You Get Under My Skin, I Don't Find It Irritating

The day I shaved my head- that scar on my left side is from where my port went in. (And all that hair is from my head, not my hairy shoulders)

Tonight, the last night with my old friend

Tomorrow is a big day- I’m losing a beloved part of me- my port.  Yes, it’s weird to love a port, but I do, I think it’s badass.  I love showing it  to people with the introduction “this is the most punk rock thing about me.”  Kind of a joke really, because though I do love punk rock, I don’t look particularly punk rock.  But this port?  This strange little thing under my skin?  So punk rock!  I love the way it looks and the way it feels.  I even asked if I could keep it after they take it out (and no, I am by far, not the first person to ever ask that.)  The nurse told me that no, it’s considered a bio-hazard.  Bio-hazard?  My husband’s girlfriend’s FACE is a bio-hazard!  This, this is awesome.  It’s me, it’s mine.  And I’m going to miss it.

For anyone who doesn’t know (and I take for granted that most people don’t) here is Wikipedia’s short explanation of what a port is:

In medicine, a port (or portacath) is a small medical appliance that is installed beneath the skin. A catheter connects the port to a vein. Under the skin, the port has a septum through which drugs can be injected and blood samples can be drawn many times, usually with less discomfort for the patient than a more typical “needle stick”.

Ports are used mostly to treat hematology and oncology patients, but recently ports have been adapted also for hemodialysis patients.

The port is usually inserted in the upper chest, just below the clavicle or collar bone, leaving the patient’s hands free.

And here are a couple of drawings to further illustrate ports:

Handy medical drawing of the port

Another view of port placement

I show people my port right after I tell them I had cancer.  Almost everyone reacts the same way- with a sort of strange awe and fascination.  Hands will often start to reach out immediately to touch it, then hesitate, although I can think of at least one that didn’t hesitate or even ask before touching it.  I don’t mind.  It is fascinating.  The people who don’t reach to touch it will usually lean forward and stare, at which time I always say “You can touch it.”  It feels sort of like a quarter underneath my skin.  I told at least one person that it was a hip new piercing that hadn’t caught on everywhere else.  My friend Tristan is terrified of it and wouldn’t even watch his wife touch it (because Tristan’s a big baby!)  One, and only one person very sweetly kissed it and said “This is hot!”  I hate to admit it, but it made my heart pitter patter just a bit.  I felt like it was a much larger statement at the time.  Like, “This thing represents all the crap you have dealt with, and THAT is hot.  You are a survivor, a badass, a rockstar, and THAT is hot.”

Turns out, he was just weird.  Still, it was a nice moment, while it lasted.  I’m sad for anyone who has had a port or an unsightly scar and never had it kissed and complimented as if it were beautiful.  Because these things are beautiful- these medical devices, these scars, these parts of us that map out how far we have come and how we have gotten there.  Like a beauty mark, only so, so much better.

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