I remember when "port day" meant the cruise ship was docking at some beautiful island. Where's my fruity drink and the banana boat? Wait, they don't give you rum punch and an awaiting catamaran? What the hell?
While the ocean is nearby, alas, there is no umbrella in a drink for me today. At monmouth medical, today, my chemo port was inserted.
I will say this, the meds they give you for the procedure are phenomenal. "Oh, you are cutting into a huge artery in my neck? Awesooommmee. Go for it." Yes, I was awake for it. It would have been weird and stressful if not for the happy juice they put in my iv. It really doesn't take long at all. And whatever they gave me, I really couldn't have cared less what they are doing.
That sad part about the meds is that they wear off, and the little bugger hurts! I slept most of the day, recovering.
Every good soldier gets their equipment before going to battle: fatigues, helmet, a gun perhaps. In my case, a port. The site which they will put my infusion line every two weeks, eight times. The site of biological warfare. One week until the battle begins.