I have been having some issues lately accepting my picc line. I have had it for a few days short of 7 months, it’s not new by any means at this point, but I’m struggling with it. A few months into having it, it started to feel normal. Getting the dressing changed felt like a thing I just had to do. Looking at it in the mirror even felt semi-okay. But about two months ago, around the time that treatment itself got really hard, I started to resent my picc line.
And then something came back to me. Something that one of my college professors—someone very important to my journey and also to my life—said to me back when I was struggling with my first port a few years ago.
She told me that my port was the spot where the sunshine could get in.
And that made all the difference. All of a sudden my port didn’t seem like a foreign object under my skin (even though it was), it seemed like something that was making things a little brighter. It seemed like something that was helping to take the darkness away. It seemed like something that was going to be okay.
When I thought about that again recently, with my picc line in mind instead this time, it was a little different, but helped nonetheless. And also made me so grateful all over again. So grateful that I had a human in my life during some of those hardest days of my life that took the time to help me find the sunshine.
My port was the first spot that let the sunshine in. Now my picc line, as scary and ugly and weird as it is—I have to believe it’s letting the sunshine in, too.
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