how to make a cyborg for fun and profit

***WARNING***
This post contains graphic and disturbing descriptions.


In an effort to document all of my adventures in oncology, I feel a need to explain the human --> cyborg transformation.

I arrived as instructed at 9am. For this procedure, I had to go to a different hospital; a new, strange doctor would be doing the implanting. A lovely French woman called me the day before to explain that I would be put under conscious sedation. I assured her that I was VERY willing to be put out altogether, but she elaborated that there would be times that they'd need me to take a deep breath so I had to be able to hear them and do as they asked. Although I had been very nervous leading up to the day, I was cool as a cucumber in the waiting room that morning. Until...

They called my name at around 10:30 & said that once I was prepped, John would be able to come sit with me. I was told to "undress from the waist up; the gown ties in the back." I was delighted to be able to keep my jeans and socks on. I was told to get into the bed on the far left of the room. There were only two nurses working pre-op. One came and introduced herself, "Hi, I'm Irene. Judi and I are the only ones in here, so we'll be tag-teaming you today." The tag-teaming began with the insertion of the IV. Irene was very understanding about my various phobias and wussy-ness, and was very willing to put the IV in my hand despite the apparent bruising and scar tissue leftover from previous stickings. I also told her, as I tell everyone, that I didn't want to know what she was doing.

She very delicately stuck me in the hand, and it was excruciating. I have been stuck in the hand dozens of times and it never ever hurt like that. She took it right out, and tried another spot. This one had more scar tissue, because it was the one used most often in the past few months. She got the needle in, but because I was clenching my fist so tightly, she couldn't get anything flowing. She called Judi over, tagged out, and they switched places. Judi made a comment about my eagle claw, and once I relaxed my fingers, the IV was fine. Now John could come sit with me. Ok, hard part's over. Or so I thought.

We sat for hours. Waiting... Laughing... Being hungry... Worrying... Clock-watching... Finally, it was 1pm, John was starving, and I was ready for a nap. He kissed me goodbye, Judi brought me another heated blanket, and I began to doze. Of course, just as I was drifting off, they came for me. No more napping! They wheeled me down the hall, and into an elevator to the first floor, and down another hall into the radiation area. I was not in an operating room. I was in what looked like an x-ray room. I was told that they would be monitoring my heartbeat and blood pressure throughout, and that there was a slight chance that they'd need to introduce some contrast dye, but that was a long-shot.

And then I met Dr T. As with all my doctors, I was careful to explain my wussy-ness so that he would understand that I tend to hyperventilate when I know too much. My mantra is "don't tell me, just do it," and most of them are accommodating. But not Dr T. He was gonna do it his way. He wanted very badly to show me the implant, but I did NOT want to look. He went so far as to put the info-sheet in my face and point to the device, but I closed my eyes and said (I'm sure I screeched) "I DON'T WANT TO LOOK!!!" Dr T then went on to explain further the conscious sedation that I would be under. He said that I would know what they were doing, but I wouldn't care. Also, that they would be giving me something to numb the area, much like getting Novocaine at the dentist. I protested "BUT I'VE BEEN GETTING FILLINGS WITHOUT NOVOCAINE SINCE I WAS 6!!!" (Did I mention I don't like being numb?)

Despite all that, I was still relatively calm. I signed the consent form and suddenly activity sprung up all around me. They promised a sedative in my IV, which I suspect was Versed, because Versed doesn't so much calm me as give me diarrhea of the mouth. And I was talking. About what, I can't tell you. Perhaps the color of the room, the fact that there was no music, their personal histories (Jon enjoys his job, Joanne is from Montreal, Dr T is always a jerk), whatever came into my mind. Until...

They asked me to shimmy over to the narrow x-ray table. They asked me to shift myself until I felt like I was in the middle. Then they strapped me down. First was a seat belt across my legs. "Not that you'll try to get up, but just in case." Then came some straps on my arms. I had an itch on my face, but I couldn't move my arms to scratch. The panic began to set in. And then... Jon, formerly the very nice tech, turned my head toward the wall. He didn't ask me to turn my head, he turned it for me. This is when I lost it. I began to cry, which is my typical reaction in a situation where I'm completely out of control (like getting a filling or taking off in an airplane). For me, crying is a natural reaction to extreme stress. But Jon seemed to feel it was bad and asked Joanne to give me a little more sedative. And then...

He taped my head into place. I was facing the wall, and he wrapped tape around my head and the table. I couldn't move. I couldn't see what they were doing. I couldn't see them standing over me. I couldn't see them coming toward me. Jon tried to keep me calm, asking about my job & what I do there. I answered politely, but thought to myself you really need to come up with some new distraction questions. He warned me that he was going to do something cold, which he did several times. First he said "I need to find the vein in your neck." A little more panic. And then, alcohol, betadine, goo, whatever. It was all cold and it was all running down the left side of my neck. And then...

"Ok, just a little stick." And shortly after "another little stick." Possibly more Versed. And then...

They covered me in plastic. I don't mean a little plastic around where they were going to be working. I mean my entire body covered in a sheet of industrial serial-killer plastic. They taped it to my chin and down the left side of my body. This was to keep me from getting splattered. The only person I could see was Joanne, who every once in a while would peek under the plastic to ask how I was doing. She was covered from head-to-toe in a splat-suit, goggles and all.

To be honest, I didn't feel what they were doing. I know I was muttering and crying the whole time. At one point, Joanne paid me a visit and I told her honestly how I felt about the whole ordeal. "I feel like I'm being raped."

When it was all over, they had to give me some Benadryl because I was having a reaction to one of the antibiotics. My scalp was itching uncontrollably. When the itching stopped, they gave me more Benadryl because I still had hives. But at least it was over.

And now I am cyborg. I have an implant with a mainline into a vein on the right side of my chest. I haven't seen it, because it is covered with steri-strips with gauze dressing over that. It hurt the first day, but now it's ok. I feel it, I know it's there, but it doesn't hurt. What it does is itch. I'm apparently sensitive to the tape used for the dressing. At first it was just itchy, but now it's blistery and red and tender and sore. If you really need to see, click here for some pictures.

So that's that. The best thing I can say about getting this port is that now that I have it, I don't have to go through that ordeal again. That was the process I feared most, and it was way worse than I had expected. But it's over. And it's all downhill from here.

Until...