A return trip to the dentist, and my husband’s strong words.
When I returned to Dr. Tillery’s office the following week to have my cavities filled, it was an epic disaster.
My body did not respond well to the sedation. I don’t remember any of this but Courtney, my new favorite hygienist, told Roger that every time she got near my mouth, I became combative. So I left that appointment without having any dental work done at all. And since Dr. Tillery adheres to strict protocols about sedated patients requiring a driver, Roger kindly accepted the responsibility to be my chauffeur.
I didn’t remember the drive home either, but Roger assures me I’d been making some very specific demands about French fries. Apparently I was relentless about my immediate need for large fries and a Coke with extra ice. Also, they could only be from the McDonald’s on Oak Street across town, not the McDonald’s on Michigan Road that we’d be driving past on the way home. Poor guy. He was probably wishing I could have just taken an Uber at that point. Needless to say, in the span of an afternoon, I had fallen asleep in a dental chair, consumed a large order of fries with a Coke, and woke-up in my bed without a single memory of any of it.
When I finally opened my eyes, I saw Roger sitting in the reading chair situated between our bed and a wall of windows in our room. I was so excited about how incredible I felt after [not] having my cavities filled that I exclaimed, “This is amazing! I feel fabulous! I love this new dentist. I am literally in zero pain right now!” I paused so Roger could celebrate with me. I was anticipating his normal affirmation. Something like, “Oh, that’s great Honey!” or “I’m glad you’re feeling so good Sweetie.” Instead, he seemed distracted and serious. (Which was certainly understandable after being dictated to about French fries.) But it was more than that. There was a palatable tension in the air - and then he stood up. I noticed his cellphone in his right hand through the sting in my eyes from the sunlight behind him. “Melissa.” My heart dropped. He never calls me by my actual name. He went on… “You have got to go see an oral surgeon about those marks on your tongue.”
I was trying to process the sequence of events that had transpired since my last memory, which had been falling asleep from the sedation at Dr. Tillery’s office. Now we were home and Roger was clearly shaken. It was weird and difficult to process because I was the one who’d been sedated that day and because Roger has never told me that ‘I had to’ do anything. Flippantly I agreed. “Okay! I will. That’s fine.” I was sinfully annoyed that my good mood was forced to be over. I started to turn away but the fear on Roger’s face stopped me. His 6’ 2” stature held its posture in the space of our room and the level of intensity was causing my breath to quicken. I no longer felt amazing. He was intentional about making eye contact with me and then very calmly stated, “Those lines on your tongue could be cancerous.” I didn’t move an inch. “Courtney was able to run a few tests on your tongue while you were still sedated. Those gray lines have gotten worse since the first time you saw Dr. Tillery. Courtney kept telling me ‘she needs to go… she needs to…’ and they gave me this business card for an oral surgeon.” As he extended his reach to hand it to me he added, “They said this guy is really good and he’s close by.” My heart felt like it was melting into my torso the way hot wax slides down the side of a burning candle. Then he said it once more, “You have to go see this oral surgeon Melissa.”
“Cancer?! I just wanted to use my $59 coupon! I turned my back to my husband and walked out of the room. How dare anyone talk to me about having cancer!”
The words “have to” reverberated in my head with a harsh echo as I took the card from his hand. It was the same information I’d held between my fingers the week before. Flipping the tiny card from front-to-back with nervous energy, I studied the letters on it all over again. They hadn’t changed. Mark W. Anderson D.D.S. M.S. Oral Surgeons of Indiana. My mind did a quick skip back to having just seen Roger holding his cellphone. I immediately realized that he’d been Googling information about what he'd been told at Dr. Tillery’s office before saying my name. I also knew that whatever he found must have been especially horrible for him to call me by name.
Cancer? I just wanted to use my $59 coupon. And now we’re in a conversation about cancer? I spewed back at Roger defensively; it was my fear masquerading as defiance, “COULD BE PRE-cancer! They said ‘COULD BE’ and ‘PRE’ ! Do not speak illness over me! This is not going to be anything!” I turned my back, ending the conversation as I walked out of our room. How dare anyone talk to me about having cancer. The heat of my tears felt like tiny blades cutting my cheeks as gravity tugged them down my face. “Oh my God, what is happening?” I prayed silently to The One I call Father. “Please Lord!” I begged from my spirit, “Don’t let me be sick. This can’t be anything. I’m okay. Let me know that I’m going to be okay.”
**************************************************************************************************************
From Roger: When I was listening to the feedback about the results of Melissa’s tests, Courtney and another hygienist presented the information with a serious tone and emphasized the word "need". “She needs to see an oral surgeon.” While I was waiting for her to wake up at home, I broke my own rule about never Googling for medical information. I looked up ‘tongue cancer’ and survival rates came up. I thought, survival rates? -And they weren't very good. Then I saw a photo [of a cancerous tongue] and that was enough. I never got past that first page of information. That was all I needed to see.
From Melissa: I quickly repented and apologized to Roger for my angry response to his insights. I wasn’t actually mad at him. I was scared by what I was hearing and needed time alone to process the news and to pray.