Hickman catheter | cherish each moment, even the ones that suck.

I told my caregiver not to put an exclamation point after “I heart nurses”… I didn’t want to go over the line into sucking up.

Do you have a Hickman catheter *and* an artistic caregiver? Then you should be aware that the little date strip (where you write the last time the dressing was changed) has plenty of space for additional artistic expression!

The little smiley face peeks out of my neckline when I wear a v-neck blouse. (The smudge of yellow at the bottom is because I’m allergic to chloraprep swabs, so we go with betadyne).

Go and do likewise! Maybe with fine-tipped colored Sharpie markers!

If all keeps going well, two weeks from today they’ll take out my catheter and send me home to D.C., which means that I’LL FINALLY GET TO TAKE A REAL SHOWER. Because I can’t get the Hickman catheter in my chest (more precisely, the dressing-covered place where it comes out of my chest) wet, I haven’t had a carefree, normal shower in a month and a half.

When your platelets are low, it’s a lousy time to slip on the bathroom floor. I recommend machine-washable bathmats that are fluffy on one side and rubbery on the other.

Don’t get me wrong–I’m very thankful that I don’t have to get stuck with needles every time I go to the outpatient unit (which was daily, at first, though now they are giving me one or two days off between visits). And I’m really, really thankful they didn’t have to run the pre- and post-transplant chemo into my veins (which they never do because it would hurt them too much). Thank you, medical science, for my catheter!

But taping plastic wrap over my catheter site to take a shower is both insecure (the paper tape tends to come off in places after a few minutes) and a bit painful when I take it off (which is why I don’t use stronger tape). So I wind up:

1. Clipping a towel round my neck with office clips, sitting down on the shower seat with my head between my knees, and washing my scalp and face with the handheld shower thingy (getting my sister to turn on and off the water).

2. Drying my head, getting out of the shower, walking over to the mirror on the two rubber-backed bathmats I got to keep me from slipping on the floor, and taping plastic wrap over my catheter, trying to get the tape a little off from where it was the last time, and making sure most of the tape width is stuck to my skin rather than the wrap. (Taping dismembered ziploc baggie over my catheter was a complete debacle–it’s not flexible enough). Then, moving my arms round a bit to see if the tape is going to come off out of hand.

3. As quickly as possible without moving my right arm much, soaping and rinsing my upper trunk, armpits, and shoulders.

4. Getting out again, drying off, and rubbing the top side of the tape with rubbing alcohol to help release it before it bonds more to my skin. Washing my arms in the sink, carefully avoiding letting the water get on my trunk, and drying them. Gently as possible, and using more swabs, peeling off the plastic wrap.

5. Putting on a camisole (folded up double over my bosom) to keep that site dry, getting back into the shower, and using the handheld to shower the rest of my body.

There I go–in a mere 45 minutes, I am mostly as clean as I would be from a normal 15-minute shower!

But when I leave all this behind, won’t I miss it, a tiny bit? NO. No, I will not.

cherish each moment, even the ones that suck.

thoughts about surviving cancer. also, other things.

Tag Archives: Hickman catheter

Hickman Catheter Date Strip Art!

My So-Called Showers