The Friday before last, my port was removed. Apparently my body had grown accustomed to it because it was reluctant to let it go. They wheeled me in, draped me so I couldn’t see what was going on, numbed the heck out of the area and then began. It didn’t hurt, but holy cow did they have to work to get it out! In my head, I imagined the doctor was standing on a stool with one leg on the operating table for leverage as he pulled and tugged on the thing to get it out. Again, it didn’t hurt, but it was awkward.
I went back to the radiology oncologist on Thursday. They did a “dry run” which entailed making sure everything lined up and that what the computer said matched up with reality. I got two more tattoos and was sent on my way. I start the real deal tomorrow.