Another blow...

I know I am not a dentist, but I am 99.99% confident in my diagnosis.  SIGH.

Friday morning, I awoke to a call from my new neurologist. This is the second time that she's called me and the second time that she has called me to break the news that I will not be getting an MRI.  The other hospital in town also refused to do the MRI.  Without the imaging, she stated that we need to do a lumbar puncture (spinal tap).  I am not looking forward to that.

I did think to see exactly when my dear friend Becky and her brood will be in town (just two weeks from now), so I called to see if I could get it scheduled during her visit.  I doubt the stars will align for that, but I am going to beg come Monday, since the scheduler never called me back.

So, already Friday was a rather distressing day for me.  But when I went to brush my teeth—floss actually—it got worse.  I noticed a black speck on the top of one of my molars.  At first, I thought that I had missed something when I was brushing my teeth.  So, out came my electric toothbrush and I went over the tooth several times.  But the speck remained.  Then, I tried using my dental pick, thinking that perhaps it was some bit of pepper that was just plastered down hard.  Alas, know, it was a small hole actually.

Google tells me that I have a fourth cavity.
I agree.

The saliva-producing medicine has made me quite ill, so I have had to increase the dosage by 1/4 of a pill every two weeks.  After the first week of June, I finally got to two whole pills, a half dose.  I decided to take a break, in part because of the side effects and in part because I have gotten such strong pushback about trying to take the medication, basically questioning if I even needed to take it.

A fourth cavity.
Just four months after my x-rays, exam, and three other fillings.

Even though I have bewailed my despair on Facebook and tried to text with a friend about it, I really haven't gotten too close to the thought of what this means.  By that I mean, I think I would tip the scales towards leaving this world if I were to go there.

It isn't just the thought of dentures, it is the expense.  They would be out of my range if I wanted to not drain my meager retirement.  Actually, it is not just the dentures.  It is the extractions.  And it is not just the extractions.  It is the root canals.  And it is not just the root canals.  It is the crowns.  And it is not just the crowns.  It is the fillings.  By all accounts, I very well could be at the event horizon of a financial black hole visited by so very many folk with Sjögren's.

A financial black hole.
An emotional black hole.
A physical black hole.

I admit that I am not always diligent about brushing four times a day, flossing twice a day, and using the fluoride rinse twice a day.  That is my new routine.  I am also not all that diligent about putting drops in my eyes every hour or tending to my sinuses with various products every two hours or putting the topical NSAID gel on my shoulder ever four hours.  For that matter, as much as I strive to take my meds at 5:00, 6:00, 7:00, noon, 4:00, 6:00, 7:00, and midnight, I have not excelled at doing so.  Not lately.

I've let my visual rest go.
I've let my personal care go.
I've let my butter passion go.
I've let my cooking journey go.

This whole MRI thing and new shoulder arthritis thing and lung function thing has had me in a real funk, but that black speck has tripped me down a hole that is seemingly impossible from which to climb out.

I am weary and alone and medically hopeless.
With crap teeth.