|Shaving my chest in prep|
However, on Wednesday, June 21st, these heroes came together to remove an even bigger nuisance - my chemo port.
A week and a half earlier, I met with Director Fury (Dr. Maurer) at SHIELD Headquarters to review my latest mission report. After another successful scan, he said I could get my port out if I wanted. I did. The port was annoying, itchy, uncomfortable, and painful when Tobi or Conner (our puppy and cat, respectively) jumped on it or when a student hugged me.
The surgery was scheduled for the second day of my summer vacation. In the days leading up to the appointment, the hospital called me to verify that I was coming and to give me instructions. I was not to eat or drink anything for the two hours prior to the scheduled start time. To some, this doesn’t sound like a hard bargain, but for me, it was: I drink water constantly (especially since my chemo-altered taste buds got me addicted to lemon water).
Nonetheless, I survived the drought and took the Quinjet to the hospital. After greeting me, a kind attendant walked me to a waiting room and I waited.
And waited. Apparently there was an emergency (maybe another attack by Loki?) in that wing of the hospital that morning, and everything was running behind. No worries, though. I forgave the late start time when a nurse brought me another pair of slipper socks: just what I needed to add to my robust collection from my orchiectomy and port placement.
As with the staff who greeted me, all of the other nursing staff on duty for my surgery were incredibly nice, too. We talked about the upcoming wedding, my job as a teacher (“Oh, those fourth graders just must love having a male teacher!”), and, naturally, my general love of superheroes (one nurse identified as a Thor fan, while the anesthesiologist identified as actually being the Hulk. Yes, you read that correctly).
The doctor (who called dibs on Spider-Man, which I felt was foolish - he had a perfect opportunity to choose Dr. Strange) came in to talk to me about the procedure. After that, Lady Thor injected me with some medicine that put me into a calm state, one that I find akin to drinking a six-pack of hard cider in one sitting. It made me sleepy, but I did not fall into Odinsleep.
The surgery team tented me up and injected me with a local anesthetic. To be honest, this was the only pain I felt during the procedure. It felt like a short bee sting, followed by a fiery feeling coursing through my chest. Spider-Doc told me I would feel some pressure. Fewer than two minutes later, he said, “Okay, the port is out.”
They then patched me up with some glue, which the Hulk said was just Gorilla Glue from Home Depot (and I’m not sure if he was kidding). I was wheeled back into my original room, where Mallory was waiting.
I began feeling a dull pain about four hours after my procedure, which I combated with Advil. I took more the following morning and once during the day. Compared to the pain of the neupogen shots or other maladies during cancer treatment, this slight ache was nothing. It was like Ronan in Guardians of the Galaxy - annoying, but ultimately forgettable.
Two days later, I removed the bandage. Though I had shaved my chest in preparation for surgery, the bandage still pulled on the hair, which was more painful than any pain I experienced with the surgery. I looked down and confirmed it - I was no longer Iron Man, with a chest piece keeping me alive. (The nerd in me wants to point out that Tony Stark had his arc reactor removed in Iron Man 3, so technically I still can be Iron Man.)
While getting my port out was a very quick and mostly painless procedure, it represented another hurdle I had overcome. My hair had grown back (just like Groot had regrown into Baby Groot by Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2) and I wasn’t getting drugs pumped regularly into my body, but I still had an obnoxious reminder of cancer in my chest. Besides being physically annoying, it was a constant sign of my journey, and it was one that I couldn’t escape - it was literally a part of me. With it gone, I had tangible proof that I would no longer need chemo and that this phase was 100% behind me. Furthermore, losing the port also represented the last major medical procedure I would have for the foreseeable future. After months of surgeries, chemo, and other visits, I’m just about done with doctor’s visits. While I don’t ever want to necessarily forget this period of my life, I can do without something always literally jabbing me in the chest.
Even though it was out of my body, I still wanted to keep the port. However, since it’s apparently medical waste, I wasn’t allowed to take it home with me, but they did show it to me before they threw it away. Talk about poor service - I paid hundreds of dollars for this thing and I don’t even get to keep it! (Just kidding, I have nothing but good things to say about the hospital.) Lady Thor asked me why I wanted to keep it, especially since it’s a reminder of the bad times.
“It’s not what’s underneath, but what you do that defines you as a survivor.”
Despite being a die-hard Marvel fan, sometimes, DC actually has good advice.*
*Unless that advice is to try to cram 50 sub-plots into Batman v Superman or reshoot all of Suicide Squad.
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