Having a line in your chest is just like breastfeeding. You are constantly whipping a boob out. Yet it happens in such a way that no one wants to see it.
Since my line was moved to my chest I can do all of my meds myself. Yesterday I put the saline in, and the blood began to come out. I calmly began calling for my parents. They were of course attempting to move a freezer from the barn. So I walk outside with my chest exposed, saline attached, and blood pouring out of my bandage.
After a fabulous friend helped us trouble shoot via the phone we determined this was a bigger problem. We went to the ER which was a much better experience this go around. Mainly because if I can lie there and watch football I am much happier. Denver may have saved a few lives because this was a painful evening.
Each nurse, doctor, surgeon, resident felt compelled to do a push pull test. In which they push saline then pull back on the line and draw blood. More commonly known as the fuck you test. I have a hub stitched into my chest. Each time they did this they pulled the hub out of my skin and pushed it back in. To a point that my vein began visually popping out of my chest.
They didn't take the line out in the ER. Instead they put an IV in my arm. I go back to surgery today for a really fun time. Apparently they will use a wire to 'explore' and 'trouble shoot'. I have a feeling this is a sequel to the push pull test.
Still feeling amazing, productive, and most importantly like myself.
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