Let’s talk about veins real quick.  I’ve had four CT scans, two MRI’s, and plenty of labs done this year.  For all the scans and MRI’s, they have to inject me with contrast so that they can look for cancer.  My veins are good and usually the nurses have no problem finding them.  Until my left arm became null and void.  Because they removed 17 lymph nodes from my left armpit, my left arm has become a “no stick, no prick” zone.  I can’t even have my blood pressure taken on the left side.  

        When I went for my port insertion, the nurse blew a vein in my right hand.  That was the first time this year that medical staff had trouble with my veins.  She had to bandage that spot and find another vein.  A week later, when I went for my breast surgery to take care of my leaking incision, the nurse asked me if it was okay to NOT use my port, but to use an IV in my hand instead.  She explained that accessing my port opens me up to infection risk, and they don’t like to use the port unless absolutely necessary.  I thought that was reasonable and told her I don’t mind if she uses an IV in my hand.

        She looked at my right hand veins and asked if the one spot was where they hooked up the IV last week.  I told her that was the vein that the nurse blew.  Then she found the other spot closer to the back of my wrist where they actually had the IV.  She tried one of the other veins in the back of my hand.  She blew the vein.  She kept trying to find one and decided she was going to try the side of my wrist.  She warned me that it would be painful because there are a ton of nerves wrapped around that vein.  She had me take a deep breath and proceeded to torture me.

        I don’t know if you’ve ever had an IV needle stabbed into the side of your wrist, but she was right in how painful it is.  She had me breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, but the pain was so horrific that I was forgetting how to breathe.  She kept telling me I was doing a good job.  Then she blew that vein.

        “Guess we’re using the port!” she announced.  Guess so.

        In order for her to access my port, she handed masks out to everyone in the room (me, Chris, herself, and one other nurse).  I guess they don’t want anyone sneezing or coughing when they open my port.  It’s a large piece of real estate with direct access to the vein that goes directly to my heart.  Different from a little IV going into my hand.  This is directly in my chest.

        The nurse had to cleanse the area very carefully.  “Aw, you’re all bruised,” she noted as she cleaned the area.  Yep.  I just had the port insertion a week prior, and I’m all scratched and bruised from it.  For the port insertion, they created a pocket in my chest for the port and had to make an incision in my neck.  The port is raised up on my chest, and if you look closely, you can see the catheter connected to the incision in my neck.  

        Accessing the port was a process, but it worked.  She was able to flush it and connect it to my IV.  Thank goodness.  And it definitely wasn’t anywhere near as painful as the side-of-the-wrist attempt.

And can I just say, how in the hell did Michael Jackson use anesthesia to “sleep” EVERY night?  I’ve been under anesthesia three times in the last month, and I gotta say, I’m not a big fan.