I named my port Fred. Even before I had it, I knew it would be a Fred. Quiet, unassuming, hanging around the periphery. Useful, utilitarian. Annoying and in-the-way.
Fred and I were joined on November 19th. Another one of those days that has significance. My sister's birthday. Nice day. My mother's funeral. Not nice day. Fred. Definitely not nice day.
Fred usually makes his presence known. Lie on my side, and Fred is there taking up more space than there is under my chest muscles. Move my head, yep, Fred again, just being tight enough for me to always know he's there.
Fred did come in handy last week for my first chemo "infusion" (another word for pumping me full of poison). I didn't even feel the poke of the non-coring needle needed for Fred, the power port. He kept me very comfortable for two-and-a-half hours. Which is his only purpose in my life.
Fred can be a bit of a rogue. He donned a dashing moustache and google eyes for the nurse. I think she was very taken by him.
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