From USB to Port: Phillip's Body's Latest Tech Update

Today, Phillip had his PET scan and port "installation" scheduled. As we were scrambling to rush out the door, Abbott called to let us know the PET scan was malfunctioning and we would have to reschedule. This was especially disheartening, as it has only intensified my anxiety about the upcoming PET scan and the weight of the information its results may carry.

Later in the morning, Phillip received another call and this time it was from the MAYO! This was the news we needed today and provides a bright light in the weeks ahead of us. For those of you who are not aware, Mayo Clinic reviews appointment requests and prioritizes patients based on medical need. So while we submitted a request for an appointment and his oncologist also referred him, we did not know if they would accept him as a patient or what the timing may look like. Thankfully, Phillip’s appointments are scheduled for early July. While that may seem far off, we were told it is the earliest available slot. He was also told that there’s significant preparation required before those appointments, so the time leading up to them will be important. He now has a different "honey-do" list for June than we both had planned.

This afternoon, Phillip had his port placement procedure done at United Hospital in St. Paul. I sat with him during the pre-op prep, which included shaving his chest—bringing back memories, no doubt, of his days as an Abercrombie & Fitch doorman. The procedure itself took just 15 minutes, and a slightly loopy Phillip was soon wheeled back to his hospital room. After the nurse hooked up the blood pressure monitor she asked if he needed anything and his response was, "Can you grab me a sandwich from Cossetta's?!"

I was Phillip's designated driver after his procedure and he continued the unsolicited driving lesson on cruise control. It was stressful and I was white knuckled in rush hour traffic. Fun times.

All in all, today was a tough day for us. It was a sweet surprise to arrive home and have a package from my sister's family. We were sent hugs from Iowa.

We are deeply grateful to our family and friends—the outpouring of love has been truly beautiful. Whether it’s a call, a text, a homemade pie, or a hug (in person or on paper), every act of kindness and support is lifting us up more than words can express.

Time has felt especially slow since the ER visit. The past two weeks have taught me that there’s an entire language of sighs that comes with a cancer diagnosis, one that neither Rosetta Stone nor Google Translate could ever hope to decode. There’s the quiet sigh, the exhausted sigh, the sighs of pain, and the one that feels like the weight of the world is briefly lifting off your shoulders. As someone who’s already prone to anxiety, I’ve found myself hyper-aware of Phillip’s every breath. Each sigh sends my mind racing. He’s since told me, “If I’m sighing with my mouth shut, that means I’m in pain.” Noted. And now I listen a little more closely, trying to understand this new, unspoken vocabulary we’re learning together.