Port Authority
"Hello?"
"Hello? Is this Ra-mo-ni-ta?"
When I confirmed that I was indeed Ramonita, the next thing I heard was this:
"Oh, I love your name! Ra-mo-ni-ta! I could sing it over and over! Ra-mo-niiii-ta, Ra-mo-niii-ta!"
And that's how I met BIDMC Boston's Port Authority, Blanche.
I think I mentioned that the first swipe at giving me the chemo infusions was a bust. So instead of waiting for another week, the really hard-working but ever cheerful nurse coordinator, Kimberly, went all out trying to shift schedules to get the port in pronto. She had to work around the dates of our citizenship exam and interview, then around the oath-taking as well.
The only available date was Wednesday, February 6. After Blanche had her fill of singing my name, she gave me detailed instructions on how to go about preparing the area the port was to be inserted. These consisted of changing the beddings, washing the front of my body with a special kind of surgical soap for three minutes both that night and on the morning of, using fresh towels each time, and of course, fresh clothes.
It's amazing how long three minutes can be.
Blanche also explained what the port was and how it functions. She called the port they were going to insert a BMW of ports ("Hey, might as well have fun, right?).
I didn't have the heart to tell her that cars were all the same to me. I usually don't pay attention to a car's make or model unless it looked really strange. Or unless I took a fancy to it.
But in the case of a foreign object that's to live in your chest for a while, it makes sense to get a fancy one. Pardon my use of the word. It's my go-to word for anything that steps over the boundaries of the everyday.
The insertion of the port itself felt quick. I was under mild sedation so I was awake and could take instructions. There were a couple of times when I told to hold my breath but after the numbing medicines and the sedatives that gave a mild buzz, I couldn't really tell how long it took. The only discomfort was from having to keep my head turned to the left and it did leave a crick in my neck so the whole thing must have taken longer. At least enough to give me that crick.
Here's a quick sketch of the port that I now have on the upper right side of my chest.
"Hello? Is this Ra-mo-ni-ta?"
When I confirmed that I was indeed Ramonita, the next thing I heard was this:
"Oh, I love your name! Ra-mo-ni-ta! I could sing it over and over! Ra-mo-niiii-ta, Ra-mo-niii-ta!"
And that's how I met BIDMC Boston's Port Authority, Blanche.
I think I mentioned that the first swipe at giving me the chemo infusions was a bust. So instead of waiting for another week, the really hard-working but ever cheerful nurse coordinator, Kimberly, went all out trying to shift schedules to get the port in pronto. She had to work around the dates of our citizenship exam and interview, then around the oath-taking as well.
The only available date was Wednesday, February 6. After Blanche had her fill of singing my name, she gave me detailed instructions on how to go about preparing the area the port was to be inserted. These consisted of changing the beddings, washing the front of my body with a special kind of surgical soap for three minutes both that night and on the morning of, using fresh towels each time, and of course, fresh clothes.
It's amazing how long three minutes can be.
Blanche also explained what the port was and how it functions. She called the port they were going to insert a BMW of ports ("Hey, might as well have fun, right?).
I didn't have the heart to tell her that cars were all the same to me. I usually don't pay attention to a car's make or model unless it looked really strange. Or unless I took a fancy to it.
But in the case of a foreign object that's to live in your chest for a while, it makes sense to get a fancy one. Pardon my use of the word. It's my go-to word for anything that steps over the boundaries of the everyday.
The insertion of the port itself felt quick. I was under mild sedation so I was awake and could take instructions. There were a couple of times when I told to hold my breath but after the numbing medicines and the sedatives that gave a mild buzz, I couldn't really tell how long it took. The only discomfort was from having to keep my head turned to the left and it did leave a crick in my neck so the whole thing must have taken longer. At least enough to give me that crick.
Here's a quick sketch of the port that I now have on the upper right side of my chest.
They come in pink and in white. I'm not sure if I have a pink one or a white one but white won't show up too well so I opted to do it in pink. Because, why not? Blanche said I may as well have fun. She's not called the Port Authority for nothing.
By evening of the same day, I did have to take some Tylenol. It was hard to tell if the discomfort came from the procedure or from the dressing. I'm rooting for the dressing. Whatever it is they use is meant to keep everything in place. I did have an access port dangling from my chest but because of the dressing, I knew it was going to stay there.
After I had my first infusion, the whole thing came off. Now I just have the tapes covering the sutures and the bump on my chest where the port is. I'm sticking with the thought that it's pink. Might as well be fancy.
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