The Catalyst Headache

It all started when I had COVID in September. When I say "it", I'm just referring to a series of little events that added up to where I am this morning. I wish I had been writing about this all along because it would be easier to keep up, but here goes...

In September, I got a headache. I'd quit drinking coffee the day before, so I assumed it was due to the caffeine withdrawal (my caffeine withdrawal headaches are terrible and I always vow never to get hooked on coffee again, then I do). The next day, my throat felt like it was squeezing shut. This is very common because of my generalized anxiety.

The following day, my headache was still persistent but my throat had gotten much worse--it was to the point that I *knew* I was getting sick. The telltale sign for me is always a sore throat. Sure enough, I got more symptoms and was down and out for a few days. It wasn't terrible, but definitely not fun. The worst part was my persistent headache and throat that just felt like I was being strangled.

I had been taking a decongestant around the clock with COVID so that I wouldn't get a sinus infection. I was happy that I never did--but my sinuses felt totally dry and I assumed that's what was causing my headache.

The headache actually started to get even worse. It wasn't excruciating or migraine-like, but it was there, non-stop, 24/7. I started taking more and more ibuprofen, 800 mg at a time, and it was barely touching it. I couldn't sleep. I got really moody because the headache was so persistent and I just wanted a break. I compare it to having a conversation with an adult and your young child keeps tugging on your pants saying "Mama, mama" trying to get your attention the whole time and you just don't want to interrupt the conversation.

Soon my whole face was hurting, particularly my jaw, my temples, forehead, and behind my eyes. After a couple of weeks, I knew it couldn't be the caffeine. COVID was long gone. My jaw was hurting so badly that I decided to go to the dentist. I'd been avoiding the dentist ever since Eli had oral surgery last December and woke up in the middle of it, feeling every single thing the oral surgeon was doing to remove his impacted wisdom teeth.

When I'd been sick, I was eating popsicles around the clock because they helped my throat. And the teeth on the right side of my face were SO sensitive to the cold. This wasn't totally new, and the dentist knew about it but couldn't find a problem, so I'd just been using toothpaste for sensitive teeth (Tom's actually works pretty well for that!). 

Anyway, I had a nagging feeling that I had a bad tooth or something. The hygienist took x-rays and said she didn't see anything on the x-rays, but it's possible I had a hairline fracture or something (which sounded terrible to me). And sure enough, upon inspection, she noticed a very small crack in my (#31) molar (the one farthest back on the lower right side).

The dentist said he could put a crown on it, but referred me to an endodontist because he said I should be evaluated to see if I need a root canal first. I had a root canal and crown in 2016 and I was terrified to ever have to get another crown (honestly, the root canal was easier than the crown). He said since I was having a lot of pain, there was a good chance I'd need the root canal--otherwise, I might still have pain with the crown.

I wanted to do nothing. Pretend that I never went to the dentist. Pretend that my tooth was fine. How did I chew ice for like 15 years and never get a crack, then quit a year and a half ago and my tooth gets fractured? While I don't grind my teeth, I do clench my jaw a lot when my anxiety is bad, which could be the cause. But the dentist said if I did nothing it would likely get infected, possibly causing an abscess and a much bigger problem than a root canal and crown.

As much as I wanted to ignore the problem, my constant headache was so bad at that point that I just made the appointment with the endodontist and hoped I at least wouldn't need a root canal. After having a severely broken jaw in 2010 (the surgeon said it was the worst broken jaw he'd ever seen), needing two reconstructive surgeries, and having my jaws wired shut for six weeks, you would think that maybe my bad luck with my teeth was over. But that would be too easy! It caused a dental phobia, and I always dread going to the dentist.

Anyway, the endodontist was SO kind. After taking more x-rays and examining my tooth, he told me the worst news yet... he said that he was pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to save my tooth at all. He said that if I wanted, he could start the root canal and try to save the tooth, but from his experience he didn't think it would work. He recommended extracting the tooth altogether.

The thought of it made me feel sick and I (embarrassingly) cried a little when he told me. Not only am I scared of any sort of dental work, I am now also scared of twilight sedation (which is what Eli had). I knew there was no way I could endure the extraction without the sedation though. He gave me a referral to an oral surgeon... and when I looked at it, it was the same surgeon Eli had had. I said there was absolutely no way I was seeing him, so he referred me to a different one.

Since the endodontist didn't think he could save my tooth I didn't want him to try, only to get halfway through a root canal before needing it extracted anyway. I wanted the least amount of procedures possible. So I called the oral surgeon and made an appointment for a consult, requesting IV sedation. I know people get extractions without sedation, but there was no way I could make it through that.

The oral surgeon was reassuring, especially when he took a panoramic x-ray and saw the plates in my jaw and learned how bad my dental phobia was. He was actually very surprised that I was never sedated when I got the arch bars removed (the metal things that held my jaw shut for six weeks) because it's such a painful procedure. (I compare it to flossing with wire as thick as a paperclip.) I told him about Eli and he assured me that he's never had that happen to a patient before.

The panoramic x-ray looks pretty cool, right?!

He also gave me more bad news. He explained that he highly recommended an implant where I'd be missing a tooth--not for cosmetic reasons, but because my jaw bone could start to degrade and cause a whole host of problems with my other teeth.

At this point, I was just so overwhelmed with all that was happening. It all started with a headache, and now I needed a tooth extracted and implant to replace it, followed by a crown? I asked a ton of questions about the procedure and if he could do it at the same time as the extraction (if I was already going to be sedated, I'd rather get it done in one procedure instead of two) and he said yes--it'll only take another 10-15 minutes.

My headache was still 24/7 (I'm not exaggerating when I say that) and I was desperate for relief. I made the appointment for the (very expensive) dental procedure. And in about three hours from now, I'll be getting IV sedation, having a tooth extracted and replaced with an implant. It has to heal for three months, and then I'll have to get a crown.

My anxiety is through the roof right now. I know this may sound like no big deal to most people, and why am I so worried about a stupid dental procedure? Most people haven't experienced a broken jaw I have and I feel like my fear is legit. But I will do anything to get rid of this headache. I've had to eat on the left side of my mouth for two months (which feels very unnatural) and avoid anything cold. I've been stress-eating and have gained 12(!) pounds in two months. I just want to get this over with and hopefully get back to normal.

Soooo, that's where I am at right now. I hope the next time I write, it'll be without a headache and the extraction and implant will have been uneventful and boring. Here goes nothing...

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The One Where Phoebe Crossed the Rainbow Bridge

I hate that this is the first post I've written in a while, because it's a sad one for me. The last couple of months have just plain sucked, and I have been avoiding writing until I have something positive to say. But I can't skip over this one.

Noah called me on Saturday morning and said that he was really worried about Phoebe. She was hiding in his closet, not wanting to be social, very lethargic... not at all like her. She also looked very skinny (she was already a skinny cat and couldn't afford to lose any weight). Her fur was looking clumpy. All of these things had happened a few years ago as well, and I'd been sure she was at death's door. I even made the appointment to have her euthanized and we all said our goodbyes to her.

Saying goodbye to her a few years ago

Then, the morning of the appointment, she suddenly started eating again and she perked up a lot. So, we waited. And she got better! Back to normal Phoebe. She's done that to us a couple of times over the last few years, so when Noah called me, I wasn't *too* worried. If it hadn't been Saturday, I probably would've waited a day or two to take her to the vet. But if something was wrong, I really didn't want it to happen while the vet was closed on Sunday.

Noah had an appointment, but I asked his girlfriend, Rose, if she wanted to go with me. She ADORES Phoebe. She has spoiled her rotten over the last year and Phoebe was super attached to Rose. I thought that if this was the end of the road for Phoebe, she'd want Rose there too.

When they weighed Phoebe at the vet, I was stunned. She was only 3.5 pounds (down from 5.5 a couple of months ago). She looked like a skeleton with fur. Normally, she would have meowed the whole way to the vet and then fought her way to stay in her carrier instead of getting examined, but she seemed like she was just so tired and didn't care what was happening.

The vet said her kidney disease had progressed to the point that there was really nothing we could do. They could give her fluids, which would probably help for a couple of days, but then we'd be back in the same spot. And I could tell Phoebe was in pain--it was even hard for her to walk. I asked the vet what she would do if it was her cat, and she gently said that euthanizing her would probably be the most loving thing we could do for her at that point.

She left Rose and I to talk it over and we were devastated. We ultimately agreed that it was what was best for Phoebe. The last thing I wanted was to be with her when the vet gave her the meds because I knew it would crush me, but again--I wanted to do what was best for Phoebe and I wanted her to feel loved until the very end.

In 2009, one of the women in a MOMS Club that I belonged to said her sister had a stray cat that needed a home. We had just one cat at the time--Chandler--and we decided to take her. She was about a year old and had just gotten spayed (she was pregnant at the time, which breaks my heart). We realized she must have had a rough life--she was missing half of her tail and she had a bb embedded under her skin. The way her tail was bent at the end felt like maybe it had been slammed in a door.

This was the day we brought her home

She was extremely skittish around people (which was understandable) but over time, she warmed up to us. She and Chandler were buddies, too. 

She desperately wanted to be an outdoor cat (coming and going as she pleased) and we let her do that for the first few years. One time, though, she was gone for a long time. I was sure she'd been eaten by a coyote or something in the woods across the street. She obviously made it home alive, but that was probably the closest to death she'd ever experienced. I wrote all about it in this post: "And Then There Were Three". After that, she was strictly an indoor cat, unless we brought her outside on her leash. She was notorious for sneaking out, though!

My absolute favorite thing about Phoebe was this sort of "sixth sense" that she had. I have had a lot of cats in my lifetime, but none of them were as intuitive to others' emotions like Phoebe. She was SO empathetic. Any time she sensed that I was upset about something, she became very insistent about being as close to my face as possible. It was like she could stare right into my soul. She wanted to curl up on my chest and rub her face on mine. It didn't matter where she was in the house or what she was doing; if she heard me crying, she would run to me. I felt a special bond with her because of that.

After my skin removal surgery (and my jaw surgeries), she was glued to my chest

And that's why I wanted to be with her when she went to sleep for the final time. I let Rose hold her on her lap and I just kept stroking her head and telling her it was okay. I wanted to comfort her like she always comforted me. Then the vet pushed the meds into her catheter and I could see her instantly relax. She rested her head in my hand. The vet listened for her heartbeat and told us she was "at peace".

I know that it was best for her, but it was still so hard to do. Phoebe was the cat that just kept coming back. Honestly, when I brought her to the vet that day, I was sure she'd get some fluids and turn right back into the old Phoebe, having given us all a scare again.

I am so glad that we made the decision to let her live with Noah and Rose over the last year. She was SO happy there as an only pet. She didn't have Chick and Duck pestering her all the time and she'd gotten her appetite back. She even gained a little weight. Whenever I visited her, she seemed so content, which made me happy. And I loved to see how spoiled she was.

It's so hard to believe that she was 18 years old. I've never had a pet live that long; Chandler was 14 when he died. Estelle is now 17 and Joey is 11. Where does the time go?

I really will try to write soon, even if I don't have anything positive to say right now. xo

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