A Tale of Two MRIs, Part 2: When It Rains...

Recap

In early August, I found out that what I thought was a perfectly normal mandibular torus was NOT a mandibular torus at all. What is it? We don't know!

A dentist appointment led to an oral surgeon. The oral surgeon led to an MRI. Back to oral surgeon, who didn't see much of anything in the MRI. Oral surgeon referred me to Endodontics. 

Based on other findings in the MRI (another mass), my doctor was checking with Radiology to see if I could have an ultrasound in place of a second MRI.

Back to the story...

When I left off, I had just been told I was being referred to Endodontics, which turned out to be located upstairs from the oral surgeon. The assistant I'd been working with, Chuck, was nice enough to walk me upstairs so I could get started on paperwork. At this point it was around 10 AM.

I handed in my paperwork to the receptionist. She told me that they had me scheduled for 12:30, but said that if I stuck around for a few minutes she would check to see if the doctor could see me earlier. I waited. About 10 minutes later I was told I would have to come back at 12:30. So I drove home (about 15 minutes) and worked from about 10:30 until noon. Then I headed right back to the very same building where I'd sat just hours before and sat some more.

I got called back pretty quickly and got a few more x-rays (this would be the third set of x-rays, for those keeping score). Then the specialist came in and talked to me.

"I hear you've been in and out of appointments and machines." Yep. Sure have.

"Is there a plan for what happens next?" I told him about the oral surgeon's suggestion of a referral to ENT if this didn't yield any results. He seemed to accept that and got to business poking around my mouth. Then he explained what was coming next: the root canal test.

Allow me to explain this quickly for the uninformed. Basically, they make the end of a long Q-tip extremely cold (like, liquid nitrogen style) and then touch it to a tooth. If you feel something - anything - you raise your hand. Once the feeling goes away, you lower your hand. Repeat on the surrounding teeth.

I got worried when I didn't feel anything on the first tooth, but I definitely felt it with the rest of the teeth. (It didn't hurt, thankfully, but it's not a particularly pleasant sensation either. Not so much an "Ouch!" as a "The f*ck is that? That's weird. I don't like it.") Apparently that was all it took. The specialist said I didn't need a root canal. I had all the right reactions, my bone and root structure look strong and healthy... No problem from an Endodontic perspective.

While most people are probably relieved to hear they don't need a root canal (and trust me, part of me definitely was), this was just another appointment, another test, another set of results that showed nothing. For everything I'd been through, there were still no answers for me. I started to tear up and said, "On to ENT then!" I took a breath and calmed myself down so I could get going.

Just before I got out of the chair, this doctor (who is clearly doing well for himself; the Endodontics office is REALLY nice - fireplace in the waiting room, sculptures and art everywhere - and the beautiful Corvette in the parking lot may very well have been his as well) looked at me and said, "Since you're not having any work done, I'm just going to comp this appointment."

What? As in, you aren't going to charge me? Well that did it. Tears welled up anew. I was floored by his kindness, and so (SO) grateful. One less charge to worry about? You better believe I'll take that. I thanked him again and again before finally heading out. So I left feeling a little upset that this appointment hadn't given me any answers, but the greater feelings I had were gratitude and relief.

On my way home I was almost in an accident (a guy turned out in front of me and I had to lock up my breaks to keep from hitting him). Then a few blocks later I witnessed an accident (a head-on where one of the vehicles spun into a building) and got to call 911 for the second time this year (and in my life). Aside from the asshole behind me who was honking and gesturing for me to move (despite the fact that there was an accident right in front of me, I had my blinkers on, and I was on the phone... with 911), I made it through the experience pretty well (which is saying something for me!).

When I got home, I was taking things out of my purse when I saw the copy of my MRI results. What the hey, I'll take a look at it, review it on my own. I was reading through it, trying to remember what my doctor had told me the week before... And that's when I figured out that I had misunderstood my doctor. Badly.

After my appointment with her, I had come away thinking that they had found an additional mass during the MRI. But there were three separate things noted on the report. The first, of course, was the original bump. The second was a mass on my thyroid, for which I was referred an ultrasound. The third was a mass near my clavicle, for which I was referred another MRI. So it wasn't a matter of having the ultrasound instead of the MRI; it was whether I'd have to do both the ultrasound AND another MRI.

If the accident hadn't erased my good mood, this certainly had. Hubby and I were just about to go on a weekend away for our 7th anniversary, and here I was staring down one or two more tests for two more unknown masses. If the ultrasound would suffice for both, though, that would really help. I kept a good thought.

Friday, on our way out of town, my doctor called: the ultrasound and MRI were both going to be needed. Yay.

To be continued... 

Morbid Memories

When I was maybe 5 or 6, my great grandpa died. He's the first relative I remember dying, and I wasn't all that sad. I'm ashamed to admit that I was afraid of him; my understanding is that he had Alzheimer's and spoke almost entirely in German, so I didn't understand a word he said, and he was in a wheelchair (which was completely new to me at the time). I didn't go to the funeral.

Maybe a year later (I don't know the timeline, since I was so young) my great grandma died (also my mom's family, but different side of that family). For her, I cried. My mom was so upset that she actually scolded me for crying because I hadn't cried when Great Grandpa had died. She doesn't even remember saying it, but I did stop crying. That was the first funeral I remember. We had to travel for it, and I don't remember much. It was an open casket, and I saw my great grandma one last time. Otherwise, me and my cousins were in the Curious George room at the funeral parlor, reading books and playing games. 

When my great granddaddy died (my dad's grandpa), I was a few years older. Middle school or even high school, I think. I was sad, but I hadn't known him very well since he lived in Mississippi. He was nice enough to me, though. He didn't talk much, but he let me play with a Mr. Potato Head when I visited, which I just thought was the coolest thing ever. When his wife eventually died, my parents forgot to tell me for months. They had found out while I had a sleepover, and they didn't want to upset me. I found out at dinner one night when they were talking about it in passing. She was a seriously sweet lady and I was really sad for my Grandpa since his mom and dad were both gone.

I'd been seriously lucky since then. My family was all relatively healthy and most were in the same state as me.

Fast forward. When I was 21, I was woken up one Saturday morning by my mom telling me that my Gramma (her mom) had died. I'd just visited her a week or so before, and even though she was on hospice, I was shocked. I called my best friend/pseudo-sister K and she came to pick me up and spent the day with me. I took two or three nights off of work so I could help in any way possible. I helped with the picture boards and kept my mom company. At the funeral, I bawled. The hardest part for me was when my cousin N lost it, but the most vivid memory I have is my cousin P's son asking where Great Gramma was and she told him to remember that we could only see her in pictures now.

6 years ago tomorrow, my cat died. He'd been my 13th birthday present, and though I've always been a dog person, I loved that damn cat more than anything. He was a bitch (blocked a few of my friends in the bathroom, hissed at people, bit some of them...), but he loved me. He was also a tubby tabby (22 pounds!), and probably died as a result (heart failure, maybe). Once again, I was woken up by my mom, this time to be told Zeus had died and to ask if I wanted them to do something with him or to cremate him and bring him home. I wanted him to come home. I tried to work that day, but I only made it a few hours in before I broke down and asked to go home. I had been dating Hubby for a few months at the time, and after work he drove all the way from Milwaukee to Madison to be there for me. He brought me potted flowers and if I hadn't already known he was a keeper, that sealed the deal.

Since then, I've been lucky enough to not lose any family. Friends? Yes. It's been a rough year or two for that, actually. But family was safe and sound.

Until yesterday, when my mom called to tell me that my uncle had died in a car accident. He's my uncle through marriage, but my uncle nonetheless, and I can't possibly imagine what my aunt is going through. We don't know details, nor when services will be or anything like that. Right now, it seems cold to even think about it. All I know is that our family lost someone that we hold dear, and just before Christmas at that. I know there's no good time to lose someone, but this is just shitty. 

I've experienced a decent amount of loss this year, and many others have suffered far more loss than I can possibly imagine. I can only hope that 2013 is a little kinder to those in my life. I hope it's kinder to us all.

Be thankful for your loved ones, and hold them close this time of year. Be grateful for the time you have with them and how they've touched your lives. It can be over far too quickly.

A Letter You'll Never Read

Dear Friend,

It's been awhile, I know.  I'm pretty sure the last conversation we had was just in passing.  Probably something like

"Hey, how's it going?"

"Good, you?"

"Pretty good!"

"Good, good."

The last "real" conversation we had was probably over 10 years ago.  Maybe even closer to 15.  I guess that at a certain point, living next door to someone doesn't necessarily keep a friendship going.  At some point, life gets in the way, what with hobbies and school activities and dates and...  You know.  All that stuff.

I remember being kids together, though.  

I remember spending hours running through the sprinkler and eating Popsicles at the yellow and orange plastic picnic table in my back yard (the same one we used as a platform to climb the tree, before we were tall enough to climb it on our own).  

I remember digging in our parents' gardens, looking for worms.  We'd put them in a bucket and at the end of the day, we'd put them back in the gardens.  We never had a purpose.  We never needed one!

I remember when I got chicken pox in Kindergarten.  You and your sister were younger than I was, and your mom wouldn't let you into my yard to play with me since I was probably contagious.  So instead you both blew bubbles from your yard into my yard so I could run around and try to pop them.

I remember putting two chairs together on my parents' porch, seat to seat, so we could lay down together.  We were playing house and we were married, and even though it was completely innocent (because we were too young for it to be anything else), my parents made us put the chairs back and promise not to do it again.

I remember coming over to your house to play with your sister, and then winding up in the basement playing video games with you for hours.  We were always closer in age anyway, I just think we figured at that age that boys went to play with boys and girls went to play with girls.  

I remember the time you made up a song about your "thing" and pulled down your pants.  Yep.  Bet you wish I forgot about that one, huh?  

I remember hours of SPUD in the street, playing until the street light came on.  But not the electric hum.  "The light's not on yet!" we'd always argue.  It was only minutes until the light flickered to life, but those extra minutes were precious.

I remember losing my first tooth at your house.  I was showing your sister how loose it was and it just plopped into my hand.  I'm not even sure you were there for that.

I remember when I realized you had gotten really cute, and that's probably about when we stopped hanging out.  I just didn't know how to act anymore, and I knew (thought, anyway) we were getting too old for worm hunting and blowing bubbles at each other.

I remember seeing you at school sometimes.  You were always younger, so we never ran in the same circles, but we at least had the good mind to smile and nod in acknowledgment.

I remember seeing you walking past our house, heading to the park to shoot hoops (because you couldn't use ours anymore; the smiles and nods had mostly stopped).  You'd dribble past the house - sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend - and my parents would wave to you.  You were always so polite about it, greeting them in return.  That was nice.

I remember when your dad died.  A car accident.  I remember being away at college when my parents called to tell me.  I came home for the weekend so I could at least go to the visitation.  Dad and I were never great at handling grief, and we quietly cracked morbid jokes to one another to ease the pain.  We'd never see him as Uncle Sam at the annual 4th of July bike parade again.  He'd never stop by to watch the Packers again.  The concept was unreal.

I'll admit that I haven't given you a whole lot of thought since then.  I heard you went to college, and I'm sure you did great.  You were always popular, so I'm sure you had friends and girlfriends galore.  Our parents still live next door to each other, but we may as well have been on different planets.

I would see you occasionally, out mowing the lawn or heading to the park with a basketball, but as adults, our polite salutations were just something we did.  You could've been any other adult in the neighborhood.  So could I.

Hey.  It happens.

And then yesterday, the memories came flooding back as clearly as if it all happened yesterday.  Funny how that happens, right?  You don't realize what you remember until it just hits you.

Last night, I called my parents to ask if they had heard.  My dad said, "I know we've always told you that life's not fair, but this is pushing it."  My mom and I agreed.  We didn't have adequate words, but we knew it didn't feel fair.

We can't imagine what your brother and sister are going through, but most of all, we cannot fathom what kind of Hell your mom is experiencing.  She already lost her husband to a car accident.  Now, she had lost her son the same way.  Dad said, "If she didn't have two other children, I might have done her a favor and brought her a handgun, because I don't know how you get up the next day, and the day after..."

Your mom is a strong woman.  I won't lie; sometimes, I wasn't a big fan of her.  I'm sure you felt that way about my mom sometimes, too.  It's just the way things go.  But I do know she's strong, because she's been through Hell.  But I can't imagine the strength it will take to get through this.  I hope you help her, because she's going to need it.  Your siblings can only do so much.  Watch out for her, OK?

Well, I just wanted you to know that I'll miss you.  It doesn't matter that we barely spoke anymore, or that it has been years since we were really friends.  I'll miss you anyway.  You gave me some great childhood memories that I will cherish as long as I can.  I hope you recall them as fondly as I do.

Lots of other people will miss you, too, so I'll let them have their turn to tell you.  Take care up there.

With love,

Erika

P.S. Tell your dad I said hi.

Scary Stuff

And no, I'm not talking about Halloween kind of scary.

One of my best friends was in a car accident this week.  For the most part, she's OK, but she's understandably shaken up and is sore from the impact.  I wish it hadn't happened, but I'm certainly glad it wasn't worse.

The first time I really remember someone close to me being in a car accident was one of my aunts.  As I remember the story (it was a long time ago now), she was on her way to work and caught a red light at an intersection.  The light turned green and, naturally, she went.  So what happened, you ask?  An ambulance that was coming up to the newly red light at this same intersection got a call.  They hit their lights and continued through the intersection, t-boning my aunt.  Yep.  My aunt was hit by an ambulance.  Of course, then they had to send another ambulance to help, since that ambulance was clearly out of commission.  My aunt broke part of her spine and had to wear a halo for something like 6 months.  Thankfully she's doing fine these days, but needless to say, she was wary of that intersection for quite awhile.

Of course, I had friends get into fender-benders in high school, but nothing that really sticks out in my mind as especially bad.  The next big car accident I can recall was when one of my parents' neighbors fell asleep behind the wheel (at a stop sign, I think) and died.  I'd grown up with his kids, and he had been the Uncle Sam in our neighborhood's 4th of July parade for years.  I remember going to the wake with my parents, and I realized that Dad and I have a very defense mechanism in those types of situations.  We make jokes.  Not loud enough that others can hear, since we don't want to be disrespectful, but it's how we cope with things so that we don't fall apart.

I, fortunately, was not in an accident until about 3 years ago.  In fact, it would've been this coming weekend in 2008.  A few friends and I were headed to Six Flags for Fright Fest.  We were about to make the left turn to get to the park entrance, but the traffic was crazy.  The friend who was driving wasn't sure when she'd be able to go, and there wasn't a turn arrow to be found.  A moment of opportunity came up and she started to go, but hesitated.  One passenger was yelling, "Go!  Go!" and another was screaming, "Wait!  Stop!" and by the time the driver made a decision, it was too late.  The first car we thought was going to hit us managed to swerve out of the way.  The car behind that, though, hit us dead on in the rear passenger door, right where I was sitting.

If you've ever been in an accident, you've probably experienced a lot of the same things I/we did.  First, to this day I can't remember the actual impact.  I remember seeing the car coming, tensing up, and then I remember the feeling of the car being spun around me (since I was kind of at the pivot point), but not the actual point of impact.  When the car stopped, it took about a minute for me to realize that my glasses we no longer on my face.  In fact, they were behind me.  Next, the friend sitting right next to me (in the middle, cushioned between two of us) and I realized that our ponytails had come out.  Yep, the force caused our hair ties to come loose.  One of us called 911 while the driver called her insurance company.  None of us seemed particularly hurt, so we didn't request an ambulance.  One came through later, and my boyfriend (now my hubby), who had come to pick me up, told me he wanted me to get checked out, but it wasn't there for us anyway.  

We had to sit around at the gas station on the corner of the intersection for hours.  It turned out that I had kicked my left leg with my right leg and given myself a nice bruise.  There was also a scrape on my arm, and it might've been a bit swollen, but aside from that and a headache, all seemed well.  Since I took the brunt of the impact, everyone was even less damaged than I was.  I won't go into details, because it was a LONG afternoon, but we eventually decided to forget about Six Flags and just call it a day.  

The next morning when I woke up, my entire body hurt.  I have never in my life felt so stiff and achy.  I was walking like Frankenstein for the better part of the day, and it felt like someone rammed a pole straight up my spine.  Don't even get me started on my neck...  Aye yi yi.  I'm sure some people do fake whiplash, but when it's for real, that shit HURTS.

Looking back, I probably should've gotten checked over after the accident, just to make sure everything was OK.  Fortunately, I healed up after a few weeks and was back to normal.  Well, physically.  Even now, when I'm in the passenger side of a car and we make a left turn with oncoming traffic, I tense up and hold my breath.  I don't do it on purpose, really.  I think my body just doesn't want to feel that pain again, so it's become a knee-jerk reaction.      

For anyone interested, the driver of the car that hit us was really shaken up (she couldn't have been older than 16 or 17), but otherwise alright.  Both cars were pretty much totaled (I had to climb out the other passenger door to get out, since mine was partially caved in), but all the people involved were relatively unscathed.  

Since then, I've been in two "accidents." The first was when I was driving from Milwaukee to Madison at night in a snow storm.  I was going maybe 25 MPH on the interstate when my phone rang.  It was my mom, and I didn't want her to worry, so I answered.  "Where are you?"  "Crashing.  Can I call you back?"  I grazed a guard rail, which was not the best thing that could've happened, but certainly wasn't the worst. 

The other was a situation where Hubby was at a stop sign, about to turn, and got rear-ended by a minivan.  Fortunately, the only damage was a small part of the van (like part of the headlight, maybe) and no one was hurt.  Phew.

Moral of this post?  Buckle up, kids!  It can get bumpy out there...