In 1982, Norfolk Medical created the first human port, a little device implanted under the skin which connects to a catheter inserted into a vein. A breakthrough for patients who need to receive regular infusions of drugs and nutrients. I got one of these little suckers implanted in my chest in May of last year. Today, I’m holding it in my hand.

I’m so grateful for this buddy. Medically speaking, there weren’t many things that made life easier while battling cancer. But this was one of them.

Last night, I told the kids I was finally having my port removed. Ever the cheerleader, Sarah said, “That’s great! Your what?” (Oh the mercies of a young one’s faded memory!) Jack, with a quizzical expression, chimed in, “That’s a good thing, right?” Yes, it’s a good thing.  

After thirty-plus infusions, I’m glad to see you go, little friend. Your removal feels like an official page-turning in my cancer story. A “milestone” said my surgeon as we talked about Christmas plans and how different Christmas 2016 will be compared to last year’s. Tears of gratitude surprised me as I climbed into my car to head home. A little piece of normal was given back to me today.  

These days, the treatment landscape and my new normal involves tests and screenings twice a year, daily hormone blocking drugs, and a shot every three months to keep me locked in menopause (my cancer loved estrogen, so to keep it from coming back, we have to cut off the supply.). Stewarding my slowly-improving energy reserves is an art I haven’t quite figured out. Van is often tucking me in before he tucks the kids into bed. Physical therapy is helping with left arm range of motion as well as mitigating lymphedema, an uncomfortable side effect from lymph node removal. Truth is, I’ll never quite be the same on my left side. My radiation oncologist gently reminded me of this reality last week. It’s in those moments that I miss my pre-cancer body. A small cost, though a real one, for being able to enjoy this and many more Christmases.

Being the season of Advent, Christ’s incarnation (fancy word to describe how Jesus became fully human without losing His deity) has been on the forefront of my mind. I’ve been thinking about how Jesus left Heavenly perfection with God the Father and the Spirit to become just like us, but without sin. Hard to fathom why God would want to do such a thing. The best analogy I can conjure would be the world’s most powerful and benevolent King leaving his glorious castle to live among the peasants and outcast. But Jesus, the Son of God, delighted to do it. He knows what it is to be weak, scarred, and even face death. He is well-acquainted with our sufferings because he too was born of a woman into the brambles and brokenness of this world. What love and mercy and grace! So, while my heart is heavy with sadness for all the broken things, as I consider God’s rescue plan for us, hope rises in my soul.

One of my favorite hymns, O Holy Night, describes it beautifully….

Long lay the world in sin and error pining, 

‘Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope, a weary world rejoices.

Yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

So tonight I lay my port-less body and hopeful heart down to rest. Farewell little medical marvel.
With joy,

Anne