Ah nostalgia. How about a story?
I had my first picc line/long line when I was 6. I was put to sleep and taken for a bronchoscopy and they decided to put a line in my arm at the same time. Probably to lessen the ordeal. That was the first time I got a two week dose of IVs. Before that, I have brief memories of going to the local hospital, where they'd seem to put a cannula in my hand, give me one dose of medicine, and then send me home. I once had to stay overnight at this hospital, with a cannula in my arm, and they put a green board on my elbow, before wrapping it up against my arm with a bandage, obviously to stop me from bending my arm and wrecking the cannula. Oddly enough, this tiny piece of information stuck in my head and subconsciously came into action whenever I had a two week course of IVs in a picc line - I would refuse to bend my arm for the two weeks, despite being continually told that it was fine to bend my arm at will.
The doctors would prefer to use my left arm - there was a pretty greedy vein in the far corner of the crook of my left elbow. Several IVs in this area later, it gained the nickname 'Woody' - continuous use of the same poor vein had left it shot to shit, and they had to play 'Pin the needle in Megan's arm' with the various other veins I had to offer. Having a picc line put in was always pretty horrendous - despite having the 'magic cream' on the area where they would stab at will, I always felt the 'sharp scratch' and the feeling of the tube threading up my arm was frankly, disgusting. The last time I had one put in, that I remember, it felt like one of those craft pipe cleaners being shoved up my vein. Not only that, but the following two weeks weren't exactly fun - for some reason, the medication would always hurt and sting in my arm when it was time for a dose. It made the short two weeks feel like 2 months.
Once or twice, there were a few ordeals that were picc related. I was in year 4, reading my book to the helper (can you remember doing that? Reading through those set books with stickers on the thin spines, and getting praised for being able to pronounce the big words?) when a boy in my year came up to us and started to poke my arm, right where the tube was. Repeatedly. With a very pointy finger. Now this boy wasn't disabled, or mentally challenged, but he had only recently started at our school after changing from a previous school who were a bit...
lax. (God knows how they managed to stay open with kids under 10 swearing profusely, with terrible attitude problems and a penchant for driving teachers up the wall). Anyway, as we were a pretty small school, with only 14 of us in year 4, they knew that I had a 'cough' and that the reason why my arm was wrapped in a bandage was for medicine for my cough. Everyone looked after me, making sure I didn't mangle my arm somehow (I've got a pretty vivid memory of a guy catching me before falling headfirst into a bookcase, when his mate missed and accidentally pushed me. This was also in year 4, at a time when I was on IVs) but this other boy liked to push the boundaries, and continued to prod my arm until it was getting incredibly painful. Needless to say, during my next dose of IVs, my arm began to swell and according to my mum, the vein had 'tissued' or something. Basically, the tube was most likely poking out of my vein and slowly filling my arm with my meds.
After that, I had to go to the hospital to have another line put in. It's bad enough having to go through it once every 3 months, but having to go through it again because a kid wanted to piss you off? Urgh. There was no salvaging the original line because my arm was starting to look pretty dire. Like the arm muscles of a body builder gone terribly wrong - when their arm is all skinny but the muscle looks like an orange perched on their bicep. Yeah.
The other time I remember my line getting pretty damaged is when all the meds seemed to back right out of my vein and flood the surrounding plastic cover keeping it in place. After all these mangled lines, they decided to use my veins in the side of my wrists. I haven't heard of wrist picc lines much, but they did have a few pluses - for starters, I could bend my arm when it was IV time. And secondly, with the bandage round my wrist and hand, I could pass it off as a sprain. Although there was the time when my hand started to swell up - most likely due to me not moving my fingers much and keeping my hand down by my side. And the tight bandage. One 10pm trip to the hospital in my PJs later, all I had to do was keep the bandage off when my hand needs a rest, and keep the circulation in my fingers going.
I still much prefer having my port. Yes I may be onto port number three already within 6-7 years (Port number one refused to co-operate after a mere 3 months, after the nurses tried to take blood from it. It clearly didn't agree with this action.) Port number two lasted for about 5 years, and I'm quite proud of it for not giving up the ghost sooner. And now we're onto port number 3. It's actually bigger than my previous ones and looks like a bottle cap an inch below my collarbone on my right side. Suffice to say I can't wear a bag on that shoulder. And I do need the port flushed every month to keep it in service. But I'd take that over the 30 minutes of uncomfortable-tube-being-threaded-up-my-veins and the two weeks of being fairly uncomfortable any day. There's also the bonus fact that a port is easily hidden and it takes just 2 seconds to access.
I just hope it won't set off any metal detectors one day.
I had my first picc line/long line when I was 6. I was put to sleep and taken for a bronchoscopy and they decided to put a line in my arm at the same time. Probably to lessen the ordeal. That was the first time I got a two week dose of IVs. Before that, I have brief memories of going to the local hospital, where they'd seem to put a cannula in my hand, give me one dose of medicine, and then send me home. I once had to stay overnight at this hospital, with a cannula in my arm, and they put a green board on my elbow, before wrapping it up against my arm with a bandage, obviously to stop me from bending my arm and wrecking the cannula. Oddly enough, this tiny piece of information stuck in my head and subconsciously came into action whenever I had a two week course of IVs in a picc line - I would refuse to bend my arm for the two weeks, despite being continually told that it was fine to bend my arm at will.
The doctors would prefer to use my left arm - there was a pretty greedy vein in the far corner of the crook of my left elbow. Several IVs in this area later, it gained the nickname 'Woody' - continuous use of the same poor vein had left it shot to shit, and they had to play 'Pin the needle in Megan's arm' with the various other veins I had to offer. Having a picc line put in was always pretty horrendous - despite having the 'magic cream' on the area where they would stab at will, I always felt the 'sharp scratch' and the feeling of the tube threading up my arm was frankly, disgusting. The last time I had one put in, that I remember, it felt like one of those craft pipe cleaners being shoved up my vein. Not only that, but the following two weeks weren't exactly fun - for some reason, the medication would always hurt and sting in my arm when it was time for a dose. It made the short two weeks feel like 2 months.
Once or twice, there were a few ordeals that were picc related. I was in year 4, reading my book to the helper (can you remember doing that? Reading through those set books with stickers on the thin spines, and getting praised for being able to pronounce the big words?) when a boy in my year came up to us and started to poke my arm, right where the tube was. Repeatedly. With a very pointy finger. Now this boy wasn't disabled, or mentally challenged, but he had only recently started at our school after changing from a previous school who were a bit... lax. (God knows how they managed to stay open with kids under 10 swearing profusely, with terrible attitude problems and a penchant for driving teachers up the wall). Anyway, as we were a pretty small school, with only 14 of us in year 4, they knew that I had a 'cough' and that the reason why my arm was wrapped in a bandage was for medicine for my cough. Everyone looked after me, making sure I didn't mangle my arm somehow (I've got a pretty vivid memory of a guy catching me before falling headfirst into a bookcase, when his mate missed and accidentally pushed me. This was also in year 4, at a time when I was on IVs) but this other boy liked to push the boundaries, and continued to prod my arm until it was getting incredibly painful. Needless to say, during my next dose of IVs, my arm began to swell and according to my mum, the vein had 'tissued' or something. Basically, the tube was most likely poking out of my vein and slowly filling my arm with my meds.
After that, I had to go to the hospital to have another line put in. It's bad enough having to go through it once every 3 months, but having to go through it again because a kid wanted to piss you off? Urgh. There was no salvaging the original line because my arm was starting to look pretty dire. Like the arm muscles of a body builder gone terribly wrong - when their arm is all skinny but the muscle looks like an orange perched on their bicep. Yeah.
The other time I remember my line getting pretty damaged is when all the meds seemed to back right out of my vein and flood the surrounding plastic cover keeping it in place. After all these mangled lines, they decided to use my veins in the side of my wrists. I haven't heard of wrist picc lines much, but they did have a few pluses - for starters, I could bend my arm when it was IV time. And secondly, with the bandage round my wrist and hand, I could pass it off as a sprain. Although there was the time when my hand started to swell up - most likely due to me not moving my fingers much and keeping my hand down by my side. And the tight bandage. One 10pm trip to the hospital in my PJs later, all I had to do was keep the bandage off when my hand needs a rest, and keep the circulation in my fingers going.
I still much prefer having my port. Yes I may be onto port number three already within 6-7 years (Port number one refused to co-operate after a mere 3 months, after the nurses tried to take blood from it. It clearly didn't agree with this action.) Port number two lasted for about 5 years, and I'm quite proud of it for not giving up the ghost sooner. And now we're onto port number 3. It's actually bigger than my previous ones and looks like a bottle cap an inch below my collarbone on my right side. Suffice to say I can't wear a bag on that shoulder. And I do need the port flushed every month to keep it in service. But I'd take that over the 30 minutes of uncomfortable-tube-being-threaded-up-my-veins and the two weeks of being fairly uncomfortable any day. There's also the bonus fact that a port is easily hidden and it takes just 2 seconds to access.
I just hope it won't set off any metal detectors one day.