Piccs, Ports and things of the sort

If you haven’t heard I just finished up a round of IV’s.  Two Friday’s ago my Picc was placed and come Sunday night an ugly dull pain started radiating throughout my arm. In my gut I had a sinking feeling, since the only other time I had experienced this pain was when I had develop a DVT from my elbow to my shoulder.

I do indeed have another DVT in the vein that my Picc is placed but luckily we caught it early! The good news (if there is ever good news when talking about blood clots) is that they think it will break up with medicine. Bad news? Hurts like a mother f*cker. Pardon my language but my arm is killin’ me. It’s finally starting to feel better about a week later, but all that means is I want to scoop my baby that much more, and since I can’t, all the not-scooping becomes that much harder.

All in all, these problems are trivial in the grand scheme of things. 6 weeks from now this event will be far from my mind, filed away on a dusty shelf in the back of my mind. However, these happenings have lead me to a decision I’ve been avoiding for quite a few years; ladies and gentlemen it’s time for a port!

I think in this moment in time I’m done with Piccs. D-O-N-E. Never liked the blasted things anyway. With a port I’d be able to use my arms, scoop my baby (or babies*), and do simple things that keep the house functioning… like fold laundry and yank the fridge open. While a port will help ease the transition of sick to healthy it also blurs lines that I had set up in my physce. A port, to me, represented progression of my CF past a point of no return. And while I may not have jumped that hurdle completely, picking up my baby for a milky snuggle far outweighs any labels I had previously created about getting a port. So cheers to jumping hurdles, and being the best we can for the people we love.

*no, I’m not pregnant. 

You may also like

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *