Needles and their inability to find my veins ...

Another normal day in my world. We had to wake up at the ACD (ass crack of dawn for you laypeople out there.) Why? Well today was the day that I got my power port for chemo. I know what you're thinking, "Wow that's badass. Do you get to choose which OS this power port is compatible with? " Of course these were these questions were also going through my head...Only I just wanted to know if the port supports HDMI (it doesn't) because streaming movies straight to my eyeballs would be the ultimate big dick move. Imagine trying to win any argument with me for the next 5 years about how badass your TV is???

In reality a power port is how they inject the chemo into your body. Its literally a metal piece that is attached to a catheter which runs from my shoulder to right before my heart chamber (bc when you run wires through bodily vessels the idea is always to get them as close to a heart chamber as possible...)

So before that could be done they decided today was poke and prod Kevin as many times as possible day. First up was the large black lady taking a blood sample that despite my objections, felt it was necessary to only wear one glove. So while I'm freaked out about the medical tech version of Michael Jackson,shes busy digging in my arm like there's no tomorrow. I guess maybe she hadn't had her coffee, or is possibly just a generally bad person, I don't know, but when I asked for help out of the chair (Quick side note: since I have completely lost my appetite they now consider me a pass out risk when drawing blood. I don't blame them as last week I was talking fine to the nurse and then looked up said, "tunnel vision" and proceeded to pass out like a mofo.) I digress, but she then said you push down and walked out, leaving a guy who'd had surgery on his groin and cannot push on anything who also hadn't eaten since midnight and had a shit ton of blood drawn seconds earlier to get myself out of the chair. ( <------RUN ON SENTENCE ALERT)

Next was on to my pulmonary testing so they'd have a baseline as my treatment progressed. This means that someone who has chronic shortness of breath, coughing, etc. has to try and blow air through his lungs as much as possible. i.e. HELL! For shits and gigs they decided the guy administering the tests should have a lisp. I shit you not, I would have been on the floor rolling if not for the whole, "Fuck, my lungs are collapsing" feeling that I had going on. Needless to say, I wish my name was Skyler if only for that 20 minutes. (faint South Park reference)...

Last step was the outpatient procedure to get the port installed (which comes with a cool, complimentary LIVE STRONG type bracelet denoting to medical pros that I have a port). Its actually nice and whatnot, but I'd have it read : Don't you dare stick me with another FUCKING needle. Maybe I'm bitter, but as they go to run my IV, I always tell them my hands or left arm are the best chances. After This very nice nurse named Ginger (She really was very nice and felt really bad afterwards, but lacked the ability to denote my frustration with her trying to do what felt like jamming a no. 2 pencil in my hand) settled on the right arm, she got me hooked up and ready to go. I don't really remember much from the procedure even though they don't put you all the way under. I know I asked for more drugs (even though its doubtful I needed them.) I know one of the guys in the operating room asked me for my music preference. My request for Neil Young or The Boss was met with, "How about some Bob Seger?" I had no reply to this. I'm a Seger fan, but never thought his music would narrate an important event in my life. I was wrong and without knowing for sure, all I can say is that as they put my port in changing the way my body looks for 12 weeks, that somewhere "Still The Same" was ironically playing in the background...