They Examined My Head and Found Nothing

I have a strange form of hypochondria. I rarely think I'm sick, but when I do get even subtle symptoms, I assume it's catastrophic. Last year my PSA was high, and I was sure I'd be joining Frank Zappa and Dan Fogelberg in the club of men who die in their 50s from prostate cancer. Later on, I had unusual indigestion, and was sure I was following Steve Jobs into the abyss of pancreatic cancer. So last month, I started getting headaches. They were mild, and I mentioned them to Dr. Dave. He listened to their pattern, and wasn't too concerned. If they persisted, he said, he would follow up. Well, they did, so I emailed my neighbor Jose, who is the head stroke neurologist at UM. I asked him for a good general neuro at the U. Jose is a prince. He took a history, and agreed with Dr. Dave the headaches didn't sound serious. Still, he said, maybe he'd come over and give me a look. He did, on a Sunday evening. D2 watched. The exam showed I was neurologically intact. I thanked him with a Billy Joel gift of wine: bottle of red, and a bottle of white. Jose also said if they didn't go away, he suggested a follow up. Well, they persisted, and I emailed Jose. He set me up for a MRI and MRA, which is an angiogram of the vessels. I had to make sure my liver and kidneys were ok for the contrast, and they were. I went in last night for my first ever exam of that type. I popped a xanax to ward off the claustrophobia, and the lovley young tech offered me some headphones, asking my music preference. I said "Rock, I guess." As she slid me into the metal tube, Lou Reed sang "Sweet Jane." Wow. Who knew the Applebaum MRE Center had such progressive music tastes? The test lasted an hour, and the thing makes almost comically industrial banging noises. They de tubed me, and injected the contrast solution. More banging and humming, with some Pretenders playing when the noise allowed. The xanax made the whole time bearable -- even kind of surreal. They handed me a CD of the studies, and I went home. Jose had emailed me telling me to drop off the CD at his house, but I missed the message. So I popped the disc in my computer, and looked, and started to panic. It seemed there were all kinds of scary marks, and shadows. I knew I was a goner. I just wasn't sure if it was a tumor or an aneurysm. I called my friend Kenny, a radiologist. He didn't answer. I called Dr. Barry and tried to email the films to him. It wouldn't work. I started doing my mental checklist of life insurance, estate papers, etc...All were in order. I called Jose, and he was on his way to UM. He said he'd check the films when he got to his office. I sat with the strange rescue dog, and gave her instructions about taking care of the family when I was gone. She nodded in acknoledgment. And then Jose called. The films were normal. Since he's an academic doc, he typically sees BAD stuff. He said mine were a nice change -- normal studies. He said I'd have another 50 years. We wished each other a happy Rosh Hashanah (he's a Mexican Jew). I thanked him profusely, and rushed out to send his family a fruit arrangement for a sweet new year. We're screwed up -- all of us. My friend Joel, of sharp intellect and keen sense of human nature, said "Your Dad dropped dead in your arms when you were 20, and you're afraid you're going to do the same to your girls, who you love more than you love life itself." He's right. I called Barry and Eric and Paul. Barry was kind enough to show me the perspective I USUALLY have --via a 10 year old patient of his who DOES have a terminal brain tumor. Well, as the year ends and a new one begins, I have my demons to work out. Anxiety is the worst. I envy people who isolate themselves from good friends and family -- who stay only on the surface, and never love so deeply that these fears don't arise. Nah! Not really. With living and loving comes pain. I'm just thrilled, and blessed, that my pain is psychic, and not organic. Thanks, Big Man.