Underground scanning

Back to my story…

Two weeks after my consultation with the Maxillofacial doctor, I went for a bone scintigraphy scan. The scan was to be performed in the basement of the hospital. I walked down some red painted steps into a concealed underground hospital corridor. It was a world of large metal pipes and echoes. Since the scan involved radiation, I guess it was to be performed in an isolated area to protect other patients. The first step of the scanning procedure was an injection of radioactive dye. I was then asked to wait in a room with around twenty other people. The room was square, and painted a tired off-white colour. At the entrance to the room were two toilets. There were no posters on the walls. The perimeters of the walls were lined with plastic chairs. In one corner was a table covered with a plastic table cloth and large bottles of water and plastic cups. I was told to drink at least 5 cups of water, and to use the toilet as much as I needed to. I had to wait for the dye to travel in my blood stream around my body. I watched as people’s names were called. They were asked to go to the toilet, and then they would go out of the door of the waiting room for their scans. As time went on I watched as people started to become agitated with the long wait. One old man started to pace back and forth, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Another man positioned himself near the door, making himself very visible; seemingly hopeful to be the next person called. I waited for 5 hours.

The scan took about 20 minutes. The machine was white, and resembled an MRI scanner. At one end of the machine, there was a ring doughnut-shaped compartment. Positioned at the entrance to the centre of the doughnut hole, was a long examination table that had a groove that ran through the middle of it. I was asked to lie down on the table. My body slotted into the groove. My head was supported with a pillow, and another pillow was placed under my knees. I was then wrapped up in a blanket, with my arms hugging my body, and a belt was fastened around me. I imagined that my blanket-swaddled body resembled a snug fitting battery in a remote control battery compartment. The technologist positioned another part of the machine around my head, and then she went into a small room behind a glass screen and turned on the machine. The robotic arms of the machine rotated slowly around my head, making loud clicking sounds. Next the battery compartment started to move like a conveyor belt towards the entrance to the doughnut. I was transported inside the doughnut. I looked up and saw the top of the machine was only a few inches from my head. I focused my stare on a small area of the machine above my head, so as not to move, and to prevent my thoughts from drifting to contemplation of my confinement. More loud clicks followed, and more images were taken.

About a week after I had the scan, I met again with the new ENT (Ears Nose and Throat) specialist. He said he was happy to see me looking well, and asked if I was back at work yet. In my previous consultation he had been concerned about my well-being. I told him I hadn’t yet returned to work. He said I would have to try soon, but he was worried about me being in an environment with lots of noise, as he knew I’d find it difficult.

Then he changed the subject of discussion. He asked about my breathing; in particular whether I had any difficulties due to my deviated septum. He asked whether I breathe through my nose or my mouth. I was asked to sit in a big black chair opposite his desk. He then performed a Fiberoptic Nasopharyngoscopy. This is an imaging technique, using  a long thin black flexible wire with a light on the end, that is inserted into the nose. It can allow visualization of the nasal cavity, septum, and other structures. The specialist slowly fed the viewing tube down my good (right) nostril, until I could feel it brushing past my throat. My eyes started to water involuntarily. I remained in rigid stillness. This was a procedure that one of the other specialists had done before, so I knew the level and type of discomfort I would experience. Then he removed the tube and started to insert it into my deviated (left) nostril. This I had never had done before. He got as far as the top of my nostril; the furthest area you can touch with your finger. Then he stopped. He said the nostril was completely blocked due to deviation of my septum. But then, to my bewilderment, he continued to feed the tube into my nose; forcing it further down towards my throat. I was in extreme discomfort. My eyes continued to produce uncontrollable tears that streamed down my face. He carefully removed the tube. My body was shaking. The specialist told me that my left nostril was completely blocked. He said that I couldn’t breathe through this nostril – this I was obviously something I was aware of.

I then sat down again at his desk, more relaxed now, and he asked if I wanted to have an operation to correct my septum; that would help me breathe better. He said I would probably need the operation in the future anyway. I said I’d like to wait for the results of the jaw scan first, and then if everyone was OK with that, then I’d prefer to have the operation sooner rather than later. I thought it would be better to have an operation in the present, rather than in old age. Also, I’d like to be able to breathe better, especially when I’m trying to sleep. He said he thought this was a good plan. He said that correcting my breathing should help to make me feel more comfortable, and could possibly help with some of the stuffiness I was feeling in the left side of my head, since my hearing loss. I would meet him again in a month.

Two weeks after the bone scintigraphy I was back at the hospital for a consultation with a maxillofacial (jaw) specialist to get my results of the scan. I was going to find out whether I had Mandibular Condylar Hyperplasia (a rare bone disease that causes asymmetry of the face amongst other things). My boyfriend accompanied me for this appointment, as I was feeling nervous. The specialist explained that the results of the scan showed that I didn’t have the rare bone disease…Breathe…She said that it did however show deviation of my jaw. I was then led to the adjacent room where I sat in a dentist-style chair and she examined my jaw; asking me to open and close my mouth. She told me there was a problem with my jaw muscle. My boyfriend asked whether my problems with my ear could be related to my jaw issues. She answered discernibly carefully, saying that ‘the ear pressure could be associated with the jaw’. She wrote down recommendations of treatment for my jaw problems on a piece of paper for me:

  1. Go to a dentist and have a new night guard made. This would protect my teeth and jaw muscles from night-time clenching.
  2. Try taking Robaxisal (a muscle relaxant) for 5-10 day cycles. The specialist felt my jaw was probably in spasm. This medicine could help release some of the tension.
  3. Seek treatment from a specialist in craniofacial rehabilitation  – this is a type of physiotherapy for the jaw.

…Next stop the dentist…

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My first run – Starting to feel normal again

Six months after experiencing sudden sensorineural hearing loss in my left ear I decided I was ready to go for a run. My body had been through a lot during the past few months. The hearing loss had been a shock. I had felt frightened and helpless. My body had felt like a vessel used for experimentation; exploring the effects of different types of drugs on my condition: anti-inflammatories, nasal sprays, intravenous steroids, intravenous anti-viral medication, injections of steroids through my ear drum and different types of vasodilators. My body had felt delicate and vulnerable; I had experienced side effects of weakness, loss of weight, low blood pressure, tiredness and dizziness. But enough was enough; I wanted to start to feel more normal again. I love running. Running always makes me feel happy. It makes me feel strong. It is also a time where I can completely forget about any worries or unwanted thoughts. I wanted to switch off from the recent past.

I had asked my chiropractor, the week before, as to whether he would recommend that I start running again. I remembered that, when I first met him, nearly 4 months ago, he had asked about what kind of exercise I did. Due to the problems I was having with my neck, he had encouraged me to take a rest from running until my neck was feeling better. At this time, I was also dizzy and taking medicine that my body was struggling with, and so didn’t feel strong enough to able to go running anyway. Yet now I wasn’t too dizzy and I wanted to feel stronger. I missed running and thought it might help cheer me up, and help me on my road to recovery. It was also another thing that I would be able to do for the first time with unilateral hearing – another experience to say I have tried, since living with single-sided deafness.

I waited for a few days after visiting my chiropractor, to go for my run. I wanted my first run to be on a sunny day. I wanted my first run to be a good run. I wanted to wake up, see the sunshine, and be spurred on by the beautiful Madrid weather, to go outside and have a go! I did exactly that. I had checked the weather forecast beforehand and it was going to be a nice day. I got out of bed when my boyfriend had left for work, and I rushed to the window. The sun was shining optimistically in the sky, and I decided today was the day.

Putting on my running clothes, I noticed how my body had changed since I had last worn them in the summer before I lost my hearing. My legs were thinner and my bottom was flatter and my stomach looked small and weak.

I walked briskly for 15 minutes to the nearby running track. It is difficult to run on the streets of Madrid as there are always lots of people around, even during the daytime. I didn’t want to feel vulnerable whilst stuck in the traffic of people. I enjoyed the sun, and breathed the air; taking strong breaths to fill my lungs. I find that when I go running, I realize what a small part of my lungs I actually use during everyday activity. Shallow breathing is a habit of mine, as I am sure it is for many people. It’s almost like we forget to breathe, and it’s actually quite an effort to fill your lungs with every breath, when you’re not used to doing it.

When I got to the track, I was surprised at how many people were there enjoying their morning exercise. I immediately started to run; making sure I was moving slowly and focusing on keeping my shoulders slightly back and good posture. I was listening to a storytelling podcast though my running earphones. I didn’t pay attention to the noise of the tinnitus in my ear that resounds with increased stubbornness when the sounds of the outside world are blocked by ear phones. I didn’t pay attention to the fact that I could only hear the story in my right ear. I was purely happy. I was running in the sunshine, enjoying listening to stories. I was feeling normal again.

The only time I thought about my hearing loss and the pressure and tinnitus in my ear, was when I actually realized that I hadn’t thought of these problems.  So the only time I thought about these issues was actually thinking about the absence of thinking of them! Exercise is well known to be a distraction from life’s worries. This was my proof. My first time running with unilateral hearing was a success.

I sent my sister a message later that day, telling her about my achievement. She replied and wrote that she was so glad that I had been for a run and that I was ‘getting my Carlyness back’ 🙂