The Story Of The Port...My Story

(Dante's Prayer) Please click to play.

Judy holding Sarah's port in the palm of her hand

The port was starting to bother her. She started to feel a sharp pricking sensation.

It was implanted months ago. It was one of the first things that was done to get her ready for the numerous blood draws and her four chemo infusions. It meant she didn't have to have her arms and/or hands used for these things. It meant she didn't have to get bruised.

It was a good thing.

It was a relief.

It was a gift

It was a friend.

She thought she would be able to keep it in for years. She wanted to keep it in. It seemed like a no-brainer.

You see, for the next two years, she will be having her blood drawn every three months. For the next three years she will be having her blood drawn every six months. That totals five years of frequent blood draws.

They, (what a word) ... "they" means the oncologist and the oncology nurses will be looking for "readings" that will indicate whether or not there are loose cancer cells in her body.

The blood draws are necessary. They are a part of her treatment now. The blood draws, along with the drug Tamoxifen, which she will take daily for the next five years, are supposed to reduce her chances of recurrence from 19% down to 10% or lower.

She wanted to keep the port in.

We learned the port has served its purpose now. We learned the risks of keeping the port in outweigh the benefits.

He, (the oncologist) didn't give her a real choice. He said it had to come out. He pretended to give her a choice. He said if she wanted to keep the port in, he would skip one of every four blood draws. HA!

Did I mention no-brainers up above?

He got Sarah's attention. No, she would not skip any blood draws to keep the port in. From the beginning, Sarah has done everything she could to deal with this thing called cancer. She would have the port removed and do the blood draws without it.

It had started to bother her. It began to feel like a good thing to have it removed. The date was set.

September 9, 2010 came to be known as "deportation day."

I went with Sarah to the doctor's office.

Up until now, this was an easy post to write. I thought...I am doing really well here.

Now, I am back in the doctor's office because that is really where my story starts.

Sarah and I both went into this day feeling like it was going to be a non-event. We both had to talk ourselves into getting back into the "place" of dealing with all this. We have had some "time off."

We have had a break. To put it my way....we have been able to run and skip and jump and play. "It" wasn't the focus all the time. Give or take the reality of seeing Sarah's hair growing back and the addition of Tamoxifen to her daily routine, life has had a semblance of normalcy to it.

I believed having the port removed would be ok. I believed the procedure would go smoothly. And, it did, for the most part. Sarah required six to eight shots of novacaine to numb the area. Those hurt! Other than that, it was ok.

We left the doctor's office and went to pick up our cars at the valet service. While we waited for the cars to be brought around, she told me the doctor had asked her if she wanted to keep the port.

At first she said no. Then she said yes.

She asked me, "Do you want to see it?"

I said, "Oh, yes!"

It was in a little container.

She took it out.

I said, "Can I hold it?"

She said, "Yes."

She put it in my hand.

It was made of metal. It felt cold in my hand.

I looked at it.

I saw the thin white tube, with little holes in it, that came out from the metal part.

The tube had been in her vein.

And, I closed my hand over it.

It was then that I felt the tears.

It was instant.

They burned in my eyes.

I didn't know what they meant.

I didn't know what to name them.

I said to Sarah, "I just had a feeling."

She said, "I'm not looking at you."

She was having a feeling too.

I was the one who said it out loud.

Neither one of us knew what it was.

She said, "We're going to lunch."

I said, "Oh, yes."

We drove in separate cars.

It was in my car that I realized what the feeling was.

I drove straight into understanding what touched me as I held my daughter's port in the palm of my hand.

It was the first thing I have been able to touch that has helped keep my daughter alive.

I could wrap my hand around it.

Sitting in the restaurant, Sarah talked about her feeling. She hadn't figured it out yet.

I watched her face and listened to her as she tried to sort it out.

I said, "I can tell you what that feeling was for me if that would help."

She said, "Ok."

I told her about it being the first thing I have been able to touch and hold....touch and hold something that kept her alive.

Her eyes flooded.

She said, "Yes."

Sometimes, I can't get close enough to her. I think I could be inside her and it wouldn't be close enough.

She is my daughter. I am her mother. She has been inside me. She is still inside me.

Sarah and me on deportation day