Feelings, Superstitions, and Port Placement 2.0

I have been wrestling with some significant feelings around getting a port again. In spite of what I tell myself that “feelings are not facts” I have been finding myself caught up in my emotions around a port rather than the usefulness of it.

I did IV chemo during my first round with breast cancer; thus it was not my first line of treatment for this diagnosis. Some MBC patients have chemo right off the bat, but not me. I was glad to not go through that again right away. And as long as the drugs I am on keep working then IV chemo will stay far away from me. For me, I equate chemo to moving into the last of my arsenal medications. This very well could be wrong — it is wrong. I could do chemo for my second line, but that doesn’t mean it’s all we have left. See the inherent fallacy in my thinking there? Chemo isn’t even in the cards for me right now…so why should getting a port make me think about this?

Ports are great for people that have veins like me, or for those that have regular infusions or scans with IV contrast. They are usually placed in the chest area, but I believe you can get them other places. My last one was in my right upper breast area. The PA that placed mine and took it out was excellent. I loved my port. It makes me feel a little robotic, which I don’t like. But it also made my life SO much more comfortable when getting treatment, which I did like.

I had my previous port for one year. I always said that it was my security blanket because as long as I had it (post-chemo), nothing bad could happen. I shouldn’t have said that because 1.3 years later I received my stage iv diagnosis. I am not a superstitious person either — silly illogical superstition. What happened was just bad luck.

As you saw in one of my previous posts, getting an IV is quite tricky for me. It’s fucking painful when I’m a pincushion, and then I am left with nasty bruises for weeks. Needless to say, I am getting a port placed on Thursday morning. This is technically another surgery, but minor. Some sedation (twilight sleep) and Zofran (for nausea) and I should be good to go.

So, why am I am I having such a hard time accepting a port this time? Honestly, it feels like I am saying yes to the beginning of the end. I am not getting IV chemo right now, but it feels like I am saying yes that it will be in my future. And if I am saying yes to eventual chemotherapy, then I am saying yes to the fact that my current treatment might not work forever. It’s a lame cascade of nonsensical sensemaking.

Once the port is in place, the surgical staff will leave it “accessed” because Thursday is also my infusion day (round 4). Each time I use my port it is called having it accessed. An RN or MD can access my port for blood draws or medication administration. Accessing it means they put this fancy needle in the port which is hooked up to a specific blood vessel and blood comes out easily, and drugs go in smoothly. There are no opportunities for multiple sticks or blown veins because the port lumen is always attached to a blood vessel.

After the placement, the area where the port is will be a little tender for a week or so as I am healing. Glad it isn’t bathing suit season yet! No one wants to see all of the fresh incisions I have going on right now.