imPORTant

Hey y'all... see that tube up there. That used to be inside of me. But not anymore. You see, that tube is called a port-a-cath, and it is what they stick inside one of your veins, the inferior vena cava in my case, so that they can "safely" pump you full of drugs. I begged Dr. Johnson to put one in, after the chemo from my fourth treatment burned my right arm so badly. So he did, even though they had to put it in an abnormal spot (due to my superior vena cava, the normally used vein, being squeezed by my tumor.) And so in January, clinging my mother's arm, crying and scared, I braved the radiology suite. (And after a little drugging, I totally forgot about my fears and just ohh'ed and ahh'ed at how cool the procedure and all the fluoroscopy pictures on the monitor were.)

And ever since then it's been with me. Something tangible I could feel. Something other people felt and pretended not to notice when they touched me. It almost became comforting to touch, this lump on my right side. I would reach down to feel it occasionally, as weird as that sounds. It became a part of me.

But today... they took it out. Safety blanket gone. And I feel like I can breathe again.

I cried sitting in the chair waiting to go into the radiology suite, straight up cried. Sitting by myself, next to this precious older couple, wearing that ridiculous hospital gown with the slit in the front and wrapped up in a blanket. And this time not because I was scared or anxious (even though I hadn't gotten any drugs yet), but because I was so damn happy. All this was coming to an end. A chapter in my life was ending and I could finally begin a new one. A page had turned.

The doctor asked me if I wanted to keep it. I so did. Of course I was interested because of the medical part of me, but also because of the nostalgic part of me. I wanted to touch it. I wanted to feel this tube that had delivered horrible drugs to my body. That made me feel just AWFUL and CURED me at the same time. I wanted to feel connected to that little piece of plastic forever. I have decided that it is not just a coincidence that "port" in French means "door". Looking at this port, sitting on the table, I see a door to my future. Not only a door to my future, but a window to my past. Something that holds me together as the future yanks me forward by both hands, while the past keeps a tight grip on my right ankle. Something that connects all of my dots.

I am sure the scar that this leaves is going to be awful because the incision from January was so prominent already. But isn't that so appropriate. Because the scars this has left me with are so much deeper than the surface. And they will remain with me forever. Reminders of my past and my mortality. Of this chapter. Something tangible that I'm sure I will make a habit out of touching, finding comfort in its reminder. The reminder that we are mortal. And that I am lucky.

I will breathe easier tonight knowing that this little piece of plastic rests on my desk across my room and is no longer swimming through my veins. I made it, y'all and its finally starting to sink in.
Liv