Wouldn't You Smile Too.....

.....if you could have one these gadgets inserted into your upper chest and threaded into your jugular vein?   There are options, too.  The interventional radiologist said, "Hey if you want to switch from the jugular, we could go the subclavian route." Simple as that!   If I had a port, I'd be infusing my morning coffee and my afternoon menopausal chocolate syrup fixes.   Not only would that save time, it would save dish washing water.  All of us would be happier in the mornings and before dinner, as well as just a little bit greener.   That smiling woman probably is planning on an infusion of Dilettante chocolate sauce!  Does it even look like she needs an artificial orifice in her body through which she will receive toxic chemicals intended to kill or stunt the growth of cancer cells? As a side effect these various juices kill other things, good things too, but that woman has no worries. 

    

Today Mark is still recovering from his port installation surgery. Hospital people call it a "procedure", which is probably another example of Hospital as Second Language. What makes a it procedure and not a surgery when they both require sedation and scalpels?   Because it wasn't done in an official OR? As far as I'm concerned, if they gave him la-la land drugs and made him bleed with a sharp knife, it was a surgery.   Whatever the official title, he is recovering from it.  Last night he had a fairly decent sleep.  The pain in his shoulder and chest is less.

   As you can see, they gave him a treat with his"happy meal".  Inside this thick folder are a few cards for his wallet, a rubber bracelet to identify him as a power port person, and a user's guide.  Can we just plug him into things here at home now?  "Hey dear, you seem fatigued.  How about we plug you into the socket for some instant energy?"    Can he use a really short cord when he's whacking weeds?    Another humorous (or not) thing about that folder is that he got it on Friday when he had the 46 hour infusion device disconnected.  The nurses gave it to him with a yellow stickie note: "Mr. Baxter left this.  Dr. Crossland please give it to him."  Dr. Crossland is Dr. Smith's wife.  How was Mark to remember to take his goodie bag with him when he was either sleeping, half sleeping, or mumbling things that almost made sense?  The sticker should have read, "Mr. Baxter, who was either asleep or babbling semi coherently, left this.  Dr. Crossland, please give it to Mrs. Baxter."  Leave it to the wives; we'll get it done.