Out Damned Tooth

Out Damned Tooth

In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril,  Amlodopine,  Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: Hit Me With Your Best Shot: Pat Benatar

My tooth fell out again.  Breakfast.  Scrambled eggs.  And my tooth.  This was two weeks ago.  I reserved a space at the dentist in order to fill the space in my mouth.  I had to wait a few days for my appointment, and I was getting used to the gap.  Hockey memories made their way into my head.  Likely through the 5 hole in my face. (My apologies for making an "inside" joke for hockey fans. )

My dentist made small talk and then suggested we try bonding the tooth again.  He said they had a better product than the glue he used last time.  I did wonder why we did not go that route the first time.  But it is tough to ask, when your mouth is propped open.  And I was not about to upset or aggravate anybody who holds dominion over me.  After all, I looked like a fool and he had dangerous implements in his hands.  Have you seen Marathon Man?

In reality, I figured he knew how time-consuming and expensive bridge-building was going to be, and had hopes that if the original had lasted some twenty-something years, maybe we just might get a few more.  I am guessing we now have a permanent bond - which will be good if it holds on for a long time.  He left me with his assistant holding the orphaned tooth in place.  Waiting for the bond to completely dry.  And then I checked out.  No charge, I was told.  That does not happen often.  A good day, it was.

A news flash from North Carolina - Kristin and Doug both received their covid shots.  Great news for them, and for Pat Benatar, who got a chance to sing this week's song.

And God's waiting room was reduced by yet one more, as one of The Relics passed on.  Tom will receive a military funeral when his family are able to travel to Spring Hill.  He had been struggling for too long, and I am sure he welcomed his release from the pain of this world.

I left you last time with a brief mention of my most recent pathology reports.  I am still in limbo - the state, not the dance, but will provide you with what I know at this point.

Results from two biopsies on my lower left leg, as well as on from my chest, showed a combination of basal and squamous cell carcinomas.  I am quite positive these can be excised and tidied up by my surgeon.

I spent 41/2 hours at Moffitt last week, talking with two oncologists about my cancer history in general, and about the pathology report on the crown of my head, in particular.  The conversation was interesting and concerning.  

The results showed an invasive primary cutaneous melanoma - at a stage 2 or 3 level.  That simply means that it was deep, further down than the sample, at 2.8mm or greater.  It was thought to be a satellite, recurrent, or metastatic lesion.  All that, not being good news.

So this is how our healthcare system works.  

Week one - biopsies

Week two - meet with oncologists 

Week three - PET scan

Week four - Meet with surgeon to set plans

I am scheduled to meet with Dr. Harrington on March 29th.  At that point, he, Dr. Erlu, the oncologist and the doctor in charge of the scan analysis, will have met and discussed  what to do with me.  At this meeting, I will be made current on the scan results and Dr. Harrington and I will agree on a path forward.  I cannot imagine a more timely, orderly and efficient healthcare system anywhere.  And I have sampled a few.  

I am aware, and perplexed, that this particular situation will not be easily resolved.  The infected area has been the site of several earlier melanomas, and is on the edge of the site of my AVM, while I was in Fort Myers.  It would take two hands to count the number of previous surgeries, along with several commensurate skin grafts, that have been performed there.  My point being, there is not much available, healthy skin left to work with.  Whatever we do, in my mind, will not be straightforward.  That is part of the reason that my meeting with the oncologists took so long.  They, too, understood the troubled terrain.

I realize that a week of waiting is such a brief span, and I will soon have medical counsel on my future.  But my little knowledge is, as they say, a dangerous thing.  I know just enough to raise my anxiety to an unwelcome level.  There will be another operation.  And it will not be pretty.

In the meantime, we carry on.