The port is out!
It's covered with dressing that I can't take off for 2 days, and I'm told there are steri-strips under that, so it will be a while before I can tell what the scar will look like.
Ken drove me into the city for this appointment, and the first thing we noticed is that the mask compliance rate of people walking around in the city is WAY higher than in our suburban hometown.
Ken walked me into the hospital but then waited outside for the duration of my appointment.
The area I was brought to in the interventional radiology department was a big open space with a nurse's station in the middle and bays of hospital beds along the perimeter, separated by curtains. A nurse took me to a bed and had me change into a gown. She took my vitals and then gave me an IV. It took her two tries! The first time she stuck the needle in, poked it around, said it's not working, and then pulled it out. She then tried again in a different place, and it worked, though there was some bleeding. I've had several IVs by now, and that's never happened before, but I just shrugged it off.
A physician's assistant came to speak with me, and it was the same one I saw in January. He was easy-going and more of a jokester this time, which actually came across as less personable to me, like he was using the humor as a kind of shield. I told him about both of my concerns - the leftover non-dissolveable stitch and the messiness of the ugly scar. I felt like he was dismissive about both things. Of course he said, "If there's something in there we'll take it out," and, "We'll do our best to make it look nice," but they just felt like "the right thing to say," I didn't get a sense that he really cared.
I was rolled into the operating room, where 4 nurses busied themselves getting me ready. They were all very nice. I was pleased that multiple people along the way took note of my chlorhexidine allergy, and one of the nurses said right away that they would use Betadine instead.
The doctor came in after I was already prepped, and he didn't introduce himself to me at all. I was reminded that I actually liked the doctor who performed my port placement; he was friendly and he explained what he was doing while he was doing it. This doctor didn't say anything at all; I hope that means he was concentrating on the procedure.
I was given some kind of sedative for the procedure, so my mind was foggy, but I think I did try to mention the leftover stitch. I have a vague notion that I said something just as the doctor was getting started, so that I could be sure he was aware of the stitch, but I can't remember the details. I think I dozed off during the procedure. As he was finishing up, I asked him if he found anything, and he said no. Maybe it wasn't a stitch after all? Maybe it was, and it's still in me? It occurs to me that maybe he would say no even if he did find something, like maybe they shouldn't admit that they left a stitch in me for almost a year.
The procedure went fine in that the port was removed and nothing went wrong, but I didn't leave feeling like my concerns were addressed. I think I would have gotten a more satisfying experience at my local satellite hospital, but I still think if I end up having any kind of healing problems later, if the port was removed by the same doctor as before, I'd blame him. So, I don't regret going to the main hospital for this procedure; this way, if I have problems later, I won't feel like it's anyone's fault, it's just what happened.
Anyway, I was given some ginger ale and graham crackers while waiting for some of the sedative to wear off. After maybe 15-20 minutes, they had me call Ken, and someone walked me to the main entrance to meet him. The whole visit was less than 3 hours.
Every person I encountered during my appointment, when they found out I was there to get my port removed, gave me a hearty, "Congratulations!" But somehow, instead of wanting to cheer, I felt like crying. I don't know if it's a sense of relief that a big part of my treatment is over, or what, but I do feel kind of discombobulated. In a weird way, I sort of feel the same as I did when I got the port placed. Like something has changed, and something else is about to start, and I don't know what it's going to be like.
The area where my port was is sore and stings a little. Maybe I will take a Tylenol before bed tonight.
Well, it is definitely a change. Especially after having to get use to a port in your body for all these months. Change is always difficult, I think, and comes with uncertainties. I’m glad to hear everything is coming along as it should be though.
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