Mystery = solved. I was hoping it would be something crazy, like an inferior twin I had absorbed while we were competing for resources in the womb, but an extra rib is probably the next-best thing.
Turns out this "neck mass" has been there all along. It's an accessory first rib or cervical rib—an extra rib bone that lives above where a normal human's first rib would be. The head and neck specialist I saw today said I was born with it and I will go the rest of my life with it, and there is almost no chance it will ever become symptomatic. He described it as "a rare, but not unheard-of, anatomical abnormality."
These were welcome words after I had spent the last month wondering what was protruding out of my neck. All I knew was that it wasn't cancer, which, to my neurotic brain, meant everything else in all of known and unknown medical science was on the table. And with everything on the table, who knew what unspeakably torturous acts of testing and treatment might lie ahead.
Not that the exam today was entirely pleasant. It began with two doctors performing a full head and neck exam plus an extensive manual inspection of the anomaly. In followed about three more doctors, then two or three of their students, then a dental school prof and four or five of his students, each examining my neck to various degrees. They speculated early on that a cervical rib was the culprit, so by the time the students were paraded through, I felt more like a case study than a patient. A circus exhibit. "Here we have a young lady with an accessory rib," said dental-school guy to his students. They filed past one by one and mashed around on the protrusion.
A review of the CT scan images confirmed the cervical rib, placing me in a relatively small group (one in 500 people, according to Wikipedia) of similar mutants. Sadly, no special powers come along with the trait, but not too many downsides appear to either. At least one source seems to suspect a link between rib anomalies and early childhood cancer, for which I'd be well out of the woods by now, and Wikipedia suggests a possible but pretty slight risk of something called thoracic outlet syndrome.
So rather than cancer or any other of a million potential health threats, instead all I have is (finally) a response to that "tell us something interesting about yourself" prompt that comes up at work retreats and the like. It was such a relief that I grinned a few times during the latter half of my exam. When the doctor said I had "a rare, but not unheard-of, anatomical abnormality," I said, "So basically, a cool new fact about me?"
"A cool new fact about you," he replied.
Weird, but I'll take it.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
So You Think You Can...Squeal
I'm gonna go ahead and be one of those people and say I liked So You Think You Can Dance better before it was cool.
I have a severe lady-crush on Cat Deeley, so it will be pretty tough to get me to stop watching. But it's like they're trying to lose me.
The stage upgrade isn't helping. I feel like the constant movement of the LEDs pulls the eye away from the performers and often sets a Vegas-y tone that doesn't always suit the routines. I was thrilled last week when they reined it in for Kathryn and Legacy's performance. I'd like to see more of that.
The squealing teenage girl contingent—whose influence is reflected in the continued presence of Mollee and Nathan, and with whom Nigel seems increasingly frustrated—pull the feel of the show more toward American Idol than I'm comfortable with.
It seems maybe the rush to bring another season to light so quickly in the wake of the stellar fifth season has either taken a toll on the quality or taken the air out of my enthusiasm. In my defiant avoidance of the seemingly endless audition process, I've missed getting to know the dancers and probably couldn't pick half the cast out of a police lineup. Maybe I've also missed out on getting emotionally invested in these kids.
That said, I'm thrilled by the addition of Adam Shankman as a permanent judge. He adds a much-needed consistently technical voice to the panel, yet manages to balance his critiques with a reminder of how much fun we're all having. Together with Nigel, whose measured and informed criticism I've always been a fan of, I'm hoping Shanks can help put a lid on Mary Murphy. My remote control's mute button would appreciate the relief.
What has always brought me back to the show is the legitimate talent—and, clunky as it is to say, art—on display on the part of both the choreographers and the performers. And for as easy as it would be to go the other way, the skill level seems to have risen in tandem with the show's popularity. But until we start seeing some memorable routines and some real star power emerge out of this current cast, I'm going to wonder whether that trend peaked with season five.
I have a severe lady-crush on Cat Deeley, so it will be pretty tough to get me to stop watching. But it's like they're trying to lose me.
The stage upgrade isn't helping. I feel like the constant movement of the LEDs pulls the eye away from the performers and often sets a Vegas-y tone that doesn't always suit the routines. I was thrilled last week when they reined it in for Kathryn and Legacy's performance. I'd like to see more of that.
The squealing teenage girl contingent—whose influence is reflected in the continued presence of Mollee and Nathan, and with whom Nigel seems increasingly frustrated—pull the feel of the show more toward American Idol than I'm comfortable with.
It seems maybe the rush to bring another season to light so quickly in the wake of the stellar fifth season has either taken a toll on the quality or taken the air out of my enthusiasm. In my defiant avoidance of the seemingly endless audition process, I've missed getting to know the dancers and probably couldn't pick half the cast out of a police lineup. Maybe I've also missed out on getting emotionally invested in these kids.
That said, I'm thrilled by the addition of Adam Shankman as a permanent judge. He adds a much-needed consistently technical voice to the panel, yet manages to balance his critiques with a reminder of how much fun we're all having. Together with Nigel, whose measured and informed criticism I've always been a fan of, I'm hoping Shanks can help put a lid on Mary Murphy. My remote control's mute button would appreciate the relief.
What has always brought me back to the show is the legitimate talent—and, clunky as it is to say, art—on display on the part of both the choreographers and the performers. And for as easy as it would be to go the other way, the skill level seems to have risen in tandem with the show's popularity. But until we start seeing some memorable routines and some real star power emerge out of this current cast, I'm going to wonder whether that trend peaked with season five.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
New Least-Favorite Word: Mass
I was hoping the "IV" on the door was Roman numerals. I was not so lucky.
"IV" meant that for the second time in a month, a needle was going into my arm, sending me into what I'm guessing is a mild form of panic attack.
Apparently CT scans can be done with or without a "contrast medium" - an iodine-based substance that highlights the patient's blood vessels on the scanned image. Mine required the contrast.
The CT scan will hopefully help my doctor identify a mysterious knotty mass in the right side of my neck. A blood test (panic attack #1) showed normal white blood cell counts, ruling out lymphoma, which appeared to be the first and/or worst concern. I'm not clear on what that leaves, but apparently the imaging will narrow it down.
It's been there for a while without changing. I'm not even sure how long. I got a massage in April and the therapist noticed it then, but I had been vaguely aware of it for probably another six months or year before that. And because I'm not in the habit of mashing around on my neck, for all I know I could have been born with it and just never paid attention.
Even after the massage therapist told me to get it checked out, I sat on it for a while. I figured if it hadn't changed in however many months, it may never change, and probably wasn't anything. Worse yet, I figured it would take a lot of expensive and uncomfortable poking and prodding to figure out that it was nothing.* And my phobia is such that I would rather this thing grow a face and start talking to me than have to have so much as a simple blood test.
My fear of needles is highly irrational. That's established. It's not even a fear so much as a reaction. And it's not the pain that bothers me. It's not even really the needle.
It's the vein.
Even the word makes me cringe. Vein. Ugh. I don't like acknowledging the existence of my veins. I don't like taking my own pulse. I really don't like other people messing with my pulse points. So sticking a needle in there is pretty much psychological torture. I squirm, I groan and whine, I grit my teeth, I get tunnel vision, white out, cold sweats, lightheaded, need to lie down. Torture. I think I'd do better with waterboarding.
Ideally, and probably, this neck mass will turn out to be nothing. But if nothing else, it has let me know that I never again want the doctor to look at me and say "I have no idea what that is." The anxiety and the inconclusive tests are one thing, but I have a feeling the bills are going to be a whole 'nother.
*Update 11/11: CT scan reveals nothing. Literally, they don't even see anything where the mass should be. Confirms it's not swollen lymph nodes, but beyond that, still a mystery. So I get to see specialists - that's plural - next week, who will no doubt order more tests that provide no conclusive answers.
"IV" meant that for the second time in a month, a needle was going into my arm, sending me into what I'm guessing is a mild form of panic attack.
Apparently CT scans can be done with or without a "contrast medium" - an iodine-based substance that highlights the patient's blood vessels on the scanned image. Mine required the contrast.
The CT scan will hopefully help my doctor identify a mysterious knotty mass in the right side of my neck. A blood test (panic attack #1) showed normal white blood cell counts, ruling out lymphoma, which appeared to be the first and/or worst concern. I'm not clear on what that leaves, but apparently the imaging will narrow it down.
It's been there for a while without changing. I'm not even sure how long. I got a massage in April and the therapist noticed it then, but I had been vaguely aware of it for probably another six months or year before that. And because I'm not in the habit of mashing around on my neck, for all I know I could have been born with it and just never paid attention.
Even after the massage therapist told me to get it checked out, I sat on it for a while. I figured if it hadn't changed in however many months, it may never change, and probably wasn't anything. Worse yet, I figured it would take a lot of expensive and uncomfortable poking and prodding to figure out that it was nothing.* And my phobia is such that I would rather this thing grow a face and start talking to me than have to have so much as a simple blood test.
My fear of needles is highly irrational. That's established. It's not even a fear so much as a reaction. And it's not the pain that bothers me. It's not even really the needle.
It's the vein.
Even the word makes me cringe. Vein. Ugh. I don't like acknowledging the existence of my veins. I don't like taking my own pulse. I really don't like other people messing with my pulse points. So sticking a needle in there is pretty much psychological torture. I squirm, I groan and whine, I grit my teeth, I get tunnel vision, white out, cold sweats, lightheaded, need to lie down. Torture. I think I'd do better with waterboarding.
Ideally, and probably, this neck mass will turn out to be nothing. But if nothing else, it has let me know that I never again want the doctor to look at me and say "I have no idea what that is." The anxiety and the inconclusive tests are one thing, but I have a feeling the bills are going to be a whole 'nother.
*Update 11/11: CT scan reveals nothing. Literally, they don't even see anything where the mass should be. Confirms it's not swollen lymph nodes, but beyond that, still a mystery. So I get to see specialists - that's plural - next week, who will no doubt order more tests that provide no conclusive answers.
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