A cancer survivor pens an ode to her port that has made her journey much less stressful.
Meet Pete, he’s my port.
Makes my lab draws very short.
Use the cream,
it works like a dream.
Thank you, lidocaine.
My ever-ready vein,
keeps those nurses and lab techs sane.
Should have done this years ago,
instead of having my veins blow.
So, this is Pete.
I think that he is pretty neat.
He works like a charm,
since I only have one good arm.
A power port,
it’s my last resort.
Oh, the metastatic breast cancer life.
Once again, I’m under the knife.
Hoping to make things simple,
although Pete, he looks like a giant pimple,
implanted under my skin
because I’m thin.
But he’ll get the job done.
Multiple poking now becomes one.
Digging no more.
Labs are no longer a chore.
Cheers to Pete,
for keeping things short and sweet.
Such a relief
to save so much grief.
No heads shaking,
no arm aching.
Now I’m less stressed,
thank you, Pete, you’re the best.
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