C-H-E-M-O and Chemo was its name-O!

Hi, I'm a Power Port and I suck ass.

The day started off sunny. SUPER sunny and I went into the back 4-seasons room and let the sun make my face feel hot. It felt wonderful.

Jill said when she was little her mom used to curl up on the floor with a pillow in shafts of sunlight?? That can't be true.

The sun makes me happy and represents good fortune. THE END.

I decided this morning that I wasn't going to hate chemotherapy or the drug and think of the toxicity. I was going to embrace it and love it for giving me a second chance.

I get sort of surly when I'm nervous and I want to be quiet. Jill is chatty and talks nonsensically. This is her way. She takes such good care of me. Often I don't see how she can love me, or anyone, so purely. I'm not deserving of that love. She loves better than anyone I know.

They give you an antihistamine to try and stave off allergic reactions to the chemo drugs (carboplatin and taxol). They also give you an anti-nausea medicine prior to the chemo.

They started that and went to flush my port. They couldn't get into it.

A port is a placed device usually on the left or right side of your chest (beneath the skin). It mainlines into your major arteries saving the toxic shock on your veins. Makes chemo MUCH easier.

The nurse had trouble and got the help of another nurse. She tried accessing it as well. By access I mean shoving a really thick needle into the tender skin of my decolletage (so glad I could finally use that word somewhere). I'm no baby with needles and this made me bite my lip. Nurse 2.0 couldn't get it either so they sent me down to Radiology where they place ports and such things to check it out.

Down there another nurse (this one male) tried and couldn't do it either. He was very sweet, beautiful eyes.. tall with a distinct accent. This accent told me he was a brother from another mother.. ie: HO-MO. But then he mentioned taking "our kids" out of the room during Superbowl's half-time. Jill shot a glance at me like "this bitch isn't married to a girl".

They took me into the room where they place ports, etc. The doctor came in and checked it out.. he said it was definitely flipped and TRIED FLIPPING IT BACK MANUALLY! It felt like someone was taking a hand shovel you use to dig soil for planting and exploring my chest. I kept very quiet and still and started meditating and breathing...

At the point I thought I might pass out, the 'mo nurse came over to me and so.. sweetly turned so he was face to face with me and brushed my bangs to the side in the most tender way. He said "are you okay? I know this is hurting you but you're doing fantastic... " I had to hold back tears again. Not because I was in pain or anything but the sweetness that came from that simple gesture of stroking my hair was just so powerful I felt overwhelmed.

Some health care providers act like you're a piece of meat. I understand that because I treat them the same when they're like that. When they're personable and fun, I respond in kind. When they are nicer to me than my mom.. I feel like sucking my thumb. It dismantles all of my defenses. Amazing. Those people are truly caregivers. Gifts to us.

So, chemo traveled through my veins in stead. No big deal. I napped, the room was bright and super sunny. Jill read to me and we looked at People magazines and trash talked Kristen Stewart (Jill says she's a dyke). It took about 5 hours (not including my little trip to Radiology) so it was most of the day.

After, Jill and I went to City Antiques because my hair dresser said they have amazing scarves. They do have some amazing stuff including an owner with a penchant for bad story telling. She actually put a scarf on my head and tied it. It smelled like a funeral home. Cloyingly sweet. Grotesque. After we left, the smell stayed in my hair and I was mad because I don't want to associate chemo with the waiting room at Dent-U-Center.