I am upset with the Women of CF who have ports. Yes, yes I am. After reading their wonderful blogs over the past year and their posts about ports and how fantastic they are and all of that, I had mine installed yesterday.
And I expected the same experience. There is only one problem. I am not a woman. I am a big cry baby. Ladies, couldn’t you have just pretended it was hard? Please, for those of us in the weaker sex?
F**k me, this thing hurts.
It feels like they shoved a big jagged piece of amethyst under my chest. It burns. It itches. It aches. And when we infuse, it feels like it’s spraying fire into my chest.
I have the nervous system of a Labrador. I feel everything. Ouch, boo boo to my chest. Someone give me a garden trowel to dig it out.
The doctor’s reaction to why it hurts when it infuses: “Odd.”
“My picture is next to that word in the medical dictionary,” I told him. He didn’t argue with me.
So, to the Women of CF, respect. You are tough. I never hear you complain. And it will be all I can do not to write a post a day on how much this piece of medical plastic hurts and bothers me.
If there is a plus of my new Power Port, it has full Bluetooth capabilities and I can stream music directly into my body without anyone else hearing. And it has a purple light that glows under my skin like ET. I use it as a nightlight.
But why can’t I beam back to the Enterprise? Scotty? Are you there? Major Tom?
When I went to have this piece of shit inserted, I was calm. Then one of the young doctors told me what they were about to do. It sounded like they were going to bury a large spider in my chest. And I had a panic attack. One shot. No good. Two shots. Nothing. Three shots. No buzz. Shot four. Okay, maybe the spider won’t eat me from the inside today.
When they wheeled me out of recovery, I passed a doctor and she gave me a big, long grin, like she knew me. I half smiled back, feeling uncomfortable from her huge smile. It’s hard to describe it – kind of like she was in on the joke, but I wasn’t.
Then it hit me: she must have been the doctor who operated on me. And I remember her telling me to shut up and not move. And I remember rambling and babbling. I wonder what I said? Whatever it was, she couldn’t help the huge grin, which is better than me getting a slap to the face.
When a nurse comes in my cell, I raise my left fist to the port, salute with the right hand, and say “Power Port Rangers unite.” Now you know why they draw straws each shift and the nurse with the short one gets stuck with me.
Power Port Ranger Zero out.