Port placement, blood, and snow

The most frightening thing is the unknown.  What will the test feel like?  What side effects will I have?  Can I even do this?
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Port placement is a relatively simple procedure, though the process before and the recovery after take a bit.  In fact, the doctor only works on you for fifteen minutes... tops.  You get a little twilight sedation and numbing agent.  They give you antibiotics.  You turn your head to one side.  Your breast has tape on it that they stick to your leg to recreate gravity while you're lying down.  They put blue paper-cloth around the work area (which might drape over your face a bit).  You have quick imaging before the doctor cuts so they know where your veins lie.  It doesn't hurt beyond the poke of the lidocaine injection.
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I made it through fine, though a little woozy from the anesthesia.  When I went to lie down at home however, I started to ooze blood down my chest.

After a few phone calls (and a frightening twenty minutes), I learned I hadn't clotted properly and simply had to sit up longer.  So, after four additional hours of sitting (which isn't easy with my chronic pain) and putting a pad on the wound, everything is fine.  Scary, but I'm fine.  I'm sore for a lot of reasons today.
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My first chemo treatment is Monday.  My area has a snowstorm watch for Sunday and Monday.  I might have to reschedule.
 

Rough day (chemo starts January 28th)

You know how some days just go incredibly wrong?  Yesterday was one of those.

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At the first appointment, everyone I spoke to thought my port placement was happening that day.  I showed them the paper, but they were not convinced.  They conferred with each other, but no conclusion was made.  Thankfully, the system had the correct day.  Even after they checked the computer, the nurse still had someone walk my husband and me down to the surgery department... and it wasn't to show us for next time.

The second appointment was cancelled.  I wasn't told.  It took us twenty minutes to be told to go to my next appointment.  I snapped at my husband in the elevator because nothing was going right—and I need things to go smoothly when I'm stressed.

The third appointment was my echocardiogram where I ended up needing an IV started so I could receive an injection.  Apparently, there is something they give patients whose heart doesn't show up clearly.  (I'm quite fat and wasn't lying down, so...)  After the exam, I had bands of pain radiating down my biceps.  Strange, but it only lasted five or ten minutes.  Though I experience a lot of different aches, that was new.

At my last appointment, they could only do part of my pulmonary test because I can't sit on a normal chair inside a raised box.  I guess my difficulty with transferring isn't written in my file.

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As we get on the van to go home, my husband dropped his headphones and broke them.  He thinks he can fix them with tape.

When we get to our apartment, there was a bill for over $3,000 in our mailbox for my MRI.  I'm not supposed to be responsible for my medical bills (one of the few benefits of being a cripple in poverty).  Something has gone wrong.  I talked to someone about my "prior authorization" rejection recently and they told me not to worry if I haven't received a bill...

I'm just so exhausted.

Three Cycles of Chemotherapy

Late this month, I start chemotherapy for stage one Hodgkin Lymphoma.  Potential side effects:  Nausea, vomiting, fatigue, trashed immune system, hair loss, neuropathy, and heart/lung damage; some side effects are temporary. I will need a port put in for treatment.

If I understood correctly, I will be receiving one dose of chemo every two weeks for a grand total of six doses.  Yes, most of my time will be spent feeling like hell, but there isn't much else to be done.  Yes, I'm nervous.  My body doesn't handle things well most of the time.  Yes, I'm scared.

There are currently no plans to combine chemotherapy with radiation, which is the standard procedure.  My oncologist said it might cause me more problems down the road.  I've already had radiation once in my life, if I can limit further exposure, it's probably for the best.  We can always reconsider if we must.