As most of you probably know, ever since I got the chemo port put in and then stopped treatment (end of July 2009) I’ve had to go to the hospital once a month to get my chemo port flushed out… otherwise it could get blocked and, well, kill me. And since I am still considered high risk for recurrence I’ll probably have the port in for the next few years. But even though it’s a bit of a nuisance to go and get this done every month, at least that’s all it is now. At first, after my last chemo, every trip to the hospital was fraught with fear and anxiety and I always needed a “hospital buddy” to come with me. But then one day there wasn’t anybody and I needed to get the port flushed out, so I bravely got into a taxi and went by myself (twittering like mad all the way – and bless everyone who tweeted back at me). But I did it, got there and back again without falling apart. So from then on it got easier for me to go on my own for the chemo port thing (though going in a taxi is still necessary to avoid panic attacks).

The actual cleaning itself isn’t too bad, and I’ve learned that if I get there after 7pm I’m pretty much in and out in about 20 minutes. Sure, it’s still hard to walk into the chemo room and hear the beeping machines and see all the people getting their infusions – my heart really goes out to the ones who don’t have chemo ports and are getting it in the hand or the arm (ouch!). But in general I’m okay about going to do this on my own now, though it’s a bit hit and miss with the nurses. Some are quick and efficient, others seem more than a bit clueless (they scare me!) and others look visibly annoyed when I ask them to remove the air bubbles before sending a whack of saline back into my vein.

About three months ago I had a male nurse do the procedure and when I saw him painstakingly lay out all the stuff needed I thought – “uh oh, a newb!” – and wondered if he knew what he was doing, especially when he seemed to be missing one syringe full of saline. So after he finished I asked why he used one syringe less, which got him flustered so he went off to check, then came back and said I was right, was all apologetic, and said he’d do it again. Well – ouch. But better to have it done right… right?

Then last Tuesday evening I decided to go get the port flushing over with (had originally planned to do it today), got in a taxi and was actually pleasantly surprised to see the same male nurse. And he remembered me, and told me how he’d just taken a booster course in port cleaning and that I had nothing to worry about. Ah, he made me smile as I watched him carefully lay everything out in his meticulous way. He also made me laugh when he said he hoped there wasn’t any sad reason I was dressed all in black – I wiggled my red earrings and toes at him and said I had happy accent colours. And when I said “hey, watch it with the bubbles”, he very seriously explained how he never uses the last bit in the syringe as that’s where the air is trapped. And so I decided I loved this guy and always wanted him to be there when I went to get my port flushed out, this guy called … Wenceslao?? No shit, I glanced at his name tag and that’s what it said. So I said… “You’re name is… Wenceslao???” And he was all “Well, I don’t see what’s weird about that, you guys have that song about that king…” and I fell in love with him even more. My huge bald bear of a young male nurse wearing bright yellow crocs and called Wenceslao, who takes such excellent care to do the port flushing just so.

After it was done he asked if I was in a hurry because he wanted to show me something on the computer that he’d learned about in the last course, in case I wanted to try it for next time … and it was this Emla cream. It’s a topical anaesthetic and Wenceslao told me if I got some I could put it one hour before coming and then it wouldn’t hurt when I got, um, poked. Because that’s what the image on the computer screen said (same one as here)… pokies are no jokies. And then he leaned over and muttered under his breath… “what’s a pokie?” So I poked him in the arm with my index finger and said I’d ask my GP (Agustín) about it. But another nurse had been watching us and said there was tons of Emla in the nurse’s station, so Welceslao got me a tube and some bandages (“you don’t want to stain your blouse”) and got me all set up for the next time. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the pokies didn’t actually bother me much. It was too sweet of him to go through all that trouble, so I will indeed use the cream next time and hope I catch his shift. I should have asked for his mobile number so I could call ahead and check. Next time…