Farewell Thy Chemo Port

Today my portacath was removed. It’s the end of an era or something. Or maybe just a step further away from chemotherapy. Except that vein thingy is still raised at the base of my neck like a sleestack from Land of the Lost. It went fine, got there at 6 a.m. minus any water or coffee so I was dehydrated and tired and the dude checking me in had to be sucking on a giant latte. It freaks me out a little to get anesthesia – one minute you’re babbling, probably about random crap because you’re all high, then bam you’re out, and waking up what seems like only moments later (unless you’re Michael Jackson, RIP).

I am seeing my plastic surgeon next week but I already know he’s going to say I am looking at like six months before he can do anything. And I’m assuming he can do something, but seriously people the left side is pretty jacked up. I’m hoping he’s got some new boobs for me in his bag of tricks. And I’m still going braless y’all. Some women get prosthetic bras and stuff but right now I mostly don’t care. And it would be like, at this point who am I trying to kid.