Hope for the Whooshers

When I was younger, my mother used to call me a turtle. She said I was slow to action, but I would eventually get things done. I have learned many lessons from turtles in my life, especially "slow and easy wins the race."

One of my favorite quotes of all time is:

"The strongest of all warriors are these two--time and patience."
~ Leo Tolstoy

Yes, patience--the great turtle shows us the way. With enough time, you can, in fact, get from Point A to Point B. And just when you least expect it, you're there. Perhaps you even won the race.

I spent an hour and forty minutes inside of an MRI machine yesterday morning. They took pictures of my brain, my vascular system, and my auditory system. And yes, it was LOUD. Even with earplugs and padding around my head and a goofy head guard thing, I could still hear it clanking around.

Shoved into my very tiny tube (I'm almost surprised I fit!), I relaxed with the power of many Xanax and lack of sleep or caffeine. I blipped in and out of consciousness. I could hear someone far away telling me how long each test would take, but I could barely hear her over the roar of the machine and my ear whoosh. They gave me a dose of dye in an IV, but thankfully, it wasn't the kind of dye that made me hot all over like the CT angiogram. I didn't even notice this dye. In fact, I barely noticed anything. Thank GAWD for all that Xanax.

My parents were with me as my guardians, and they read all the paperwork about not letting me sign any legal documents, drive, cook, or do anything that requires thought for the rest of the day. They patiently waited in the waiting room and then we all ate together in the hospital cafeteria. Then it was off to see The Doctor. I need a new name for him. I think I shall call him Dr. Whooshsaver for the moment. (For all you whooshers who want to know his name, I will ask if I can out him eventually.)

First I met with Dr. Whooshsaver's assistant for the day who listened to my ear with his stethoscope and heard nothing. Sigh. Then he checked all of my pulse points to make sure my blood was flowing all the way through my body. He even checked my feet. Dr. Whooshsaver is a vascular surgeon and all. We went through my history and then waited for the Main Man.

And then I almost died of happiness.

See, Dr. Whooshsaver has seen and treated the whoosh before. WTF?! This wasn't a highly unusual thing that he'd never heard of?? But why not? No other doctors seem to know what it is!! Then Dr. Whooshsaver let me in on a little secret about doctors: They like to fix problems. Obvious problems. People like me? I'm no easy fix. So that means they might push me aside for someone with a tree sticking out of her head and blood all over the place. I was instantly reminded of Grey's Anatomy and all of the doctors fighting over the "good" cases, like the really big tumors. I totally got it. It made sense. I don't want to be bored at work, either. And since I'm not fainting or having migraines from the whoosh, it's not as appealing as it could be. But Dr. Whooshsaver is STILL going to take me on. And maybe fix me.

He said there were a number of options. If it's a small vein that isn't needed, we could take it out. Maybe we could put in a balloon. It might be as simple as needing a tube. He rattled off all kinds of options while I stared at him in my Xanax haze. I swear he got a small halo above his head and started glowing. I almost cried, but I held it in.

So he's going to send me to his ENT friend (been there, done that, but will do it again because I trust Dr. Whooshsaver). Then we're going to do a Doppler something--like a sonogram on my neck. He asked me to push on my neck to make it stop. Then he came over and pushed around until it stopped. He said it was a GOOD thing that I can pinpoint the location of stopping it--it will give us clues.

And then I was off to come home and recuperate from my long day. I will meet up with the ENT within the next month and then go to see Dr. Whooshsaver after he has met with his colleagues on the Lifesaver Team.

I had a spring in my step as we walked to the car. I was SO HAPPY. I had hope. For the first time in four years, I had hope. Now I'll be honest--if Dr. Whooshsaver says he has to cut open my brain and that it might not work or something, I might pass. I might still be living with this whoosh for the rest of my life.

But he listened. And he's going to try.

That's all I wanted. I've been screaming in an open field for four years with nothing but the sound of my own voice echoing back at me. But he heard me. He really heard me.

In celebration, I asked my parents to stop at a little shop on the way home. I wanted a reward for being proactive and taking a risk. I'm all about small rewards for a job well-done. It took an incredible amount of personal strength for me to contact this doctor AND crawl inside a tiny tube to have my head examined. So I bought the tiny turtle you see above. It cost $3. Rewards don't have to be big--they just have to be good. So now my little turtle is sitting next to me on the desk to remind me to climb out on cliffs and take risks. And that it's OK to take my time and go slowly if needed.

To all of my dear whooshers out there--I will certainly keep updating you on my progress (here and on whooshers.com). I can't promise us all a cure, but for today, just for a moment, let's all have hope together.

HOPE!

For all of my posts on ear whooshing, click here.