When I told Tina that I was having my port removed, she said, “Oh, you’re being deported?” and we both burst into hysterical laughter. I thank God every day for my close friends and family who have kept me smiling and laughing through this miserable journey. I’m choosing to see the removal of the port today as nearing the end, at least the end of the daily part of the treatment. After January 15, other than taking tamoxifen and my PT exercises, there won’t be anything I have to do on a regular basis (unless the damned Lymphedema gets out of control, which I’m not going to let happen, or if the cancer comes back and I’m not even entertaining that thought right now). Then just a few surgeries and a few years of pills – which is nothing in comparison!
Today went well. Mom stayed over so her and Nick got up with me at the crack of dawn (actually, it may have been pre-dawn…) to take me to Dana-Farber so I could be the first person on the radiation table before moving to the OR for the port removal. Both were quick and as easy as could be. We came home and napped, and then I assured mom I was fine and she headed home. After all, I was just hanging on the couch, and am perfectly able to get up and get anything I need – I’m just not supposed to drive or do any heavy lifting.
Of course, after mom left and Nick went to work, I had a few Diet Cokes… and I realized that mom wasn’t just here to help me do things, but to prevent me from doing things! The soda made me jittery and full of energy, so up I hopped, running around the apartment cleaning this, putting that away, sorting these… and then my arm (specifically the wound where the port was taken out) started to ache. Uh oh. Now I’m remembering how they warned me not to do things so I don’t pull the stitches. Ugh. Sorry…
So to get a little more of the energy out without hurting myself more, I sat down to write this. Luckily, Tara is on her way here and we’re going to see a movie. I don’t think I can do much damage there…
Amy's America 