Today: the second time in a row that I walked out of the Mayo Clinic feeling tremendously relieved.
The young doc’ — a resident, unless I miss my guess — listened to my woeful tale and surmised:
a) probably not thrush
b) probably chemical irritation from the stuff I used to clean my night guard device
I had thought this scenario was a possibility, but since
also a) I do wash that stuff off carefully and so there shouldn’t be enough left to cause a problem;
and b) thrush can spread into your esophagus, at which time you do have a troublesome issue…
for these reasons I feared (as usual) the worst.
She conferred with her attending physician, who agreed with her hypothesis.
Advice: do not do anything, do not apply anything, do not swallow anything. Just wait. It will go away.
Blood pressure, even though their underling did everything wrong (feet hanging off the edge of a table, arm hanging down at my side: systolic = 126.
This was after I’d run up three flights of garage stairs, which I like to do when I go out there because it’s a nice opportunity to get some gratuitous exercilse.
So, once again I’m not at Death’s door. After all.
As for Young Dr. Kildare? His office never called me back after their robo-answering machine serenaded me for 10 minutes before forcing me to leave a mechanized message. So we’ll be saying good-bye to him, oince and for all. Not so much to him but to his employer. Good-bye, Samaritan Health Services or whatever you’re calling yourself these days. 😀