We now interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you: an unexpected surgery.

Surger—whaaaat? Yes, you heard me right. I have to go in for another surgery. And I’m none too happy about it, either.  How did this come to be, you wonder? Grab a coffee (or a tea) and I’ll explain…

Three days ago, my IV pump started acting up. Beeping with my every movement, and shutting down after every three failed attempts, which it didn’t take long to register. I adjusted my gripper inside of the port, stretched, leaned-- anything to try to get it to move a little, thinking the needle was just jammed against the wall of the port inside, causing resistance. Not so. Nothing worked. I tried compressing the flesh around the port, trying to cause some movement to happen. And that was when problem number two occurred, in the form of a high pitched, “squeak!” No, I did not have a gerbil in my house. By the sounds of it though, I had one in my chest.  We fought  through, and got the pump working in the end. The next morning I woke to the same problem with the IV pump. Only this time, it was beeping every 5-10 seconds, rendering it impossible to take my medication for the next hour. Also, by this time, all I had to do was move my arm and my chest would squeak. Jack found it quite amusing, and requested it on demand. I found it more annoying than anything. Now I was going to have to find a ride a day early to get (what I thought was) a faulty gripper changed, so my medication schedule would not be delayed. 

I made the necessary calls: my sister-in-law would come drive me; the nurse was expecting me; my local doctor was to be paged when I arrived, and the former team of seasoned healthcare professionals was questioned as to how common an occurrence this was (the answer: never.) I was starting to get nervous as the concern with the port itself arose. The old gripper was removed, the new one inserted, and flushed with saline. Pain, burning pain, upon entrance into the port. Blood was drawn, and it barely sputtered out into the vial. I muttered in fear under my breath as the nurse turned to withdrawal via syringe. It worked! Flushing again: saline and heparin this time. My sensibilities (or was it fears?) questioned if it really was burning, and if that really was as big of a problem as it sounded to be. By the time the heparin entered, it was no question: it hurt. The tenderness near my armpit migrated to right above my port.

Where I *wish* it was inserted in the first place!

In an anxiety-induced daze, I followed the nurse to the admitting desk to get the paperwork for an X-Ray and to have a peripheral IV line started in my wrist so I could continue treatment while we were getting this all figured out. My sweet godson kept me from tears as I walked from one place to the next, full of worry over the unknown. The IV line was inserted into my wrist, and as a result I was unable to bend it or move without significant pain. I bounced back and forth between emotional discomfort and  physical on the car ride home, worrying all the way. Splinting my wrist once we got home helped a bit, as it kept me from bending it when it needed to remain straight. Jack became my doctor as he took over, commanding me to put my arm here and not there; and petting the fingers peeking out of the gauze; sing-songing a soothing, "shhhhhh, it's o-kay. It's o-kay"-- after checking to see if my chest could still squeak (it couldn't).

A Port being punctured by a Gripper

This afternoon I received a call from my primary caregiver down south.  What it comes down to is while this port was supposed to last me the length of my treatment, it doesn’t seem to be doing so. Many things could be the cause, including the possibility of a tear in the membrane where the gripper needle enters, causing it to leak under my skin instead of into the catheter tubing that leads to my heart. There are tests that can be done, but it can be difficult to tell if I need a new one or not. For a multitude of reasons  she has decided that regardless, the new port is the safest way to go. There is a new, and better port system available that has  no need for constant and expensive heparin flushes, is made with a non-metal material that can withstand a myriad of tests, such as CT scans if the need presented itself, and has catheter tubing placement in such a way that there is little to no danger of a kink (which is another possible cause of my troubles). And while it sounds great, it's the getting there that has me less than excited.

I am scared. Nervous to go through the healing again, about what my new scar will look like, the learning curve of how to access it weekly, and so on. And while I am grateful it conveniently falls on Matt’s hard earned time-off so he can be there with me, I am disappointed that this is how we will be spending his “vacation”. I am frustrated that after feeling so many improvements, I have something major to deal with again, reminding me of just how sick I am.

Remembering the time span peripheral IV’s tended to have in the past, and not wanting to get stuck over the weekend without one, we went back to have one reinserted today in a less painful, convenient location; and with longer tubing, so I can do the job with both hands, maintaining the same level of independence as before.  I will continue to use it, and replace it as needed, until the Monday after next, when my doctor hopes to have a surgery scheduled for.

Look at all of that scar free skin to poke into!

So, in typical nature of this disease, the difficult parts come hard and fast, while the good comes slow and steady. This too will be good in the end. We will have a "fresh slate" to work with-- less scarring to contend with on a weekly basis when accessing the port. The dime-sized entrance has been poked over 60 times already (giving no new skin to go through), and it hurts much more to push a needle through scar tissue! 

What it really comes down to though, is if this is what is safest for my health, then this is what we will have to do.

Please pray for me. I need all the courage, peace, and strength I can get right now!

Blessings,

Kate

“As for you, you meant to harm me, 

but God intended it for a good purpose, 

so he could preserve the lives of many people, 

as you can see this day.”

Genesis 50:20