The bride of Frankenstein and her Dyson

The port was put in on Thursday, and I'm still trying to get used to it. I feel as if I have been kidnapped by aliens who have implanted this thing in my chest, which isn't very comfortable. I wonder if I will ever stop being aware of it. It's very noticeable, not just because I can feel it, but when I move certain ways, it feels as if it's rubbing against some part of me that's hard, like a bone. I hate looking at it, because I can see it pushing through my skin, plus I can see the outline of the tubing that goes up to my neck. It's also starting to itch along with the mosquito bites I have been collecting. But I don't want to scratch it because it feels creepy. At the moment, since my skin is newly cut, I look like Frankenstein's bride. And if that monster comes near me, he'll be very sorry. I'm not in the mood!

Getting in a good position to sleep is a bit difficult, because I can't comfortably lie on the side that the port is on. I can lie on my back and my left side, if I move about gingerly. 

Nothing much new to report. I still feel fine and am able to get around and do my usual stuff around the house. My housemate now goes with me to take the dogs on their evening walk. He takes the two older, bigger dogs, and I take the young whippersnapper. I thought walking all three with my new incision might be risky. And I still take a walk around the block alone afterwards. I listen to the Blues on Pandora and have a variation of images that I try to concentrate on. One is pacman eating the cancer. Another is the Shuar tribe turning the cancer into shrunken heads.  And this evening, I pictured myself with a vacuum cleaner sucking up the cancer. It gets monotonous just picturing one of those methods, so having three helps me to be able to visualize it a bit longer. I have to admit the vacuuming one is quite satisfying, and I'm more familiar with it than I am with pacman or shrinking heads.