My date with the ENT was quite an adventure.
First was the unpredicted snowstorm. We were told to expect 2 to 4 cm. There were at least 15 cm already on the ground when we set off, with no sign of stopping. Suddenly the van makes an interesting sound: whomp whomp whomp whomp. We pull over and Chris goes to investigate. Our right back tire is flat. He calls for a tow truck. At least a two hour wait. My appointments in 15 minutes. He calls the head honcho of the retirement residence where I live, who brings us one of those barbecue tanks full of air. They reinflate the tire and off we go.
I’m half an hour late but still wait another 10 minutes. A nurse practitioner greets me with a smile and a tongue depressor. She peers into my throat and says, “I’m going to take a quick peek at your vocal cords.”
Turns out a quick peek involves snaking a thin, flexible, black wire up one of my nostrils, over something else, and down the back of my throat. There must be a teeny tiny camera at one end of it, and some sort of device for looking into it at the other, but I can’t tell because she’s doing a fantastic job of hiding the business ends of the device. It reminds me of when a dentist injects you with freezing, because you never actually see the needle. Medical people can be so sneaky.
She begins with my left nostril. In and up it goes until there’s some resistance.
A porcupine is on fire in my nose. The last time I had this sensation was in 1993, when my son was crowning as I pushed him out. Who knew you could feel a flaming porcupine in two wildly different body parts?!
“A little pressure,” she explains. “Oh God,” I moan.
Apparently, there’s too much resistance because she withdraws the wire. Pulling it out is almost as uncomfortable as inserting it, but at least I know it’s ending.
“Let’s try on the right side … A little pressure …”
“nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.” Why am I making this sound?
“More pressure …”
“NNNNNNNNNNNN.” Holy flaming porcupine!
The pressure stops, thank God, and the wire goes down further. Oddly enough, I don’t feel like gagging.
“Swallow,” she commands. She’s getting bossy.
Gulp. Feels so weird.
“Again.”
GULP! My ears pop. Apparently, she has arrived at her destination.
“Sniff for me.” Easier said than done. I sniff.
“Bigger.” At least someone has extinguished that poor porcupine.
SNORT!
“Say he he he he he …”
“Hee hee hee hee hee.”
“Faster.”
“HE HE HE HE HE.” I pant like a dog, trying to give her the right amount of breathiness. She seems satisfied.
“We are done,” she announces and rewinds the wire back out of my throat and sinuses. I’m surprised I don’t have a nosebleed. Uncomfortable but I got through it. What doesn’t kill me makes me funnier.
“Your left vocal cord seems to be frozen. I’m going to talk to the doctor and then we’ll both be back.”
The stairs creak as she goes up to find the doctor. We’re in a beautiful old Victorian home that’s been refurbished for doctors’ offices. A few minutes later they creak again when they come down. Dr. Li is extremely handsome, and young, maybe in his late 30s, no grey hair. I’m no cougar but …. He’s so good-looking that I’m actually startled. He’s probably used to this reaction but he doesn’t seem full of himself.
“I’m going to take a quick peek at your vocal cords.”
Now I know better. Is this REALLY necessary? We repeat the process in my right nostril. Insertion, some pressure, nnnnnnnn, more pressure, NNNNNNN, flaming porcupine, gulp, BIG GULP, sniff, SNORT, HE HE HE HE HE (I learn fast and this time I deliver some quality HE HEs), withdrawal.
“Oh, I got a great big booger! Wanna see it?” He sounds like he’s about eight years old. I wonder if this is why he became an ENT? I decline the offer, but I have to admit, the next morning I would blow some very interesting chunks out of both nostrils, thanks to their reaming.
This is where the funny part of the story ends. My left vocal cord isn’t working. It’s paralyzed and he doesn’t know why. There’s still a chance it will recover on its own. Or, it could be a tumour on the nerve. Or another problem with the nerve. He’ll request a CAT scan, but with Omicron raging who knows when that will be.
“You’re telling me there’s a problem with the nerve and I’m reminding you I have MS.”
“Can MS do that?”
Little does he know.