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The Hickman Catheter

I awake to the sound of voices outside my hospital room. I know they are coming for me. It's "Hickman Catheter" day. I prop myself out of bed to quickly wash my face. There's enough time to exchange kisses with my husband. I put my mask on and lay in a horizontal position on the stretcher. As the nurse is wheeling me out the door, Adam leans over and squeezes my hand as another sign of affection. I can feel that he is sharing emotions of compassion with me. His strong desire to alleviate my suffering is killing him inside. He stays in the room as I disappear into the hallway.

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The oncologist had given me precise information about this medical procedure. A tubular, flexible port-a-cath would be inserted and passed through my central venous system for the long-term administration of substances such as high-dose chemotherapy agents, antibiotics, drugs and blood products. I was given two detailed sheets about the Hickman catheter which I chose not to read before the surgery. I had grasped mentally the significance of this implant from my conversation with the doctor. That was sufficient. The recommendation for the presence of double lumen is beneficial for leukemia patients. It allows introduction of fluids via two access points.

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Once in the operation room, I was switched from the stretcher onto the surgery table. I scanned the room. The medical staff was wearing scrub gowns, gloves, hats and masks. They placed specialized garments on the table; packing gauze, solutions, dressings and a series of instruments. Everything emphasized cleanliness to protect me from intra-operative wound infection. The room quickly became a "scrubbed" environment.

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The nurse approached the surgery bed and introduced herself. She gave me a brief summary of the procedure. She directed my attention to where the two incisions were going to be while she applied a great degree of pressure at those spots. I listened but thought: "let's get it started". I was ready-to-go with my fingers clutched to my cross. Little did I know the nurse would advise me to remove my necklace. Disappointed by the failure of my hopes to wear it for comfort, I asked her if I could keep it in my hand. She nodded to express her approval. Guarding it tightly in my left hand, I rubbed the stone surface in a back-and-forth motion.

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The day before the implant, Adam went out and got matching chains and pendants. I was moved by all these emotions as tears rolled down my cheeks. These necklaces were perfect and had strong representation for us. It gave me good energy by inspiring me with faith and to always keep a positive attitude. I love my husband's ability to find special meanings through this journey.

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The nurse completed her explanation and in walked the surgeon in his short sleeve v-necked shirt, drawstring pants, mask and cloth cap. The nurse dressed him into the gown and gloves. He asked if I had any questions before he started and I said no. Then the antiseptic blue drapes went up and blocked my view. I kept a firm hold on the cross which allowed me to meditate and remain calm before being introduced to the anaesthesia provider. Guy explained that the insertion of the Hickman line was going to be done under sedation and that he was going to control the degree of the dose given. His friendliness and professionalism made me feel relaxed and completely at ease. I declared him my bartender and told him to give me a good shot on the sedation scale to make sure I felt no pain. The maintenance of my conscious state was in his hands. Guy said that they would take good care of me. I felt reassured. Then he said: "In goes the sedative drug".

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The bright operating lights were right in my eyes. I tilted my head to the left to avoid eyestrain. Guy snuck under the steril blue sheet to ask how I was doing. I told him that I wasn't anxious and doing fine. I was tired but was able to co-operate with Guy during the procedure. He kept following up on how I felt. I responded that he was doing a great job.

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At one point, I remember the surgeon sewing with sutures. Then I realized the procedure was completed. The Hickman line tunneled under my skin. I wasn't sure how I felt about having this intravenous catheter in my body for an undetermined period of time. It was something that I would have to get use to being there. However, I was happy that the procedure was over. The entrance site where my sutures joined my two skin surfaces wouldn't stop bleeding. The nurse applied pressure with a sterile gauze. She realized that one stitch had ripped off. She called the surgeon to come back and add a new stitch. The tissues were joined and a fresh new bandage was applied. Later, I looked at the dressing and all looked better.

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To be continued...

Angel Hair

June 8th, 2011 The distance travelled between places of treatment [Florida to Canada] gave me a chance to reflect on my feelings. It was important that I visualize my journey. Once settled in the hospital room, I had clearly defined in my mind a specific task that I wanted to organize as soon as possible. The donation of my hair. The need to contribute was important so I requested some information right away. Shortly after my inquiry, the resource nurse walked into my room. Karine, showing the radiance of pregnancy introduced herself. I instantly picked up on her warm and pleasant personality. Her guidance in resolving this need I had to make sure that my hair went to a foundation had been reassured. I felt empowered to chose the program. I was in control.

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Later that morning, Karine had gathered specific instructions. I was stirred with curiosity. I had to select from a number of possibilities and guidelines had to be properly followed. The hair donation had to be a minimum of 20cm and secured in ponytails. My consultation was successful. Karine's advice and experience gave me direction. Finally the appropriate choice was made. Emotionally content, I was going to donate my hair to "Angel Hair for Kids ~ A Child's Voice Foundation".

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Many aspects of "Angel Hair for Kids" satisfied my decision. This program "Where Kid's Come First" provides wigs and hair to children with financial disadvantages at no cost. It takes 10-12 ponytails to make one hair prosthesis. It felt good knowing that I was making a difference.

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It couldn't come fast enough. I wanted that haircut now. I felt fortunate that I could just ask my mom to cut it and not have to fix an appointment and wait. My mom was a hairdresser about 30 years ago and still had the special touch. I knew she was on her way and it would get done soon. Meanwhile, my mom was at my aunt's house saying "the only thing I don't wanna do is cut Monique's hair". Once my mom arrived and walked into my room, the first words out of my mouth were "Mom, you're cutting my hair today!". She shrugged and then agreed. I hadn't given her much of a chance to debate this. When the task was accomplished, my mom told me what she had said earlier at my aunt's house. I thought it was very big of her to put her fears/feelings aside for me. I glanced at her and said "Thank you.. You were the only person I wanted to do this". I can't imagine how my mother felt. If these were regular circumstances, I would have scheduled an appointment. But I can't explain why I wanted my mother and only my mother to share this with.. I guess I wanted someone I trusted, knew and loved to cut it. Over the next few days, I was going to be faced with several procedures where unfamiliar people were going to perform the task. Therefore, this was a situation where I could pick my expert...and that was my mom!

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Thank you so much mom for cutting my hair and for giving me that feeling of security. I love you!!

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To be continued...