The Day in Which I Lose It

You may recall from earlier in this process me explaining my hatred for all things medical, doctor, blood, needle-related. I also have described the perfect peace I was in through the whole ordeal. I believe now more than ever that God’s strength is made perfect in my weakness.

In the effort to keep this chronicle as real-to-life as possible, my faith faltered, and I lost it on Thursday, December 10.

1. Since I could not walk yet, I had to get heparin shots every 8 hours to prevent blood clots. These are the worst shots I have ever had. I have a little experience now to add some weight to that statement. They are the worst.

2. I am still in the hospital so I must have an open IV port until I leave. December 10 is day three of my every third cycle. Even though I’m leaving the next day, I have to get it replaced.

3. The current location of my IV is my right hand. They used a very small IV, and it wasn’t put in very well. So it is constantly getting kinked. The nurse keeps messing with it, bending it, putting more tape on, more fiddling with it, etc. Now this site is bruised and painful.

I decide that I cannot take the painful IV port any more. I want it moved now since it will have to be done sooner or later anyway. I ask for an experienced nurse as they always have trouble with my thick skin and small veins.

It takes FOREVER to find an experienced nurse which gave me plenty of time to get myself all anxious inside.

I ask for my face to be covered, and they begin the procedure of removing the old and putting the new in.

“Experienced Nurse”: Ok, I’ve got a good vein. Are you ready?

Nod.

 “Experienced Nurse”: Ok, Big poke.

I brace myself.

BIG poke, I start to cry.

“Experienced Nurse”: Oh no.

I start to sob. She blew the vein. She’s going to have to start over in another spot.

“Experienced Nurse”: It’s ok, honey. I think we can still use this one.

Baloney. I’m pretty much hysterical at this point. I cannot stop crying.

“Experienced Nurse”: It’s fine now. The IV is in. We don’t have to poke you again.

They uncover my head as I’m still sobbing. My mom is wiping my face with a wash cloth to cool me off and try to get me to cool down. Then walks in my nurse with my next heparin shot.

If I wasn’t a basket-case before, I am now.

She wisely says we have some more time, she’ll come back later. Smart lady. I think they would have had to use restraints to get that shot in me at that moment.