I seriously don't remember what's involved with actually removing my catheter. It's designed to be removed, okay, with this clamp underneath my skin that somehow makes sure that there will be no additional bleeding when the long plastic tube is removed.
I won't even need to go under, counting backwards from 100. It's just a simple tug. I'd never pulled on the catheter hard enough (never wanted to), but Dr. Hickman won't need to do much more than put one hand firmly on my chest, near the collar bone, another hand securely gripping the tube that extends out of my body.
One ... two ... three.
Yank!
Done. Goodbye easy access to major arteries.
Big scheme of things? Not much. Not much at all. We're still checking for infections, every few hours. Instead of being able to pop the needle into the free port at the end of my catheter, we're back to slapping the inside of my arms. Good veins, here. Tight rubber around my upper arm, or my elbow. Flex, please, then relax as the needle finds a vein, somewhere, right arm, left arm, it doesn't really matter.
I don't care much about needles anymore.
I'm finding it hard to care about much of anything anymore.
