A person cannot survive for very long in a state of high anxiety. I was in that state for several days this past week. It is exhausting. Last Friday, I went to an ENT because of an earache I have had for about 7 weeks. It is annoying, sometimes extraordinarily painful, but definitely not debilitating. After rounds of antibiotics and steroids, still it lingers. My internist thought, perhaps, that I would need a tube in my ear, a seemingly ridiculous thing for someone almost 60 years old.
So, on Friday, I visited the ENT. Prior to my visit I received a letter from his office. They are very firm about being on time. "Be here 15 minutes early, if you are late you may have to reschedule, if you do not have x-rays, MRI results, doctor's referral with you, you may have to reschedule, have all your papers filled out before arriving or you may have to reschedule, your appointment is from 3:00 until 3:30." Wow!! I was a nervous wreck that I would be late. Of course, I remembered the 3:30 time and not the 3:00 time and was on the phone with my daughter-in-law as I left the house and, unthinkingly, took the absolutely worst route. So, now, as I sit in construction traffic in the heart of Green Hills with only 13 minutes left to get there by 3:00 (I have since looked at the letter), I am developing a terrible headache. For those who do not know me well, I never, ever go anywhere late unless there is a dire emergency. My heart is pounding, I am certain my blood pressure is out the roof. I arrive at 2:58, and am walking into the office apologizing profusely for not being 15 minutes early. The receptionist, very nonchalantly, says, "no problem. He's running a little late, himself."
Seriously, this receptionist is the master of understatement. I generally do not mind waiting for a doctor. I understand they can get behind, and run into circumstances they were not anticipating. But, when they send such a strict letter, I do not expect to wait very long. At about 4: 20, I am finally called back...to the next waiting room. The nurse is sweet, but quite giggly, and I am not in a giggly mood at this point. In fact, I may have sent out a vibe of unfriendliness. At 4:40, Dr. Doogie Houser walks in. This man looks to be about 15 years old. He does not apologize for being late. He launches into some questions about my "condition," half-heartedly (in my opinion) tries to see my tonsils and the back of my tongue, pokes around my neck, and promptly says, "well, this could be several things...thyroid cancer, tongue cancer, tonsil cancer or TMJ." Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat? I thought I needed a tube in my ear to drain it.
Doogie continues to explain, seemingly with enthusiasm, about my potential situation. Of course, all I am hearing is the word "cancer," and my mind races with all the horrors that conjures. He suggests a contrast CT scan, and goes on to explain that tongue and tonsil cancer are mainly caused by smoking with HPV being the second highest cause of tonsil cancer. I'm thinking doesn't he need to ask me a couple of questions, like, "do you smoke? Do you sleep around?" Something!! He did finally ask about the smoking, and I inquired if 1/2 pack of cigarettes, 2 cigars, and a corncob pipe of hackberry leaves in 59 years constitutes being a smoker. It does not. He never asked about my potentially rampant promiscuity. Later I asked my daughter, the nurse, why he did not delve a little deeper into the HPV angle, and she said that medical professionals do not ask those questions anymore because people lie.
Little Miss Giggles asked when I wanted to have the CT scan, and I said as soon as possible. She said that she could not do anything at that point because the imaging center was closed. Yeah, of course it is. If he had seen me during my 3:00 - 3:30 appointed time it would not have been too late. I do not say that outloud because even though the stress is about to get to me, I still have enough sense to know that my fate (at least for the CT appointment) is in her hands. We set up an 11:30 appointment on Wednesday to follow a CT scan, hopefully to be scheduled at 10:45. So, I leave, call Mr. Lincoln, who does not answer his phone so I call him again, and again, until he answers then says, "I'm in a meeting at church," and hangs up. I do talk to MP, and she is helpful. I seriously need to talk to Mr. Lincoln. He finally calls me back and I pour it all out on him. Someone said something like, "joys shared are doubled and sorrows shared are halved." That is a very true statement, and so, now that Mr. Lincoln knew, I could relax, a little.
All my growing up years, I was taught the scriptures. Philippians 4: 6 ~ "Do not be anxious about anything..." That was drilled into our heads, but the understanding I was left with was the same as a parent who says, "stop that crying, or I'll give you something to cry about!!" I always felt it was God saying, "do not be anxious, or I'll give you something to be anxious about!!" Fortunately, I have since learned that I do not have to feel guilty on top of my anxiety. What a relief.
On Monday, I called the doctor's office to see if an appointment had been made yet for my CT. Nope, not yet. They assured me that they would let me know. I did not hear a word the rest of that day. On Tuesday, I receive a call from the doctor's office, a formality, telling me that I have an appointment at 11:30 on Wednesday, to please arrive 15 minutes early, and if I'm late I may have to reschedule. Really? So I call, explain my situation, she tries to find Miss Giggles but she cannot. She then assures me that she will talk to the nurse. Terrific. Finally, at 4:30 she calls and the appointment has been set. My insurance company is balking over the test. Can you blame them? My back surgery alone last year was $125,000. We had met our family deductible by 3:00 am on January 1, 2010. I am starting to be a bad risk for them.
Mr. Lincoln agrees to go with me, because if I get any dire news, I need him to be there to tell Doogie that I want to see another doctor. I am too big a wimp to do that on my own. I am not stressed over the CT scan until the imaging center calls and says not to eat anything for four hours before the test. Okay, don't eat? This is serious. I make a huge mistake. I google "Contrast CT Scan." Oh, the horror stories are unbelieveable. So, now I am truly freaking out. I figure I am going to have an allergic reaction to the dye, swell to 3 times my normal size and be vomiting and itching for the next 2 years.
If only it weren't too late, I would make a long story short, but after the CT scan with no bad reactions, an endoscopy in the doctor's office, Miss Giggles being totally accommodating and professional, Doogie sounding knowledgeable and interested, I learned that mainly things are fine. I still have yet to hear from the radiologist about a density on one tonsil, but chances are it is nothing serious. I have a friend who said he hoped they just learned that the "denseness" was caused by blondeness. I assured him that, like Dolly Parton, I am not really blonde.
Well, I still have an earache. I did ask Doogie if a CT scan could detect hypochondria because I am beginning to feel that must be my ailment. Mr. Lincoln, jokingly, said that I was just looking for attention. Next time, I will find something less expensive, less scary, and less time consuming. So, still I wait for the final word, and will probably have to see yet another doctor if the pain does not go away. But, I am so thankful to a God who says, "do not be anxious," not because he is going to zap me if I am, but rather because "he's got it, don't worry." I am thankful for a husband who is kind and attentive, but who does not baby me. I am thankful for friends who cared, inquired and prayed about my tests and the results, and who be there the next time I need them. I am thankful for good test results.
So for today, I wish you thanksgiving, good health, and
blessings
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