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 ha...
Join me on my journey down the rabbit hole of Cancer Land! Treatment, divorce, parenthood, teaching and dating while learning to navigate my new life as a metavivor. My sordid tale begins on April 17, 2017 at age 33 when I was diagnosed with Stage II Invasive Ductal Carcinoma Triple Negative Breast Cancer and continues with my new Stage IV diagnosis exactly two years later on April 17, 2019.