Well. Let’s hope it’s the light, not a will o’the wisp.
Ever have a moment of Insight when you realize holy sh!t of course that’s IT!???
So I’d made an appointment at the Mayo for 1:15 this afternoon, after calling one of their redoubtable RNs and describing this weird tingling in my hands and on the soles of my feet. It’s been going on for a while and…and…well…tingling hands can be a sign of multiple sclerosis. Years ago, after an episode that was almost certainly an ocular migraine (but has never been proven to be or not to be, one way or the other), an overenthusiastic ophthalmologist told me he thought it could be a symptom of impending MS.
This was the same quack who later announced that I had a melanoma inside my eye. This led to about a months’ worth of frantic worrying, rewriting my will, figuring out how my kid would be cared for and on and hysterically on. The ocular oncologist he sent me to took one look, snorted, and said “That’s not cancer! that’s a congenital thing and it’s harmless. Get outta my office!”
So I’m thinking how MUCH, how very much I do NOT want to make that hour-long trek out to the Mayo Clinic and once again explain myself to a skeptical doctor and what’m-i-gunna-do-if-this-is-MS-holy-shit when…yeah…a moth-like thought flutters past:
Hey, stupid…Yeah, you, that one! What have you had your hands in that might have irritated your dainty skin?
Every time I drive around in the car — like, say, trudging out to the dermatologist’s office yesterday and over to the QT Monday buying gasoline — I pull a wet Lysol wipe out of the plastic canister that resides on the passenger seat and scrub down the steering wheel, the gear shift knob, the keys, the this, the that. Monday I wrapped the gas pump handle in wet Lysol wipes and then scrubbed my credit card with another one of them. If I go into a grocery store, I carry a couple of those wipes and wipe off the handle and kiddy seat on the grocery cart. And o’course, every time that happens I get this Lysol disinfectant stuff all over my hands and forearms. And…and…what’s IN that stuff? A fine product called alkyl dimethyl benzyl ammonium chloride. And what is that, you ask? That is something that the EPA recommends you not use. It causes…yep…contact dermatitis.
Hello? Could it be?
As for the feet? I walk around barefoot on broiling hot pavement two or three times a day. Is there some reason, d’you suppose, that the calluses on the bottom of my paws hurt? Duh!
So I call the Mayo (i really don’t want to traipse out there!!!), reach a nurse and explain my theory. I suggest that even if it is MS or diabetes, I’m not gonna die from it very soon. How’s about we postpone today’s appointment for a week and see what happens?
Amazingly, she thought that made sense! So, ô hallelujah, that little bit of misery is postponed.