Here’s a tip. If you’re at hospital, about to have a medical procedure and someone asks you what your pain threshold is…..be careful what you say. As I found out, this question means that what’s going to happen next will hurt. A lot. And it involves needles.
I never used to be too bothered about needles. But the pain seems to get worse and worse as times goes on.
When the cancer came back almost three years, I had chemo through a vein in my hand. Each time a new needle would have to be used for the treatment and then taken out when it was finished.
The problem is that the more chemo you have, the harder it is to find a vein. They vanish from the surface of your skin. If I was one of my chemo veins I’d do a disappearing act too. It gets really painful hunting down a vein that can be used. Sometimes they even seem to dry up as soon as the needle goes in.
Then I graduated to a PICC line. Much easier. There is a small operation but after that there are no needles. The PICC line is basically a clear plastic tube which goes into your upper arm, it travels up a vein which ends up in the chest. There’s a short part of the line which sticks out of your arm and thats where the chemo goes into.
However my experimental drug seems to keep blocking the PICC line so I needed something more serious to enable me to continue with the chemo. It was time to say hello to the port. Or to give it the proper name – the port system for continuos vascular access.
The port is small device which is put under the skin in the upper chest on the right hand side. A tube is attached to the port and goes into a vein. The tube does a semi circle and ends kinda above the heart. Everything is buried under the skin. As you can’t see a thing, I was even given a wristband to wear in case of an emergency so paramedics would know I had a port.
You may be wondering you do you get the chemo into the tube? This is the gruesome bit. Basically every week a nurse has to stab your chest with a needle, go through the skin and into the port. Uggggh. At least the awful sickness and tiredness that I’ve having for months have eased up a bit.
So back to the question about my pain threshold. I was sat in a flimsy hospital gown waiting to go into the operating theatre with my friend Sally when I was asked about it. The procedure was explained and it didn’t seem too bad. I said I could handle quite a lot of pain. Haha big mistake.
Inside the operating theatre I was prepared for surgery. An orange liquid was spread over my right shoulder and chest to make it sterile. The stuff was cold, it stank and it was being rubbed into my skin, really hard. I must have looked upset as a nurse asked what was wrong. I could only reply “all of it.” I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be cut open. I didn’t want any of this. How do you explain all that when you feel so emotional that you can hardly talk?
Thankfully I was given some sedative. To get this port under my skin in the first place I needed a local anaesthetic. The first needle hurt, as did the second and the third and then I stopped counting. It was clear very quickly that I needed some painkiller after all.
My eyes were firmly shut to stop the tears so I couldn’t see the nurse who took my hand. Such a kind, compassionate gesture. She told me to squeeze her hand when I felt pain. The needles were bad but it was even worse when the anaesthetic had to be firmly massaged into my body. Finally the medication kicked in and the squeezing could stop.
It was only 11am by the time I became the proud owner of a new port. It felt like enough had already happened for one day. But I still had the weekly dose of chemo to go. Just to illustrate the seriousness of the op, I wasn’t allowed to walk instead I had to be wheeled to the ward on a hospital trolley.
The rest of the day was fine. Just a normal, horrible day at hospital.
Things picked up on the way home. While waiting for the train home, we were randomly offered some free cocktails. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed any alcohol straight after treatment but after what had happened, I just didn’t really care. We said yes. It was the best cocktail I’d ever had on a chemo day!
helenfawkes 