For a little over a year, I have had a port in my chest to receive infusions. Last week I had this port removed. With it gone, I keep finding myself reaching for where the port was and almost missing it. In this post, I will briefly explain why I had the port taken out and why I would miss such a thing being in my chest.
My port was a problem from the start
In early September of 2018, I had my port installed. Usually, getting a port installed is a short routine procedure. My surgery took a long time, and the surgeon ran into multiple problems. I had so many cancerous lymph nodes in my chest that the surgeon couldn’t install the port on either side of my chest and enter a vein right by the heart. Instead, the surgeon had to run the ports catheter up my neck and into my jugular vein. I still remember seeing all the holes in my chest from the different attempts made by the surgeon to install the port.
My port catheter became retracted
Last fall, while I was still going through chemo, I had an appointment with my pulmonary doctor for long-term breathing issues, which have plagued me for many years. During that appointment, an x-ray tech took a picture of my lungs, and my port because they are in the same place. The good news from that x-ray is that no fluid was present in my lungs. But at the same time, the x-ray notes mentioned something about the port catheter being “retracted.” In this post, I tell the tale of the retracted port. The catheter going from the port to my heart had a loop in it; that was causing the retraction. I’ve also included my drawing of what the retracted port catheter looked like in the x-ray.
Knowing about the retracted port catheter apparently caused my problems to start. During round five of chemo (Dec 5, 2018), my port would not allow blood to be drawn. It would allow fluids into my body, but blood could not be drawn out of the body. Another x-ray was taken. The loop in the catheter was gone. Instead of looped, the catheter was folded up like a J. My post about that experience is here.
From there on, it was hit and miss whether my port would allow blood to be drawn. The port did get me through all six rounds of chemotherapy and almost a year of maintenance infusions. It was quite annoying on the days the port did not work. I would have to sit in weird positions, pretend to cough, and a multitude of other things in the hopes the catheter would allow blood draws.
The final straw.
During my latest round of maintenance, the nurse was unable once again to get a blood return. Unlike previous times, this time, there wouldn’t even be a small hint of red. Nothing at all would return. It was at this point the oncology staff and I decided it was time for the port to go. The port was there to protect my veins from a couple of hazardous chemo drugs I had last year. For maintenance infusions, the port is nice but is not needed.
Getting the port taken out
After getting the OK from the doctor, the oncology staff made an appointment for my port to be removed. Within the week, I would have my port out. That appointment happened last week. Honestly, there is nothing to report about this appointment. A local numbing shot was used, and he took it out in his small procedure room. No hospital check-in was required.
I think the whole procedure took about twenty minutes. The surgeon made a small incision to remove the port. With the catheter still attached to the port, the surgeon then pulled the catheter out. There was a weird tingling feeling as the surgeon pulled the catheter out. That is all there is to report about this procedure. Luckily it went much smoother than the surgery to install the port.
Now I miss the port
It has been a week now that I’ve had the port out. Oddly I’ve found myself missing the port. Over the last year, the port had indeed become a part of me. I mean that more in a spiritual way because obviously, it was a physical part of me. When I was stressed out for any reason, I would find myself rubbing my fingers over the port. I would also rub the port area when I was trying to think of how to phrase a sentence while writing. Looking back, I don’t think I realized I was doing this. But I can remember doing it often enough that I know I must have been rubbing the port a lot.
Oddly I think the port had become something of a worry stone for me. This odd relationship with my port created something of a situation after getting the port taken out. While the incision site didn’t hurt, it was tender. I found myself rubbing the area and getting reminded by a shot of pain that no port was there anymore. Now that the tenderness is gone, I think I’ve finally retrained myself not to try rubbing the port.
Hopefully, I won’t need another port
Even though I kind of weirdly find myself missing the port, I do not want another port installed. If that were to happen, it would mean I’m starting full-blown chemo again. My biggest hope right now is that I will be in remission long enough that a better treatment method will be available for me. I hope this for all cancer patients. Yes, there are some great newer treatments, such as CAR-T therapy, but even those treatments are failing on some patients. I genuinely hope for a day where ports are no longer necessary for cancer patients.
Song of the Day – Mr Roboto
At a cancer charity event a while back, I was talking with a young child who also had a port installed. He felt an instant connection to me when he found out I also had a port installed. One thing we did was sing the chorus of this song together since the ports make us cyborgs.
Bonus songs – Christmas concert
The bonus song has nothing to do with this post. It is the three videos I took of my two youngest sons at their school’s Christmas Concert. They are a big part of why I have been doing everything I can to fight off cancer.
The first one is my middle song Lawson playing percussion with the HS band. In the fourth song, he plays the spoons (like out of the kitchen drawer spoons).
Up next is Lawson singing with the HS Choir.
And last, but not least, is my youngest son Ashton singing with the 7th-grade choir.