Port procedure

Three weeks into my chemotherapy regimen, after all the holidays, I was finally scheduled for a port procedure -- this time at Dana Farber in Boston. My overall experience at this location wasn't that great, though the actual procedure went well.

Who knew that within several weeks, I would play favorites! I so like my satellite office at Chestnut Hill (parking, easy registration, direct communications), that I am looking forward to going there tomorrow for chemo treatment instead of Boston.

After a flood of communication of where, when, and required preregistration, it turned out that I was supposed to be at a different building, different floor to draw blood, than rush across the street to yet another floor to check in, then brought along some convoluted labyrinth to the prep station. All this confusion at 7 AM in the morning

with nobody to ask is no fun. Then the nightmare of the nurse not being able to get an IV inserted started. She tried 5 times (!), which was excruciating and with each time she did it with more determination and less care, as if by sheer will her random stabbing would amount to anything. It turns out that large hospitals normally have an IV team that I could have requested... In comparison to that IV experience, the actual cut open procedure felt like a holiday! :)

So, back to the port. Until a month ago I didn't even know such thing existed or were highly desired. A port, per Doctor Google's definition: "A vascular access procedure involves placing a thin hollow plastic tube into a vein to permit drawing blood tests, and giving medications or transfusions directly into the bloodstream, over a period of weeks, months or even years."

In layman's terms, during an hour under local sedation in a bright white room (just like in all those hospital dramas), a small round blip was placed under the skin just below my right clavicle bone. I could hear everyone, see the gleaming machines that performed ultrasound and what else, but sorts of from very, very far away.

And now this will be used for all the blood draws and infusions, though I am hoping not tomorrow, as it takes several days to heal...

1st Chemo

Bright and early, after eating a few spoons of oatmeal and swallowing several steroid tablets, my daughter and I arrived at DF at 7:40 AM. After the mandatory Covid check-in on the 3rd floor, I headed straight to the labs to get the IV in and the basic pre-chemo blood draws.

The cubby-station felt like a luxury hotel -- light, aery, wall of windows. The lab technician wrapped a warm towel(!) over my hand, and then used some 007 spy looking stick to scan for veins, which glowed bright lime green. Surprisingly, the IV goes in the middle of the hand, and not in the regular vein.

After all the blood was sucked off, we met with my oncologist doctor and went over when/what/how. Long list of side effects and the schedule for the next several months.

We asked about medicinal weed candy to ease chemo aftereffects but were told to wait until a few days after chemo infusion...so no fun with weed for a while.

By 9:30 were already at the infusion center -- again, bright and cozy with a huge window; in the corner, a nice leather lazy-boy type chair that folds out as a bed with built-in heat, large TV screen and a first, lady with a snack cart stopped by, then acupuncturist.  

The nurse in a bright green garb was running around like a crazy chicken without a head because Dana Farber changed the infusion protocol and she had only seen how to do it via a printout. She was sweet and kind and talkative, and honestly, I got more tired from her talking, running around and asking different nurses how to do the infusion order, than the actual procedure. I guess this is a good thing :).

I got several pre-chemo infusions -- I remembered the one that stung for 15 minutes was Benadryl. Then the Taxol started... First chemo is usually done with lot of pre-drugs for allergies, nausea, etc. and at about two to three times the speed of infusion. 

Besides fatigue, I felt perfectly ok, so we didn't need to take breaks in between different drugs.

At 2:20 we were already in the parking lot, and home at 3 pm

First chemo ✅

Long hallway

The long dreary basement hallway of 2 West, Lahey Clinic  -- I seem to come here every other day...

CT scan 12/17

My insurance finally approved the CT scan (a week ago it had issued a denial, as stage 3 breast cancer is not enough of a reason for the scan to see if there are any other metastases). Called the clinic and the Lahey technician was able to squeeze me in at the last minute at the end of the week on Saturday 12/17 at 8:45 in the morning. Kudos for that. 

The familiar basement 2 west wing lab. Had to remove all metal (zippers, wires), get an iodine IV (to add to the radioactive solution from last time), and I am off on the girdle into the metal donut. 

The scan itself was quite short, only 20 minutes, and not at all claustrophobia inducing, unlike the MMR or even the bone scan. 

I even managed to make it back in time for Max's clarinet school recital at 10:30!