“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I’m fine—that’s the weird thing.”
“Okay. Now tell me everything he said, from the beginning.”
“So, I went in and told him what was happening, and he just looked into my nose and then my throat because I said I had a sore throat a week or so ago, but now I think that’s totally unrelated. Then he asked me if I’ve been in an accident recently or had any kind of surgery, a head trauma, a hard hit to the head. I haven’t, and I told him that. Then he asked about the taste of the liquid and I told him I had no idea because I didn’t taste it, obviously. I was fine at the doctor’s office so I couldn’t show him, but I told him it especially starts dripping whenever I lean down for too long, look down, bend down, or when I sleep on my face at night—which is every night.”
“Did he tell you what it is exactly? Explain cerebrospinal leak to me.”
I blew out a breath and swallowed. “He wouldn’t tell me much, said he wanted to schedule an MRI and a CT scan right away to make sure, but I kept asking, and apparently the CSF—cerebrospinal fluid—leak occurs when there is a hole or tear in the membrane that surrounds and cushions the brain. Apparently it can be around the spinal cord too. Ah, anyway…so the fluid, just a clear liquid, in the membrane protecting the brain starts leaking through the nose. Since I didn’t have a head trauma, I don’t know how it happened.” My eyes started watering again. “And I feel so icky just talking about this. I was sure it was allergies even though I’ve never had them before.”
“And he is sure this is CSF?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s why he wanted to schedule the MRI and CT scan. Apparently they’ll be able to see where the leak is coming from, if there is a hole, and things like that.”
“When are you going in for the scans?”
This was the bad part, or the worse part. I winced. “I didn’t schedule them.” My nose seemed to take a break so I rested my hands in my lap.
His forehead creased. “What do you mean you didn’t schedule them?”
“A CT scan, I can do, Jack. I googled it and it’s only a minute, plus only my head would go in. The MRI, which is what he said they needed to see if there is a hole and where it is—that one I can’t do.”
He looked at me in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not okay with closed spaces.”
“You’re claustrophobic? You never panic in an elevator.”
“Elevators are fine, as long as I don’t get stuck in them. Plus, I can move. I don’t have to stay still. I talked to a nurse when I exited the doctor’s office and apparently their MRI machine is old and the type of scan he wants takes over fifteen minutes, and I can’t move at all during it—as in I’m not allowed to move or twitch any part of my body. If I do, they’ll have to start all over again.” I could feel my eyes burning with tears. I felt so stupid. “Thinking about it is already giving me anxiety, and she said they will need to close a cage on my head because apparently it needs to be stable.” I shook my head more vehemently. “Trust me, I know how stupid it sounds, but I can’t do it, Jack. I can’t.”
He stared at me for a few beats and I hoped he’d understand. “There are open MRI machines. You wouldn’t have to be closed in.”
A tear escaped from my eye and I let it be. “She said the scan he wants is complicated and those machines don’t take that scan. It has to be closed.”
He watched the tear slide down my cheek and abruptly got up to pace in front of the couch as he ran his hand over his face. He stopped and took a deep breath. “Wait.” Opening his office door, he leaned toward Cynthia. “Call Benjamin for me, tell him it’s urgent.” Casting a quick look my way, he headed for his desk and lifted his phone as soon as it started ringing. “Okay. That’s fine.”
Then I listened to him talk to Benjamin, who was apparently a doctor from what I could tell from Jack’s side of the conversation. A few minutes later, after he had explained my situation, he had made an appointment for me for the next day with an ENT specialist this Benjamin guy recommended. More doctors—just what I needed.
When he set the phone down, I got up to my feet. He met me halfway as I was headed for the door.
“We’ll meet him at eleven tomorrow morning and see what he has to say. Maybe we can get out of it without an MRI.”