CONTENT WARNING: Post contains frank talk about hospital situations and there is iodine and some blood in the pictures below. Navigate away if these images or the content will upset you.
So, in the last installment of “Faxes are hard and Kitty is thirsty.” I had to deal with the fax machine not working. However, Wed of this past week we finally got through to someone, and, after explaining my port symptoms in exquisite detail to several different people, who called at several different times, they agreed to give me an urgent consult that Friday. (This past Friday.) I was nervous as frick because I had been dealing with a woman on the phone also during this time who, sight unseen wanted me to just replace my port… And with a device that wasn’t right for me. So. I was already in a mood. >.> But I went anyway because I need the help. And if my port doesn’t get solved, I’m not going to feel better. So I had to go. Ack. The worst kind of scenario.
They looked at my port, and weren’t sure what was wrong, but could tell it didn’t look right. They decided to use the ultrasound on it to look around in there and they found an abscess. Yeahh. So my port had to come out as soon as possible. She wasn’t sure if they could fit me in immediately that day, but decided to make a few calls and they could. They did manage to fit me in. This was excellent news because:
1) I was more than tired of this garbage
2) It’s a long journey!
But we had to wait a couple hours. This isn’t really a complaint. It’s a frickin’ miracle they fit me in on short notice at all, really. But having an abscess in your port.. I mean. That can get bad fast. So. Kind of had to fix. So the plan was (is) to remove my port, put in a PICC line for four to six weeks to make sure there’s no infection, and then to put another port in. Sounds good in theory I guess.
How was the procedure? Well, honestly, I will say that the PICC line was REALLY not a big deal. It didn’t hurt me at all, and just felt a little uncomfortable and strange. But no.. “Pain.” I could do it again if I had to, but I really don’t.. Wanna. ::Shrugs::
But removing my port? As usual, IR couldn’t keep me comfortable (they never can) and I started crying early and often, I couldn’t help it. It was terrible. Awful. Bleh. >.> I normally won’t consent to anything being done in IR without the presence of an anesthesiologist, but. This was an emergency so I let them do it. They promised me it wouldn’t be too bad. Of course they lied. Of COURSE. BLEH.
But I did it. It’s done. Huzzah.
So there I am, shortly after getting out of the surgical suite. Huzzah. I lived! Huzzah! I can drink again! It’s just. Because my port was a left-side port, they had to put the PICC line in my right arm. And I can’t straighten my arm all the way because of the location they had to put it in. I mean, I noticed they tried to get me higher up to avoid this awkwardness, but my veins just don’t play nice. That’s why I had a port. Heh. So it’s in the worst possible spot and it’s affecting everything. I’m just reminding myself though, that it’s only for a few weeks, and then I get my port back. But I do *not* want anything to do with this. It’s sucky. I can’t even lift a cup of tea or like, dress myself at all in any way anymore. >.> It’s hard. But temporary. It’s just in the worst spot. Literally nearly my antecubital.
Dressing changes are a nightmare. We were told to change dressing twenty-four hours after the PICC was placed, but then only every week after that. Which is fine, but no one showed us how to use the stat lock. >.> (That wide, white piece) so we had to look that up online. Nice.
So. The spot my port was in is really bothering me. A lot. But, it’ll get better everyday. And the PICC line is a major pain in the rump. I’m gonna figure it out though. It’s not forever, just for now.