experience had not yet been tempered by nostalgia. After all, my very first treatment here had caused me to bring up my breakfast in spectacular fashion. And after that session I was drained both physically and emotionally. But that was over a year ago, now I'm healthier, stronger and hopefully in a better state of mind.
Waiting for treatment in a large physical complex means that there are opportunities to wander around. To make sure the patient doesn't miss their appointment, they are given a pager, similar to what one receives when waiting for a table at a restaurant. ("Party of 1, your chair is ready. Can we start you off with a chemo cocktail?") Perhaps not quite Chez Cancer, but the service is great and tipping is not required! Since you are wearing a pager it means it will go off when you least expect it, or, rather, when it's most annoying. In my case I had just gotten my laptop up and running and was about to do some emails when I received my summons. Everything shut down and secured into my backpack, then off I trudged to the chemo suite. There I was greeted by the nurse who gave me my first-ever treatment (and her first name and mine are the same...can't forget her!) Having done this process a few thousand times before, she decided to try the 'manual override' Port flush procedure one more time. Unlike Star Trek, where Manual Override never seems to work, this process was quite painless (unless you hate needles. then you'd hate this one, it's about an inch long and they plunge it right into the skin covering your port). really it's no big deal anymore however, and I find that the whole 'Port Protocol' MUCH easier to deal with than the IV lock that goes on your hand.
So nurse Terry (as opposed to Patient Terry) performs the medical magic that comprises the Port Flush:
-sterilize the area surrounding the port
-tell me to breathe out when she's about to plunge the needle into me
-flushes the port
....and draws back blood! Yay, the return works! No need to spend an hour in the chair tethered to yet another IV. Less than five minutes was all it took. My return bus ride back to work would be much longer. There's also one other item that ends the Port Flush protocol: the adhesive bandage over the port. OK, word to the wise: (guys this means you): shave -gently- the area around your port, unless you wish to have the joy of yanking clumps of chest hair out when the bandage is removed.
In another month I'll have another Port Flush, I'm confident it will be routine. How long the Port will remain in me I do not know, for now it's part of my life. It's my new normal, my routine, my reminder of the past, and future support if I need it. I hope I'll never need to use it again, For me there is still hope, unfortunately it's too late for the Canucks, they lost game seven. Better luck next year guys!
