Part 10 : This Is Spinal Tap

On the list of diagnostic procedures, the MRI was now checked off.

Seeing the inside of your brain is an interesting experience; seeing that something is wrong with it is another experience entirely. To actually see pieces of your brain that are literally deteriorating….it’s disquieting. Those images made everything I had been experiencing….the pain, the vertigo, the numbness, the loss of hearing and the use of one of my hands….all concrete. Those symptoms were always real, always frightening. But they were symptoms and nothing more. These images were tangible. This was something; no longer a theory. My brain, the hub that kept the clockwork of my body working in continuous harmony, was damaged, having been attacked by the very body it inhabited. That knowledge held some real gravity.

Based on the evidence revealed by the MRI, Dr. M. felt fairly confident that I did, in fact, have Multiple Sclerosis. Everything fit; there were no holes in this theory…just in my brain. But Dr. M. didn’t mess around. She wanted to completely rule out every other possibility before settling on a final diagnosis, which meant more blood work and a spinal tap.

Ugh. A spinal tap. I’d heard the horror stories and the idea of my spinal column being tapped like some maple tree made me queasy. At least with the maple tree you can enjoy some nice pancakes afterward; I doubt spinal fluid pairs as nicely. As such, I gave into my anxieties and decided to postpone the procedure until after the holidays. It was just too daunting to face and I wanted to delay it as much as possible.

In hindsight, I should have just got it over and done with. If I thought putting the spinal tap off would make it easier to get through the holidays, I was sorely mistaken. I could think of nothing else over the next four weeks and therefore subjected myself to mistake number two: internet research on the procedure. Accounts of everything from horrible pain to spinal cord damage to paraplegia did nothing but amplify my fear. Though many credible medical sites cited these potential risks, they were rare and unlikely. Still, they happened. And that was enough for my anxiety to feed on.

The subsequent holidays were rough. I still hadn't fully regained the use of my left hand and I still had residual pain and numbness throughout the left side of my body. Still, I did my best to stumble through them as best I could. What else could I do? As the clock struck midnight on January 1, 2007, I closed my eyes and made a wish.

* * *

I would not be so foolish as to tempt fate by assuming that things could not possibly have gotten any worse at this point. But fate, it seems, could not simply let me be. The day before my spinal tap, left side of my body still numb and throbbing and left hand still not functioning, I awoke to discover the right side of my face was numb. Upon inspection in the mirror, the right side of my mouth was slightly drooping and when I tried rubbing my lips together, the right side did not move. I also noticed my right nostril didn’t move either, nor did my right eye. I couldn’t even blink it. The right side of my face was paralyzed.

I had just been Punk’d by the Universe. The Universe was off in a trailer somewhere, laughing with Justin Timberlake as they watched me on hidden camera. Fucking hilarious, guys. Seriously.

As my mind was searching for new expletives to do the situation justice, a thought occurred. Isn’t drooping on one side of the face a sign of a stroke? Ugh, was I really back to another stroke scare? I decided that, like before, this was another manifestation of my now-not-so-mysterious illness and since I was seeing Dr. M. first thing in the morning anyway, I would just let it go for today and hope for the best. That night, I had to Scotch-tape my right eye shut to get some sleep.

At 6:00am the next morning, I arrived at Dr. M’s office completely sleep deprived and with a sick feeling in my stomach. Forget butterflies, I had elephants parading through my tummy. I was escorted to the exam room and Nick and I were left alone while I changed into a gown. As I sat on the exam table waiting for Dr. M. to return, my fear finally got the better of me and I broke down sobbing. Uncontrollable, ugly, breath-stealing sobbing. I attempted to pull myself together before Dr. M. returned, but it was no use. I couldn’t stop the tears. I sat there crying as I once did, a frightened little girl who didn’t want to have to get a shot. As Nick hugged me, I felt juvenile. I was too old to behave this way. I told myself that I could handle this. I wasn’t entirely sure that I could, but I kept saying it to myself anyway. It didn’t help.

I was still crying when Dr. M. returned. When she asked what was wrong, all I could muster saying is “I’m scared”. When she asked what exactly I was afraid of, I realized I wasn't entirely certain. Pain? Something going wrong? Both? She then sat down with me and talked me through the entire procedure step by step….what to expect, what she would be doing and when, how long it would take and that she would be talking me through it every step of the way. Dr. M. explained that she’s done this procedure hundreds of times and was very comfortable with it. She also assured me that most people who come in for this procedure are pretty freaked out, but usually leave laughing. I wasn’t sure I bought that last bit, but her reassuring voice and her willingness to slowly and thoroughly talk me through this was comforting and I was able to catch my breath and cease the tears.

I sat on the table, legs folded with my back to Dr. M. Nick stood in front of me and I held his hands with a bone-cracking grip. Dr. M. was first going to numb the area and said I would feel a few tiny pokes and a bit of stinging as the numbing medicine went in. And she was right….the pokes I felt were very small, nothing I would even quantify as pain. As for the stinging, I didn’t really notice that either. But okay, that was just the numbing part. The long, hollow needle that would penetrate my spine would surely be felt.

After barely a minute, she checked to see if the area was numb by gently poking it with a small pin. I didn’t feel anything. We were ready to go. She told me to hold as still as possible and I held my breath, not daring to breath for fear I would move. I grasped Nick’s hands even tighter. Not a moment later, she told me the needle was in and that she was withdrawing the spinal fluid. And a moment after that, she said we were done.

She was kidding, that was it?? I didn’t feel anything! Not a poke or even any pressure. Nothing. I was starting to feel extremely sheepish. Also, I wanted to punch the people who told me their spinal tap was the most painful experience of their lives. Maybe it was. And maybe I just had the best damn doctor ever. Out of both embarrassment and extreme relief, I actually started to laugh. Dr. M. just smiled and with a wave of her hand said happily “See, I told ya!”

Dr. M and I briefly discussed the paralysis that had cropped up on the right side of my face, which she didn’t seem terribly surprised to see. She sympathized and gave me a look that clearly said “oh great, like you needed one more thing!” She told me not to stress, and that the only thing she was really concerned with was my right eye drying out. She gave me some eye ointment to use throughout the day and, with an affectionate pat on the shoulder, said that we’d follow up in a week to see how I was doing and review the results of the spinal tap.

Another hurdle now behind me, another fear conquered. I knew there was still more to come and that there were plenty of obstacles still ahead of me. But for now, I just breathed a sigh of relief and committed myself to movies in bed with Nick for the rest of the day.

Also, I was pretty confident I had earned an ice cream cone.