Port Installed Successfully

Although he may never want to eat PORT wine cheese again, he is now officially PORTed, and there were no complications.

The procedure was a little more surrounded by drama than I had expected, so that freaked me out, and I'm calming down only gradually.

I was picturing the seriousness of, say, getting your ears pierced in a shopping mall, but, yeeeks! No! This seemed like a major thing (even though it wasn't, I guess.)

They checked him into a HOSPITAL ROOM, made him wear a gown, get in bed, installed an IV.

I'm not GOOD with things like that. I over-empathize with him to where I feel actual physical sympathy pains when he gets stuck or bleeds or gets cut, or rolled down a hall in a stretcher--all such things produce a foaming avalanche of little scrubbing bubbles--STRESS HORMONES--running rampant throughout my body, and I end up much more miserable than he is, because HE gets DRUGS, but they leave the caregiver to her own coping devices. Which equal NONE. So I usually cry just a little bit, then I feel better.

Anyway, he's in bed now, and needs 24-hour supervision. He has a few bandages around his collarbone area, and it looks kind of swollen--which gives me that kind of creeping feeling you get when you hear a dentist's drill and worry that the patient has insufficient novocaine. Like eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!! COVER YOUR EARS!!!!

I tried singing on the way home with him, to cheer him and myself up. I was trying to sing "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" but I got the words all wrong.

Me: "You won't find me in your HEN HOUSE....."

Bill: "Beth. It's PENTHOUSE."

Me: "Well, so what. It rhymes. GOIN BACK TO MY COWWWWWWWS!"

Bill: "Beth, it's plow..."

When I got to the part of the song where I had to howl an "oooo" sound for several measures, he started looking at his watch. "Are we almost home?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, okay, fine. I know when my Elton John imitation has worn out its welcome." And we had reached the driveway, to his great relief.

So anyway, we're home now. I fluffed up his pillows, he's resting, I'm not singing, and all is right with the world.

Thanks for caring about him and wishing him good things.

We luvs you. xoxoxoxo