That's not a heartstring. That's an imposter!

                                                 

Boy, have I got a humdinger of a story for all y'all. It's long, though, so grab some snacks and settle in. 

Once upon a time (actually, twice, but who's counting?), a gal had a medical port inserted to save the veins in her arms from being jabbed during the upcoming months of chemo. A port is a medical device with a catheter leading into a large vein right above your heart. It sits just under your skin and sticks up like a raised bubble about the size of a nickel. That way the docs and poke one spot to draw blood AND to insert IV dripping meds. It's especially helpful as nothing is supposed to happen to my right arm, meaning no blood pressure cuffs or blood draws or anything because of the threat of lymphedema (fluid retention). It does both jobs, in and out. However, my port decided this:

It broke away from the main section and lodged in the center of my chest. When, we don't know for sure. It worked fine in August and did not work in October. I had most of it removed last Monday, but this piece stayed behind:

Thing Two observed, "you have a straw in your sternum. Last time I checked, you are not a Capri Sun."

                            Yes. Well.

It so happened that I had follow up appointments scheduled in the big city later in the week. We told Dr. A, the surgeon who did my lymph node removal surgery last fall, about the stinkin' port escape and she ordered another chest Xray (above) and then informed us that she STRONGLY urged us to not go back home, but to be admitted for a procedure to get the escapee out. 

So we stayed in the hospital overnight after the follow up appointments, one of which was physical therapy involving dry needling. Now, one would think with my history of needles that even the phrase "dry needling" would send me for the hills. However, it was amazing. She must have stuck 6-8 in me, I lost track, and it's not all at once, but one at a time into the most tender and tight spots on my shoulder, chest, pec, armpit area. The needle causes micro tears which the body then fixes with fresh, new, loose tissue instead of the stuck together scar tissue that's causing the tightness. It's amazing! You can feel the release as the knots kind of dissolve. The timing was perfect too, because she released a ton of the tension in the right side of my neck. (That will be important later.)

So here's me in my fashionable gown with my heart monitor on and my ... whatever the thing on my finger even did... but I was saying, "ouuuuuuuch" like ET in the movie, hehe!

To review, one of the port's two jobs is to draw blood. Here's me, needing an IV to draw blood because the stupid port is busted and needs rescued! Gah! However, thank you, Bradley, the expert needle inserter who got it on the first try. Bless you!

So we meet with the surgeon and some of his team who will be doing the procedure. He tells us that it entails inserting a catheter into either my groin or my neck, hopefully my groin as it is a straighter shot, and then snaking that catheter up through my blood vessels, in through my heart, and into my pulmonary artery heading into my lungs where this stray piece is lodged.

Sorry, come again? This is the first time anybody confirmed that it's actually in my lungs. What?! It's through part of my heart? Oh my stars.

*Raising hand, essentially* What happens if this doesn't work and you can't lasso it?

"Well, then you'll need surgery."

Yeah, like, what kind? To what extent?

"We'd need to crack your chest."

YOU GUYS. THIS WAS NOT ON MY BINGO CARD FOR 2025!

So we prep ourselves for a potentially multiple hour surgery and off I go. I'd had nothing by mouth for over 15 hours and felt like my brain was a raisin. I begged every nurse I saw for fluids all day. Mercifully, they gave me two bags with the gentle anesthesia in my IV, but I remained awake and aware in there, which is also kind of wild when you think about it. 

They swabbed both my neck and my groin with- I'm pretty sure it was Bactricide, which make me laugh because that's what we cleaned bathrooms with at camp- because I'm allergic to some of those pre-surgical cleansers and break out in hives. They got me all draped in the snazzy blue paper tenting for their sterile field and told me to turn my head to the left. My thought was, "ohhhhh dear. This could be terrible." My stress has always gone into a knot on my right shoulder near my neck, so that's tight even when life is good. By turning my neck to the left, that is going to compress the muscles on that left side, stretch the ones on the right, and if they have to insert another catheter in the right side of my neck where they're prepping, BOTH sides of my neck are going to be killing me. GOOD THING I'D HAD PT AND THE DRY NEEDLING! So I turned my head to the left like I was told and hoped for the best. Remember, we'd been told it could potentially take hours. 

The worst part was actually the stabs of the anesthesia (Lidocaine) going into my groin. Three times. For the love of everything that is holy, WHY do people using that stuff not rub some kind of numbing agent on first and THEN stab you? Holy moly. I mean life goes on, but still! Have mercy. 

The team is all in those huge aprons to prevent them from absorbing radiation with their paper gowns over them because they'd be using live xray to track down that piece so they'd know exactly where and when to snag it. Apparently it's called, "flouroscopy"- you can Google that. So that big boxy machine was right over my chest, with my head still turned to the left, with most everyone on my right side. Not gonna lie, there were few moments when I felt a big claustrophobic, but I could still see some other folks moving around and I could hear them and they WOULD talk to me when I asked something, so I hung in there. 

I had two distinct thoughts about the whole thing: 

One, is God greater than the focus of my fears? That was a question from a sermon several months ago that has really resonated with me. It's a resounding yes for me. I don't know why, but I'm often surprised to discover that it's true. Again and again, He is faithful.

Two, well, if He calls me home right now, at least everybody knows I love them! 

This surgeon, Dr M, likes wordless music while he's working, so there's me and the crew, chatting about John Williams and "is this from Star Wars?" I heard some from the Lord of the Rings trilogy, more Star Wars, and so on. It was delightful!

At one point, I asked, "should I be feeling pressure in my throat?" I was assured that yes, that was fine, because he was snaking his tube around and that is exactly where I would be feeling something. Whew.

Then suddenly, everyone is excited and I hear, "twenty-one minutes!" You guys, this team got that sucker out in 21 minutes after prepping for it to take hours!

My sweet husband said when he got the call, he had time to think, "either this is really good news, or really bad news!"

The next two videos are for folks who enjoy doctor shows. You know who you are. Where are my House, M*A*S*H, ER, the Resident, Grey's Anatomy fans? This is the action part. The surgeon, Dr. M, had to time everything just right to lasso the moving part and drag it out of me!

This is the incision from my port removal last Monday. You can tell it's bruising up nicely, heh.

That tiny hole below is where they entered my groin to fetch that missing piece. Isn't that so crazy? It's itty bitty!

And THAT is the wayfaring troublemaker that caused this whole mess. You'll notice it is substantially larger than the 1.5 inches that we were originally told last week. 

Tremendous thanks to Latifah, Aubrey, Kendra, Amber, Bradley, Dr. A, Dr. M, Amy, Krupen, Annie, Aaron, and the rest of the team whose names I either didn't know or forgot.

Thank you to my incredible tribe scattered everywhere from folks in the city who offered guest rooms to my poor, stressed out husband to the folks at home who were praying, not even knowing the extent or the seriousness of the whole situation. I have THE BEST tribe anywhere and you all bless us so much. Thanks for once again having our backs. We are putting in requests for no more medical adventures until I'm a little old lady!

And thanks to God, because who knows how long I'd been walking around with madmade materials in the middle of my heart yet He kept me fine and dandy. They say to worry about microplastics, but nobody warns you about the macroplastics that clearly are out to get you!