I Was Direct Admitted to the CF Floor

I was in the hospital again.

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I was in the hospital again.

Because I was direct admitted to the CF floor, my portacath was actually accessed as one of the first steps of the evening. Maybe it was morning? Morning.

We couldn’t drive the couple of hours to the hospital until I had a ride, leading to a midnight arrival, being settled, accessed, and attended to by 3 or 4. My partner left for work shortly after with only a couple of hours of a nap, and I had multiple doctor visits, an ultrasound, and lab draws so tightly throughout the morning that I ended up not sleeping at all. (Literally up for two days straight.)

Nerves contributed, but, although going that many wide awake hours isn’t wise… the efficiency of being on a CF floor is unparalleled to previous experiences with spine surgeries and smaller institutions without transplant clinics.

I received my first portacath in 2015 (it was replaced only once) and I’ve had absolutely no problems with either of them since [someone knock one some wood or bite your tongue].

I have abundant problems with typical IV sticks, and once had to have one in my neck. Despite this, I’ve found most hospitals run from portacaths in recent years, and have become genuinely terrified of even touching it (if they don’t have a CF center on deck)… which feels increasingly new in its extremism.

The risk is real, of course, despite my perfect track record and good fortune…. But I still feel that making a patient go through 4 to 6 vein blows, half a dozen failed IV sticks even under ultrasound, and (basically) swelling a Deaf woman’s dextrous digits to high heaven with doomed and delayed lines is a waste of a device that was placed with logic and need in the first place.

It’s needed for long term IV antibiotics or care, so not always worth the shorter term fights (for me), so I’ve become apathetic on the matter, in person … but given that we struggled to find a vein under ultrasound to even have the portacath surgery: There are demands for devices for a reason.

It’s still a needle in my chest, mind you. It hurts like one (to me), though many can’t feel theirs. I’ve held two large dance auditions while being accessed, I’ve danced (carefully) with one in before, and much more… but I’m lucky that I use it only when I have an infection or need access, and avoid it otherwise. (I love and hate her. I don’t think it’s a miracle like some people say theirs is, and I don’t think it’s without discomforts, and I don’t ever want it hooked up for long periods of time unless I have no choice, because it feels a trying, twinging tether to me.)

Entering a CF floor is different, though. Both their complete comfort and kindness around devices that are necessary, and in so many other ways.

They email you before a direct admit with a list of things to bring: electronics, blankets, workout equipment. They encourage you TO workout in the CF gym or to meet with your social worker. They expect you to get comfortable with your own pillows and blankets - free from hospital gowns- and the nurse says colloquial terms like “CF-ers” in causal lexicon.

But why was I in here?

I’ll grab my quill tomorrow. Today, I’m thankful for painful things that many of us also lament.

Needles and pens are much the same: You can’t do ‘work’ if they don’t work, and they always get straight to the point. Tomorrow, I’ll share. Today: my point IS the point.

My point is the needle.

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