Cancer, Herpes, and a Root Canal

I love being married.  It's like I have all the same things to do that I always have had, but sometimes, they magically turn up done...without me doing them.  Like my breakfast being made when I go to leave for work, or the laundry being done or the dishes being washed when I get home from work.

Nevertheless, balancing my 32 kids at school, the 3 year old Sunbeams I teach at church, and just the everyday things like, you know, getting dinner made, seems to have thrown me over the edge.  I have been sick more times since meeting Paul than probably all the years I've been away from home...combined.  What is it about change that does that to a person?

Anyway, a few weeks ago my being sick reached an all-time high.  My mouth started hurting, my throat started swelling up, and I got a horrible fever somewhere between 100-103 degrees.  When Paul asked me what was wrong I said, "Honey, I think I have cancer."

Something like that, minus the smiling or course.

"Why would you say that?!"

"Paul, I have never been sick this much.  I never get sick.  I have been sick FIVE TIMES this year.  That probably means that something went horribly wrong in my body and I have cancer, and I'm going to die."

"You don't have cancer and you are not going to die."

"How do you know?!"

Because after lying in bed all day with a fever, what else am I to conclude?  A totally healthy person with Viking blood gets sick five times in a row?  There's nothing it could be but cancer or something equally horrible.

And thanks to all the Lurlene McDaniel "Cancer Death Books" I read as a sixth and seventh grader (Six Months to Live, Don't Die My Love! and other equally riveting treasures) I knew exactly how this would play out.  I would be one of those tragic stories--a young woman, only 27, with everything a person could want in life, suddenly diagnosed with some type of lymphoma--when it had just seemed like a cold or flu.  Of course, the biggest tragedy was how horrible I was going to look bald with this big, round face of mine.

I know, you want to run to the library and get it, don't you?

While Paul was able to convince me that I probably didn't have cancer and didn't need to say goodbye to anyone just yet, I was still certain that all the sickness wasn't normal.  So, on Saturday, I dragged myself to a QuickCare...that didn't take my insurance.  I was so exhausted, I went home and took a two hour nap before calling the next place first to make sure they took my insurance before I tried again.  Finding they would take it, I drove myself over, pretty certain now that it was some type of infection that had started in my gums that was causing the fever.

I tried to explain that to the InstaCare folks, but would they even look in my mouth?  No.  They swabbed me for strep, tested me for mono, and told me that I probably needed to "rest and drink more water."  By the time I got to the car, I was hysterical.  "They just charged me $200 to tell me to drink more water!!!"

It is no secret that I hate doctors.  I typically think they are morons (Sorry Brett and Paul).  I feel like I have never had a good experience with a doctor to this point in my life.

It started in elementary school when I was getting horrible earaches.  My mom finally convinced me we should go see a doctor.  After waiting for what seemed like forever in the waiting room, they called me back.  The doctor asked a few questions, looked in my ears, said nothing was wrong, and told me I was probably just cold and should buy some earmuffs.

"What an idiot!"  I thought.  "We paid all this money so he could tell me to wear earmuffs?!"

And that was when I decided that doctors knew nothing.


I have been to the doctor as little as possible from then on, but the times I have had to go have not been any more reassuring.

My greatest fear in going to the doctor is not that there will be something wrong with me.  It's that there won't be anything wrong, and suddenly, I 'll be that same little kid being told to go buy earmuffs.  Which is exactly what happened.  Except this time I was supposed to drink more water.  Which would have made me less mad if they would have at least tried to listen and look at what I told them hurt.

And so, I went home and drank more water and slept some more.  But things didn't get better--they simply got worse.  Monday I stayed home from school and didn't even make sub plans or show up to my important presentation I was supposed to be giving.  I slept until 11:00 am, ate some food, and then went back to bed.  (If you know me, this is all clearly atypical behavior--probably a sign of imminent death.)

By Tuesday, I was able to get into an emergency appointment with a dentist.  After all, the pain was coming from my mouth.  Perhaps they would be more informative and less expensive than another doctor.

Dentist: "It was the top right that you said was hurting you, correct?"
Me: "No, the bottom left."
Dentist: "The bottom left?"
Me: "Yes."
Dentist: "Well then, I have bad news for you.  Because you have problems on the top right."

And so, there in my dental chair, I discovered that I did not have cancer.  I needed a root canal (top right) and I had herpes (bottom left).

"Herpes?!"

"Above the belt herpes!" he said reassuringly when he saw that look on my face that screamed, "But I can't have herpes!  I'm not that kind of person."

Apparently, 70-90% of adults have it and are carriers.  It's the same thing that causes cold sores.  If a person gets too stressed, it can manifest itself.  In my case, the symptoms were high fever, canker sores all over the inside of my mouth and tongue, sore throat, and swollen, bleeding gums.

Delightful.

"So, how do we fix it?" I asked, secretly pleading, "Please give me drugs, please give me drugs."
"Well," he said, pointing to the virus section he was showing me in his dental textbook, "It says here take Ibuprofen.  It'll clear up in 7-14 days."
"I don't have that long," I said.
"Well, the worst part is over," he reassured me.  "But, that bad news is, that top right part of your mouth?  You had a filling fall out and it looks like you now need a root canal."

True Story.

So, I didn't have cancer.  But I did have herpes (and now have the terror of a repeat performance if I ever get stressed again), and I certainly needed root canal--which frankly was nowhere near as horrible as the herpes.  At least they numbed me for the root canal.

Talk about some March Madness.

Now if I can never, ever get stressed again, we should be good to go.
"You were stressed?!" a mom at school asked me.  "What do you have to be stressed about?"
I know.  There is nothing to be stressed about ever again.

Except maybe doctors.

But let's look on the bright side.
After not being able to eat for so long, at least my pants fit again.