I had no idea what to expect. When Buddy Port was implanted, I was given general anesthesia, and I woke up to find him sewn into my body on the left side of my chest (normally they're placed on the right side). Dr. Carolyn made the removal sound much less "surgical", indicating it would be done under localized anesthesia and I'd be in & out fairly quickly, so I was a bit surprised when the radiology department called a few days before the appointment to go over my "instructions": no food after midnight Sunday, water or clear liquids up until 10:00 am on Monday, and someone needed to be available to drive me home. This sounded a lot more extreme, considering my appointment wasn't until 2:00!
The waiting room was packed. (See what a difference early appointments make?) After checking in, we sat and started to wait...and wait...and wait. I was thirsty and hungry. A nurse came out to talk to a lady sitting near us, apologizing for the long wait and telling her that her husband was next to be taken back to surgery for his procedure - she didn't want the wife to worry that something had gone wrong. Ness and I looked at each other and wondered just how long this was really going to take.
At 2:30, I was called back to the procedure area. I was in the first curtained-off "room" by the door. The nurse told me to put on the gown, but I could leave everything on from the waist down. When she left, she didn't pull the curtain tight up to the wall, so I felt exposed as I got changed. I backed up as close as I could to the wall, just in case anyone walking by peeked in, and got undressed faster than I ever have before. For a while, I sat on the bed, but my back started hurting so I sat on a chair. There was a guy next to me, who may have been homeless, talking to someone on the phone about borrowing some cash so he could "call a cab to drive him back to the motel". A parade of nurses, doctors, and social workers went in to talk to him, trying to convince him that they couldn't release him to take a taxi home - it needed to be someone who could be trusted to deliver him to his "home" and be available to contact if there was a problem later. I felt so bad for him. He told them over & over that he didn't have anyone like that he could ask. I felt so grateful for my own abundant blessings of family and friends.
The surgeon came in to go over the procedure with me. He asked about my INR numbers, if they were always so high. I was confused. I told him I had long ago stopped going in for weekly blood tests and taking blood thinners. He looked back at my lab results and realized he'd been looking at numbers from 2015!! I was just happy he hadn't cancelled the procedure over that "little" mistake.
The nurse returned to put in an IV for the anesthesia (Valium and some other local numbing med). After the first "stick" failed (Waaah, I was already missing my Buddy Port and he wasn't even gone yet!), she tried a tiny vein in my hand. I was ready, but the room was not. Poor homeless guy left to get his biopsy, moaning and crying all the way down the hall, and now new voices were heard from behind their own curtains. Curtain No. 3 was a man who had received a trusty Buddy Port to get him through chemotherapy and now needed pain meds for the incision. His wife was urging him to ask the nurses for some Tylenol, but he was resisting, thinking he could "handle it". Finally, he gave in. Curtain No. 4 across the aisle was a man who had lost a leg to cancer and was having some kind of procedure on his throat (not necessarily another tumor because his wife was telling every doctor, nurse, and aide that he had had a scan earlier that showed no more evidence of disease). He joked with those who asked how he was doing. "Fine," he said, "except that I don't have a leg," or "Fine, except I feel like my throat has been cut." Yes, I heard their whole life stories in a nutshell until someone somewhere turned on overhead music - oh, yes, thank you! I was getting very antsy. I had left my phone in my purse with Ness, so I didn't know what time it was or how she was doing or ANYTHING and HOW MUCH LONGER DO I HAVE TO WAIT? Just when I thought I'd jump out of my skin, the music played some simple chords and there was my Ed (Sheeran), singing "Perfect". I could have cried with joy & relief.
When the wait became unbearable again, I went in search of a nurse. On the wall at the nurse's station was a clock - it was 4:30!! No wonder I was bonkers! I asked the nearest nurse if she could tell my daughter that I was okay and that I hadn't been in to surgery yet and I'd been here since 2:00 and my girl has red hair and a black tee shirt on... She immediately said she'd go tell her. I shuffled back to my curtain and two minutes later, there's my Ness, looking just as relieved as I felt. "I didn't just tell her," the nurse said. "I brought her to you." Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Not long after, I was taken back to the procedure room. It was dark-ish and 63-degrees cold. The nurses were busy getting things ready. They asked what my favorite color was, and when I said green, they switched on green fluorescent lighting. They asked if I'd like some music, and when I said my favorite Pandora channel was Ed Sheeran, they cheered! Ed sang to me through the entire procedure - I love him - what a guy!! I got a warm blanket, oxygen through my nose, and I did not feel a single pain through the whole surgery.
I walked back to my curtained room and someone brought me a cup of delicious apple juice, which I gulped down. Had to wait a little bit for my blood pressure to come up - it was way low for a while there. As soon as it climbed over 100 (104 actually), I was finally discharged. I felt fine, but I was starving. Grabbed some Lorna Doone shortbread cookies (shared with Ness 'cuz she was starving too) and out we went. We celebrated with dinner at Spaghetti Factory (which I paid for the next day, unfortunately, but it tasted so good!) and we were home by about 7:30.
No more Buddy Port, but another great scar to prove he was there & had done his job well. Very, very well. Thank you for every pain you took away...it made such a difference in my cancer fight.
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