I created this blog so that my friends and family can follow updates about my diagnosis, my experiences with treatment, and my recovery. Some of you may be put off by the title. Sorry, but this is not going to be pretty. I claim no particular strength or grace. I may reach for strength and grace on occasion, but those are standards that I will not be beholden to. I expect to cry, laugh, question, scream, analyze, whimper, shout, sob, and swear. And you're invited to join me.
The first slap

This photo was taken the day after I was diagnosed, and it is my first bitch slap at cancer. I'm the one with the icepack symbolically placed on my boob. My teammates changed our team's uniform to pink at the last minute, and I came off the soccer field that night with one goal and a whole lot of love. Several of these women are my close friends, but they are all warriors, and they all helped me set the tone for this fight.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Port
I'll be getting a chemotherapy port on Monday. It's a little titanium gizmo that has a shape much like Apollo Command's re-entry module, although (obviously) in miniature. It will go just under my skin in my upper chest, below the collar bone, and will be attached via a little tube to a major vein for easy blood stream access. The idea here is to facilitate both blood draws and chemotherapy infusions. From what I understand, there are fewer nerves there than in the arm or other places that health care folk might think to stick a needle. I wonder if they could insert a second port for coffee infusions. And maybe a third for wine! A tawny port port, perhaps? I'm thinking the insurance wouldn't pay for that, though.
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