Two years ago today I had a subclavical port installed (I sound like a car) so I could receive chemotherapy without compromising the veins in my arm. I had a love/hate relationship with this little thing. I hated it until I had to have a treatment. Then I LOVED it!
I thought I would share with you what I wrote about that day. Can I just say drugs and my mouth don’t mix? I have no need of pharmaceutical agents to make me say stupid things.
Our new insurance went into effect on Wednesday, June 1st, the same day I was scheduled to have outpatient surgery for a mediport placement. As we sat in the posh waiting room I noticed that this particular surgical office also did breast augmentation. How ironic.
The nurse called me back and asked me her list of questions as we walked to my pre-op room, one of which was had I had my tubes tied or a hysterectomy. I told her no, to which she replied they would need a urine sample. “Heaven forbid I’m pregnant, too,” I said with a laugh.
She handed me my lovely gown with instructions on how to wear the current fashion and left to check my sample. Upon her return she informed me the news was good. No pregnancy. I explained to her it would be difficult to explain a pregnancy to my vascectomied husband who lived in another state.
It was then time to take my vitals. As I sat back in the reclined bed with nothing on other than my gown, she looked at me and asked which side I had the mastectomy on. That hurt a little because, well, couldn’t she tell? But I let it pass and told her.
Pretty soon the anesthesiologist came in and asked me the same question. I looked down at my chest and could see the left was slightly flatter than the right. But instead of the comment I was thinking I just said, “The left.”
He then asked me what I liked to be called when being woken. I thought this was a strange question and wondered if it was to check my mental faculties. I simply told him I liked to be called something nice. So he looked at my chart and asked if “Jennifer” would be alright.
Hm. Let me think about it. I suppose, if you can’t come up with something better. Again, instead of saying what I was thinking I agreed that “Jennifer” was as good a name as any to call me whilst waking me up.
After that the doctor showed up. I’m sure by now you can guess what question he asked me. I don’t think it was completely out of his mouth before I snapped, “The left! I had my left breast removed! Can nobody tell?” Thankfully they had started the IV so I could blame my outburst on drugs.
Todd came back and I complained to him how nobody seemed to notice that I actually had a right breast. I knew I was small busted to begin with, but this had gotten ridiculous. Luckily for him it wasn’t very long before they took me back and I was mercifully taken to my unconscious happy place.
The next thing I remember was waking up. — Before I go any further, I want you to remember two things. One, I found out in the waiting room this surgical clinic did breast augmentation; and two, the anesthesiologist asking me what name I liked to be called. With that in mind you’ll understand why I said the next two things upon waking. Or thought them very loudly.
“I don’t suppose they made a mistake and gave me some nice boobs instead of a port,” and, “I think I might like to be called Roxanne.” These statements were met with laughter, leading me to think they were spoken out loud.
While most people who know me would argue this point, I don’t usually think things without a reason. Roxanne, for example, didn’t just come out of nowhere. It’s Terri’s middle name and one I’ve always liked. I also thought that Roxanne would be a great name for a well-endowed woman.
But, as luck would have it, I was still missing a left breast, my right breast was unchanged and I now sported a cool valve a few inches above said right breast.