Port Day

Trigger warning. Jamie, I’m thinking about you. Please don’t read this post. If you have any fear of hospitals or medicine, my words won’t help you today. My blogs are meant to help me.

Is there a word to describe an event that is over and done, it went fine, but it was a terrible experience?

I hate how this port feels this evening. It’s a little bloody, very weepy, I feel it when I swallow, it’s hot, and sore down deep.

i cannot keep myself from reliving the sensations I felt in the procedure room.

So much burning lidocaine. And then I felt the incision. I gasped and my eyes opened wide. They said out loud in a shocked voice : “you felt that?” So they gave me more burning.

Yes. I felt my skin separate under a scalpel. How can I not? It may have stopped the pain, but I can feel you.



Pushing a noodle into my body.

Sounds of zip ties being shoved through your skin.

Trigger warning. You can stop reading now, if you don’t like it. Check in with yourself, are you okay? Are your feet tense? Is your jaw clenched? Relax. Breathe. I was not, I am not okay. And I’m writing this for my own coping and trauma processing. If your not okay, then you can stop experiencing this.

I felt every inch of plastic being shoved into my veins. Up and down my body.

More lidocaine. The doctor knew to use more on me for this next incision. So there was extra burning. Deep. And right on top of my skin.

All of my nerves are screaming. Did you know there are different types of nerves? Some sense touch, others sense pain, then there’s these ones that aren’t very good at sensing what’s in pain deep inside of you, but they tell your brain that you have tummy trouble.

Today the gentle touch of fingertips on my skin feels like ripping.

Pain receptors are firing with the expectation of feeling something because I am panicked. It doesn’t matter that lidocaine is working. My other nerves are working over time and my brain knows it’s being tricked.

i repeat out loud in a tiny whisper that I’m okay. I’m not okay. But I need to reassure the team that I’m not going to buck and move and make things worse.

i feel wet rolling down my neck into my hair. I’m bleeding fat drops of hot blood. And they cool quickly in the chilly room. I tell them I feel drips. And I don’t like it.

i cannot stop the tension in my body. My foot is jittery. And my eyes fly open and shut with every tug inside of my heart.

i feel everything.

i was so sober. So awake.

And I wanted to not be there. I never want this to happen again.

My nurses dab my tears and tell me it’s almost over. I’m doing so well. A bit more. Keep breathing. In. Out.

My heart monitors told them that I needed a break. Twice they had to stop for me to return to a safe heart rhythm and catch my breath.

As I write at 11pm, I hate this. I hate reliving this experience. I hope that by putting words to this I can stop obsessively replaying it in my head. It’s making me bleed. And I can hear the ice melting from how hot the incisions are. I just want to not be like this.

when they finished… My nurses said that I broke their hearts. No one should have to go through what I just did.

before we started they confidently applauded my choice to go without sedation. They’d choose no sedation too. Being sedated for 8 minutes was a waste of a day. But it wasn’t my choice. It was necessary to protect the tiny fetus inside of me. And on top of hating the procedure, I hated having that choice taken from me.

At first glance, they thought I was fine, they had no idea that I was already that panicked when we walked into the room. But when my heart rate and rythm were beating in front of their eyes on the monitor, there was no denying that I was not okay.

They kindly told me, not suggested, but told me to get a prescription to relieve the anxiety during these procedures. They said that I was fine before and after. But I can’t- it’s not safe for me to get that anxious. It’s not good for the bump either. A chill pill will help and keep me and my bump safe.

i wanted to ask for something to help with the anxiety. But because I misunderstood what sedation meant.. I assumed that no sedation meant that I couldn’t have anything to soothe me. I tried to express that I was worried about this over-anxious reaction on Friday afternoon. But everything happened so fast. And I didn’t know the words. It’s not like I’ve done this before.

I asked the Roswell trauma nurse to call me at 10pm. Because the dressing was peeling off just from the weight of blood and pus pooling in the gauze. Saturated.

Nick put on a good pressure dressing under the worst of circumstances. The patient did not want to be touched. I was all worked up and anxious again. I went into shock shivering and hot. But we got through it.

I’m more tired than panicked again. So now I’ll rest.

Lymph biopsy in 12 hours. God help me.

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