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Karen's port came out this afternoon, not for much sawing and gnashing of teeth. Ok, not that bad, but it was apparently reluctant. Fortunately, the surgeon's staff would not allow me to bear witness to the blessed event though I did see the aftermath. Uncomfortable, but not too painful as it was described. At least it could all be done in the office and didn't take much time.
She has three stitches that come out next Wednesday, the day before we leave for Atlanta. This kind of closes the chapter on all but the maintenance for us on this adventure. We celebrated with a frosty Starbucks frappaccino on the way home.
As an added bonus, we don't have to show documentation for the port to Homeland Security during the scans at the airport. And I was practicing my top three things NOT to say it was on the way home. It's a less than one gram, non-felony cocaine smuggling container. It's the detonator for the two pounds of plastique she had surgically implanted in her left femur (funny, the scan should have set that off). It's a direct brain stimulation device to control her psychotic alternate personalities (tap, tap, I think the batteries are dead). Yeah, those guys don't have a sense of humor. No, I don't mess with them. They have guns, and the personality to use them.
Forgive me, I'm a bit punchy from having all this over and done, and from being worried from not knowing exactly what to expect as the appointment approached. But it's out. Yeah!
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