Home Sweet Hospital

This Monday, I woke up and went to the Brigham with my mom and Mike. I checked in and got into a johnnie and hopped up into the bed. In a weird way, it felt normal. Being in a hospital bed, although I haven’t been for nearly a year, felt comfortable. Instantly, I was brought back into a world that I should feel very scared of and anxious around but instead, I feel a sense of security. I know to an outsider, and maybe even my family members, that must sound really strange and kind of unhealthy but for me, it’s true. Of course, I was nervous about the procedure and any complications that could’ve arisen but as I sat there in the underground’s of the Brigham by myself waiting for the doctor or nurse to come see me, I was at ease. I wasn’t supposed to be “figuring out my life” or thinking about what I want to do next or applying for jobs, all of which I feel completely lost and unsure of myself doing. Somehow, sitting in a hospital bed, I felt confident, I felt peace knowing I was exactly where I should be at that moment. I was there to put a final close on my leukemia chapter.

I was there to get my port removed.

(For those of you unfamiliar, a port is a permanent IV line that stays in your chest and allows you to give blood and receive medications through. Below is a pic of what it looks like).

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It was a day I have dreamed of for so long, incredibly surreal to believe the day had finally come. This thing, this piece of plastic and tubing that’s been a part of me for the nearly three years. Originally, it felt so foreign and I hated how much it stuck out from my chest. However, I slowly began to have a deep respect for it as I started to realize how it was the gateway to my health. Sometimes when I was at yoga, for example, and the instructor would say to put our hands over our hearts, I’d put one hand over my heart and one over my port. I started thinking of my port as a part of me, and started imagining it as my second heart. One that allowed my original heart to keep beating; it was the catalyst that kept me alive and I am so grateful for it.

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However, this Monday it was time to part ways, and to my moms delight, when I asked the doctor if I could keep it, she graciously said, “no, unfortunately we have to put it in our hazardous waste disposal.” I get it, it sounds strange to try to keep it but I wanted to because of the fact it was such an enormous and important aspect of my journey. I wanted to keep it with my other mementos from my “cancer chapter.” So I was kind of disappointed, strangely enough. But I realize, I guess I don’t need to physically hold onto something because I’ll always hold onto as a part of who I am. I will look at the scar on my chest for the rest of my life and remember exactly what was there, and exactly how blessed I am that all I have left is that minor battle wound. It’s one that I’m immensely proud of.

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So today, after two days of being sleepy and one day being kind of grumpy (I’m sorry Mike 😢 I do love you), I got myself out of the house and met with Dr. Mandy at Dana Farber, not because I had an appointment but because we wanted to catch up and chat as two friends. Dana Farber isn’t home, nor should it ever be, but I’d be lying if I didn’t feel at home there. Who would’ve thought?

Lots of love & light,

Jessy

p.s. final pic is me today… a flat chested lady once again 🙂

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