The port is flipped. This I know.
The first nurse to take us back started with, "So you think Eve's port might have flipped?"
And me: "I know her port definitely flipped. I just want to know when we can take it out."
She looks at the port. She examines it for a while. She concedes it may be flipped. She gets another nurse.
The next nurse looks at it. The next nurse feels it. The next nurse confirms it is flipped. The next nurse gets a doctor.
The doctor looks at it. The doctor admits she's not a port person, but this port looks funny. The doctor gets another doctor.
The next doctor suggests we remove the port. Two nurses, two doctors, and two social workers later, everyone has reached the same conclusion as me. Too bad I left my white coat at home. When do I earn enough trust to make diagnoses over the phone? When do I get the direct line to the O.R.?
Next Wednesday will hopefully be Eve's last surgery. No big deal; just a port removal. Wussy surgery. You won't see us break a sweat unless surgery involves a really big scar and some really important organs.