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It's only a couple hours away, the MRI I told you about previously.

I can't really say why. . . but I'm a bit nervous. Yeah, I know. It's painless and non-invasive. I don't have anything to worry about.

My anxiety comes from the "what-if-game" my mind is playing with me. What if the doctors look at the results and say, "Well. . . beats me?"


The pain in my jaw has gradually gotten worse and I'm beginning to tire of it. The chronic pain is very slight — not even pain, really, more like constant pressure that demands my attention. But the pain when I eat or brush my teeth. . . now that's some pain, my friend. At home, I can give voice to it. In public, however, it's a different story. I simply (simply. . . ha! Good one.) internalize it and, at worst, moan or make an unpleasant face.

This is some complex pain, this pain in my jaw. It involves the nerve behind my jaw, my temporomandibular joint (TMJ), the muscle running from the joint to my jawline, and the parotid salivary gland. I can induce pain by eating even the softest of foods or eating something that requires even the slightest of molar involvement, drinking something slightly tart (like orange juice) or something completely tasteless (like water), taking too big a bite, requiring me to open my mouth widely, shaving, brushing my teeth, or being touched too firmly on my cheek and jaw. Or I can just be doing nothing and the pain will strike.

Now, I realize that it might make some people uncomfortable to listen to or read descriptions of how and how much it hurts and, honestly, I understand. I feel the same way. Pain is such a personal experience — and such a universal one — that it's easy to want to "duck and cover," to want to avoid hearing about or seeing another's pain because deep down we know, "That could be me and I'd rather not face that possibility."

I don't say that to be cruel or hateful. It's just an observable truth. And I do it, too.

During the last 4 months of my physical therapy, I have been privileged to meet some very brave people who are far worse off than I am. Some of them will never get back to the state I was in on my worst day after my cancer surgery. Yet, they smile, and they keep on working to strengthen their bodies, to have some chance of getting back to "normal."

This experience has sensitized me to the pain and the infirmities of others. I don't mean that in the sense that it's elevated me to a position "on high" where I can look down on those who aren't so sensitized to others' pain but, rather, in the sense that I've been there myself, hurting, and spent time among other people who are hurting.

What I realize is that we are all quite fragile as human beings. Regardless of our situation in life, we can go from being on top of the world to struggling to get through each day in a heartbeat. It can be planned and planned for, or it can strike like a bolt from the blue. In either case, attitude is the key to making it through the pain to peace on the other side.

If nothing can be done about the pain in my jaw, I'll simply — ha! There's that word again — I'll simply suck it up and deal with it on a daily basis. I pray that something can be done to "fix" the pain. At this point, I'd even go through another surgery, though that's not my first choice. Whatever happens, I know that even if I have pain for the rest of my life, I'm damned lucky. . . I could have had radiation and might have lost my jaw to osteoradionecrosis. Now THAT would have sucked dead bears for nickels and given change.

Results tomorrow. . . .