Port Replacement Successful

Today my younger sister Alia (also a nurse) and I (not a nurse) took Mom back to the Abramson Cancer Center to have Mom’s port replaced. Mom had a port put in about 10 days ago at a different hospital, but when we switched to Penn, their infusion team said they could not use it. At all.

Not going to lie — the poor port placement was a factor is Mom choosing to switch her care to Penn.

This was Mom and my second time here, and my younger sister’s first. Again, the whole experience was outstanding. The entire staff there is kind, efficient, competent, confident, cheerful, and empathetic. There really is something to be said for going to a facility that is built from the ground up to care for cancer patients in the best possible way.

However, there are so many people — so many patients, so many staff — that it is very sobering and always a little sad: everyone here is here to fight cancer. It is a little staggering.

But today was a good day!

We arrived exactly on time (you are welcome) and were immediately greeted and checked-in, and before we knew it we were being led straight to Mom’s room. My sister and I were both able to sit with Mom in the room the whole time.

When the surgeon came, he asked to look at the existing port. He said, “That…uh… that sucks.”

Soon they were wheeling Mom out and Alia and I sat and talked about all sorts of things, from the trivial to the serious. It was some good sibling bonding time; our family relationship is, I think, our greatest strength.

In no time they were wheeling Mom back, with the new port in and the old port gone.

Mom said she was able to remain awake during the procedure, and while it did not feel great, it was not “too bad”.

They had us out of there — Mom was easily able to walk the whole way from the room through the Center down to the parking garage — in no time.

As we were getting on the elevator to go down to the parking garage, and man and woman joined us.

“They gave me this shirt!” the man said with more than a little excitement. He held up a shirt. “Today was my last radiation treatment!”

We were effusive in our congratulations. He was beaming. The woman with him was beaming. There was so much joy in the short ride to level P3.

He wished us luck and, as we walked away, I heard him say to the woman “This is a really good shirt, too.”

I think there are signs everywhere. You might think meeting that man at that moment as we took our last preparatory step before Mom starts her chemo was a coincidence, but I believe I know better.

The sun was out after two weeks of cold, rainy weather. We are full of hope and encouragement.

We made it home in time for the Phillies’ opening day pitch.

And on the first day of baseball season, hope springs eternal.