Port-land (originally published 04/26/17)

I always thought that when I would experience Portland, it would be of the Oregon variety. Maine, even. Certainly not a chemo port. But, here I am, in the most precarious of situations, having a port surgically placed in my chest to start receiving chemotherapy tomorrow.

As my wise friend M.K. once said, ''Sometimes when life hands you a shit sandwich, you just have to eat it.'' I guess this is, essentially, me taking the first bite of the shit sandwich that is breast cancer.

A port is a small plastic entry point surgically placed under the skin to the opposite side of where the cancer is. It is where the chemo is administered. For me, this will happen every other Thursday, for 8 rounds, over 16 weeks.

The procedure was performed by a vascular surgeon, and it only took 30 minutes. I slept the whole time. They gave me hydrocodone, which I later took at home and made a quick, eh...reappearance. Thankfully, I haven't needed any more pain meds and it has settled nicely into its new, temporary home in my chest.

While I am not exactly thrilled about the side effects of chemo, I am over the moon to start killing my cancer cells, especially since they are growing so quickly. Go away!

For a planner like me, knowing cancer is in your body, that you can actually feel (palpable), and see (oh, hello, giant lumps!) and know it's growing...ugh. I have felt so helpless. By starting aggressive treatment I feel empowered and in control again.

Hello chemo port, goodbye cancer!

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