Apr 22, 2020

Set back. Flatten. Infection. Steam. Little engine. Up hill. Drainage. Blisters. Could!

After returning from LA, there was a split second whirlwind of tests. On the date my port was scheduled to be removed, they sent me for CT instead. Ovaries. Pain. Genetics. Risks. Inconclusive. More tests. A week later, another Dr, another probe. Another diagnosis- more tests. Sign me up.

Corona took the world by storm, and we set the testing from our minds. Everything postponed. Imprint, post it, calendar, three months, six months on. In Hudson, we quarantined, my port still in my chest, little hold out, leading its way to my heart.

One week's quarantine turned to another and... Morning, it was well, and during the day. Then, in a flash- red, hot, evening- my port was infected. Last dance.

I wasn’t all that surprised; the port had not been accessed for several months, now. Quarantine led us to keep still, to resign, all the way to a point of stagnation.

I thought I’d be sent right home, leaving with a prescription. Didn’t say a serious goodbye to my mate. We left each other calling out just be okays. No embrace.

Emergency. Another night. Surgery. Another night. Waiting. Another night. Alone. Dirty. Squared. Finished.

The port is out. My relationship with the device that metaphorically held my hand through the full course of treatment for breast cancer is done. The surgery was not the one I planned. I thought there would be a celebration, my team. I came home from the hospital, not having bathed for 5 days. I came home with a new infection, bed sores. Totaled rager, different victory.

When a port is removed when infected, they don’t close you up. Ordinarily, we are stitched, and the surface heals first. With infection, they don’t want to risk trapping something that doesn’t belong, something that might fester in the process of healing, so they leave you open. You heal from the inside.

It’s more painful healing like this, more annoying. It takes longer. Messier. But, it is also most natural. The days have now passed on, and my wound is still open, still healing, metaphor, from heart out.