As I sit here and prepare my Yom Kippur blog, I am preparing you for a cleansing of my soul. For too long now, I have remained quiet, and I have gone high when they have gone low. I have feared the worst, but I now realize that I have lived the worst. In losing my children, I have experienced a mother’s greatest nightmare. With that being said, I am still here to tell the story. That story will be released this coming Sunday.
Just to keep you updated on my health from the last blog, I am thrilled to report that, just as Dr. Phil Bruder said, my hair is growing back. I am no longer shedding, and, while the Rogaine is requiring me to visit my aesthetician weekly, it is working along with my natural regrowth in bringing back my hair. I am so grateful to Dr. Bruder for assuaging my concerns like nobody else could.
A week ago Friday, as I was putting on my make-up and rejoicing that my follicular situation was improving, I noticed that I was numb in my lower left side of my lip, my left side of my tongue, and my left eyebrow. Catapulting back to my three C-sections and smiling at the numb tugging I experienced as they pulled my delicious Beanie Babies out, this numbness resonated. “What could possibly be happening now?” I inquired of my trusted confidantes. “Could this be part of the gift that keeps on giving, meaning my daughter’s father-in-law who twice dropped those drill bits down my jaw when he was performing root canals on me?” (This will be a part of Sunday’s cleansing).
A visit to my current and capable dentist told me that my teeth seemed okay, all things considered, but that my symptoms mimicked a problem stemming from the trigeminal nerve. She, quite out of character for her, told me that people kill themselves from the pain of trigeminal neuralgia, so she was hoping it wasn’t this. She agreed with a dear friend of mine that I should see my ENT, as my two invasive sinus surgeries have rendered me completely into permanent sinus inflammation, pain, and nerve pressure. Perhaps this is indeed the case, or, pardon my French, perhaps I haven’t been fucked with enough. Perhaps this is a brain tumor, MS, or the beginnings of this suicidal neuralgia.
This Wednesday, October 2nd, which is the birthday of my Daddy (of blessed memory), I will, yet again, be taking a day off from work. I will start the day at my ENT, continue on to my Primary Care Physician, and dance from there to a neurologist. Yes, neurologist, which, after oncologist, is probably the doctor people fear the most. I will hold my head high, as the warrior and not the victim, and I will pray that I will indeed be inscribed in The Book of Life for another year.
A Martini Toast 