Portacath day. And the bloods prove the first stumbling block again. My neutrophils have improved but my platelet count is below the acceptable levels to operate. However, the surgeon agrees to go ahead anyway as they're not too far out (10.4 as opposed to 11.1). What a relief!
Once we're good to go the theatre nurse comes to get me. She asks DH whether he's hanging around or not; when he replies, "No, I'll come back later," I chip in, "He's off to buy a motorbike." Her response is immediate, "Ohhh, bikers! I used to have a Fazer..." and we are off for the short stroll to theatre, nattering about adjustments to motorbikes for those who aren't 6 foot 3 inches tall. For a profession that is supposed to refer to bikers as "donors", there seem to be a lot of them around - the hospital physio was one, too.
In theatre they warm me up, thankfully, and introduce me to the surgeon doing the procedure, who is not the one I saw on Friday. He and I agree a suitable insertion site, away from bra straps and car seat belts, and he marks me up with a hi tech biro before putting me under. Bless him, he was worried about me wearing low cut tops at Christmas parties. I suspect making it to any Christmas parties will be amazing in itself - if I look ok that'll be a miracle!
The sedation is deep, much deeper than the colonoscopy, and I sleep through the whole thing. This may be because I am tired, too, but that suits me fine. All I remember is a lot of tugging and pulling about at one point, but I am not conscious enough to care.
Boy do I care by the time evening comes though. I sleep fitfully, propped up by pillows, feeling like Mike Tyson has done me over. The fact that the access needle is already in for Thursday's chemo, meaning that I look like I have an extra blue gauze boob on my left chest, really doesn't help and the dressings are quite bloody, probably owing to the low platelet count so the overall experience is not pretty. I hope this is the right decision.