Say hello to my... little... friend

My little friend is neither. It's a port that 
allows them to pump the cancer 
meds directly into my bloodstream.

They call it a chemo port. It allows them to inject their poisons directly into my bloodstream. Apparently, this will be my friend forever. According to Moffitt, my chemo port is a little thing.

But when our local cancer facility uses the word "little," or "small," I picture how many times I need to wrap myself in the "small" hospital gown to make it fit.

Problem is, I am actually small. Go ahead, judge away about my one percenter problems, but it's true. I am small.

But this port thingy, this thing they're supposed to use as a direct conduit to my blood stream, the thing that  they've embedded into my body? It's about the size and shape of a small hash pipe.

(oftentimes, a hash pipe is to a cancer fighter what an aspirin bottle is to everyone else.So I know my hash pipes. )

Yes, hash pipes are small compared to say, a house. But they are massive compared to, say, ANYTHING YOU WANT TO HAVE EMBEDDED IN THE FRONT OF YOUR BODY.

I don't look at this bumpy contraption in the eye, because all I can think is: Get out of me. And, thanks for being there.