portals

Feeling a little John Malcovitchy today. Getting a port installed in my chest, on my chest. They say it won't hurt. How silly is that?

"We're just going to carve a hole in your body, fish around in there until we find the vein that runs (happily, undisturbed) under your collarbone, ask it very nicely to hold still and stuff a tiny little hose down it. Then, we'll stitch you back together with fishing line and send you home with some Ibuprofen."

Oh. Okay. How 'bout I do the same to you?

I mostly love doctors. I've moved along the periphery of their world all my life, and I'm pretty comfortable with all the medical ins and outs, but the whole carving=no pain? I'm not buying it. While I'm screaming about the painful swelling under my arm (post-lymph node-carving) my surgeon says, "It's not supposed to hurt like that." Well, I agree completely. Com-fucking-pletely. And yet it does. But, I don't want to piss off the surgeon prior to portal installation with a sharp object, so I'll just smile and say thank you. Thank you for hurting me while you save my life.

Ah.

Wating for Jessica to pick me up at ten:ten. My friends. Wowzer. It almost makes me believe in the intrinisic goodness of the human race ala Rousseau. Almost.