Zack - port removal

 Today marks the end of a chapter in Zack’s life and the beginning of a new one that feels just as hopeful as it does frightening.

Zack is having his port removed.

For many people, a port is just a medical device. A piece of equipment. Something temporary. But for Zack, it has been so much more than that. Since he was just nine months old, the port has been part of his body, it’s all he has ever known. To Zack, it wasn’t strange or foreign, it was normal. It was him.

It’s hard to explain what it means to say goodbye to something that has been part of your body for most of your life. The port wasn’t just there during hospital visits; it was there during growing up. Through learning, playing, healing, and simply being a little boy. It became so familiar that imagining Zack without it feels almost unreal.

Don’t get me wrong,  the port hasn’t always been easy. It brought with it stress and worry, countless trips to the hospital, extra blood tests, and moments of anxiety no child should have to experience. There were days when everything felt like it revolved around it. Days when it was exhausting. Days when it felt deeply unfair.

But it was also his lifeline.

It’s where the medications went — the medicines that helped him heal, helped him grow stronger, helped him get better. It quietly did its job, day after day, so Zack could keep moving forward. In so many ways, it helped give him the chance at the life he has today.

And now… it’s gone.

That’s the strange part. The bittersweet part. Because while removing the port is a sign of progress, it also means stepping into the unknown. A future without something that has always been there. A future that feels exciting but also scary.

This moment is the end of one journey a long, challenging, resilient journey that began when Zack was still a baby. And it’s the start of another — one that looks different, one that asks him to trust his body in a whole new way.

For two and a half years, Zack’s port was part of his normal. Saying goodbye to it is saying goodbye to a version of life that shaped him  even if he won’t remember it all.

But what we will remember is his strength.

Zack has faced more in three years than many do in a lifetime, and he has done it with courage far beyond his age. This next journey may feel scary, but it is also filled with hope.

So today, we honour the port, the stress, the hospital trips, the healing, the lifeline. And we honour Zack for everything he has endured, everything he has overcome, and everything that lies ahead.

And if anyone is ready to take this next step forward, it’s Zack. 💙


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Gift of Platelets and Blood

  The Gift of Platelets and Blood — How It Feels to Receive a Lifesaving Donation When you hear about blood or platelet donations, it’s easy to think of it as something abstract — a noble act that helps “someone out there.” But for people like Zack, those donations are far more than a good deed. They are a lifeline. Yom tov this pesach was spent in hospital receiving platelets and blood. Zack is 2 years old and has been receiving both platelet and blood transfusions as part of his treatment.  Zack has had 14 blood transfusions and 22 platelet transfusions since August 2023  It’s hard to put into words what it’s like watching your child go through this — the fatigue, the pale skin, the shortness of breath when his red blood cells are low, or the bruising and bleeding that comes when his platelet levels drop. But even more powerful is the feeling you get when, after a transfusion, life comes back into him. Color returns to his face. His energy lifts. He smiles again. Zack k...
Read more

A Full Circle Moment: Meeting the Doctor Who Saved Zacks life.

 A Full Circle Moment: Meeting the Doctor Who Saved Zacks life. It’s funny how life works. Sometimes it’s not about the big, grand moments, but the small, intimate connections that leave an imprint on your heart. I’ve been in and out of hospitals for nearly two years now, all while watching Zack fight a health battle that none of us could have predicted. The doctors, nurses, and staff became familiar faces, but there was one person we’d never met — the doctor who diagnosed my son and saved his life. Today, I found myself sitting in a hospital room, waiting once again, when something unexpected happened: she walked in. Almost two years ago, in a sterile, white-walled office, this doctor had delivered the news that no parent ever wants to hear. But in the same breath, she also gave us hope. She was the one who identified his tumour when countless others had missed it. She was the one who told us there was a way forward, that with treatment, there was a chance for him to thrive again....
Read more

Last Chemo

    Two-Year Rollercoaster: My Son’s Last Chemo Appointment and What Comes Next As I sit here, watching him in that sterile hospital room for the last time for chemo,  I’m overwhelmed with emotions. Tears are falling faster than I can wipe them away, and I’m struggling to grasp what this means.  It’s been a wild ride. For the last two years, my life has been a mix of appointments, blood tests, hospital gowns, and far too many nights spent in a hospital room with the rhythmic beeping of machines as my soundtrack. The day I’ve been waiting for—my son’s last chemotherapy session—has finally arrived. It feels like both the end of a chapter and the start of a whole new book. But what comes next? What does life look like after this wild, medical rollercoaster of a ride? And, perhaps more importantly, what will our new “normal” be?  I’ve learned how to smile through exhaustion, how to comfort my son when he’s scared, and how to hide my own fear from him. I’ve held...
Read more