I got my port out

The occasion was rife with puns -

Port out, Starboard home! POSH with a capitol P-O-S-H. (It's okay if you sang that in your head.)

One of the kids asked if I was no longer portable.

Z, of course, asked me later how the deportation went. (Puns are bad for a reason, folks.)

My sweet Nutty Professor son got up early to go with me. We had a lovely morning of chatting contentedly over our current reads. He let me sniff his coffee (I couldn't have anything by mouth pre-op). And then he drove me home when it was over. Acts of Mercy, right there.

Of course, he didn't understand my deep appreciation. "Of course! What was I going to do, tell you to piss off?" LOL. Well, no. I wouldn't have expected that response. However, it soothes my soul to know that you realize that would be an inappropriate response to someone's need for help, and it gladdens my heart to know that you are so willing to serve and to be present (and cheerfully present, at that) when you can give aid. So shut up and accept my heartfelt appreciation, please.

And then he misplaced the prescriptions. I get that usually you don't want to give the paperwork to the one who's recently been drugged. And the surgeon doesn't have a 19yo son, so he wouldn't know. I'm just hoping it was only for pain relief and not antibiotics... (I'll clean out the car today and look for it.)

But that's it! In two weeks or so, if I have an itch I can just scratch to my heart's content without snagging on my port. And that's rather exciting! It's the little things.

Be encouraged!
~ Dy