Today Rachel is getting her port removed. This seemed like an easy yeah just do it and overall exciting that our doctor said we probably wouldn’t need it. However, being here and going back to the procedure room just brought back too many bad memories. Not to mention we didn’t think about recovery time of no baths for 2 weeks and avoiding lifting heavy objects for 5 days. Give or take—we’ve heard several versions of recovery already. Depends on the stitches. Depends on the doctor. Depends on the liability the person talking to us wants to assume.
It seems to be more reminder of what’s been done rather than a sign of being done. A reminder of what’s not done and in some ways will never be done: the mental recovery from last summer. There’s nothing forcing us to deal with it. Not directly. No cascade of appointments and follow ups filling up the patient portal. Just life with two kids which we’ve heard is hard enough on its own (many times). There’s certainly treatment plan options, but nothing as clear cut as cancer gone: good, cancer not gone: bad.
I suppose that gives both you and me insight to where we’re at. Sitting in the waiting room and typing without a plan of what you’re going to say definitely can lead to a spillage of consciousness (I mean… the title was clever, though).
Now I must go find the cafeteria and procure a bagel for a poor boony who hasn’t eaten since 1am.
