I Didn’t Get PICC’d

Today was supposed to be PICC line day. The step before chemo. The thing the doctor said we were doing. Simple enough.

But then something unexpected and, honestly, kind of wonderful happened.

I walked into the infusion center and met the nurse who would be placing the PICC. She was fantastic. Calm, clear, and the kind of person who makes you feel like you are in good hands before anything even starts. She walked me through the entire process, showed me how I would clean and manage everything, and had me sign the consent forms.

Then she paused.

She looked at my arms.
Then at my chart.
Then back at my arms.

After a minute, she said, “Let’s get Christine in here.”

Christine has been my point person through this whole process. She came in, took a look, and then did something I did not expect at all. She told me I had a decision to make.

Up until that moment, I didn’t think there was one. The doctor said PICC line, so in my mind, that was the plan.

Christine walked me through it.

On one side: fewer needle sticks, easy access if I needed anything like a transfusion.
On the other: weekly visits for dressing changes, managing the line, keeping it dry in the shower, and living with hardware hanging out of my arm for the next couple of months.

Then she framed it in a way that stuck with me. Given my chemo schedule, I would be looking at about nine needle sticks total.

Nine.

And I had to decide if avoiding those nine pokes was worth everything that comes with the PICC.

I really don’t like needles. Not even a little bit.

But I walked out without the PICC.

Chemo still starts Monday. That part hasn’t changed. There’s definitely some anxiety there, but also a little bit of something else. Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s readiness. Probably both.

And more than anything, I’m feeling grateful.

The amount of support from friends, family, and the Del Oro community has been overwhelming in the best possible way. There is no way to capture all of it, but one moment from this week keeps sticking with me.

A former colleague dropped off a basket of goodies with a sticker that read, “Wicked Coffee, Mr. Jim.”

It’s a callback to an old Volkswagen commercial we used to watch on the hard days. The kind of thing that made us laugh when we probably needed it most.

It’s funny how something small like that can carry so much history, so much connection.

And right now, those little moments are everything.