"Hello?" I answered, as I pressed the phone closer to my ear. I could barely hear the voice on the other side over all of the noise in this restaurant. I thought about stepping outside for a moment, but I was stuck on the inside seat of a booth next to my husband. I grazed my finger along the far side of my phone, to turn up the volume, all while pressing the phone harder against my ear.
"Good afternoon. I’m looking for Mrs. Valentin?" The woman on the other end asked.
"This is she." I answered. I recognized the voice, I just could not put a face with it.
"This is Dr. Von Biberstein, from Wilmington ENT," she said. I had just been in her
office two hours earlier waiting on multiple test results.
"Yes, hello. Good afternoon." I knew why she was calling. She had finally received the report back on the MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) of my head and neck. Onslow County Hospital never sent the test results. The opportunity to discuss the results in her office was not an option.
"I received the report back of your MRI. I'm sorry it wasn't here earlier," she said. "Who are you telling?" I thought to myself. See for her to call me, herself, and not her nurse, I knew it was not good. I have been to enough doctors at this point to know better, seven years in and out of their offices teaches you a few things.
"Do you have anything to write with?" she asked.
"I'm in a restaurant at the moment," I informed her. Pausing for a few seconds to look down at the table, which was full of half eaten plates of food, used napkins, and half open bottles of condiments. "Hold on, let me find something." I said. I scramble to find something to write with and on, for that matter. All I could put together was this small rectangular piece of white paper, used to hold the napkin in place around the utensils, and a single red crayon they gave my sons when we were seated. "Ok, I'm ready," I said. In truth, I was slightly nervous. Was this it? Would I finally find something out? Or would this be another dead-end? This wasn’t my first MRI, but it would be the one to yield the most information. I will tell you what though; I was never ready for what I was about to hear.
"Your report reads that you have a seven-millimeter mass, in your inner auditory canal on the right side. Vestibular Shwannoma or also referred to as an Acoustic Neuroma. Now, it's not known to be cancerous but we won’t know more until you see the specialist." Her words were so matter of fact, almost robotic as she spoke to me. How do I even spell half of that? I wrote down each word as I sounded it out in my head. Google’s a heck of a tool; I’d obsess over semantics later. I needed her to simplify this diagnosis to me, like a child.
“So what does that mean? Does it explain the hearing loss, the pulsating tinnitus, and the headaches?” I said, my tone very shaken and hurried, as I look over at my husband with a face of utter confusion. I had thrown a lot at her, but I had no clue what she was explaining to me or if it had anything to do with all of my symptoms. The amount of information I was looking for, I knew could not be answered over a phone call. Yet, it did not stop me from trying to ask.
“What? Who is it?” My husband mouthed to me, with the same worried look on his face, I was shooting back at him.
“Shhh.” I whispered to him. While placing my pointer finger over my mouth, then sticking it in my free ear when I knew he understood. He then turned to settle the boys for a minute to see if he could hear anything else over the noise. Meanwhile, Dr. Von Biberstein continued to talk in my other ear.
“An acoustic neuroma is a tumor that grows from the nerves responsible for balance and hearing. This particular tumor grows from the sheath covering the vestibulocochlear nerve. Again, they are normally benign, non-cancerous, and usually grow slowly. But YES over time, the tumor can cause gradual hearing loss, ringing in the ear, dizziness, and a general off balance feeling.” She answered back, with a sense of complete satisfaction, as if to her, she had accurately and informatively answered my questions.
“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand,” I said, just as unsure as I had meant it before.
“As far as brain tumors go, you have what’s referred to as the best of the worst,” she answered back seeming happy with her choice of words. Wait. Did she just say brain tumor? I looked up at my husband as the tears start to swell in my eyes.
“So it’s classified as a brain tumor?” I asked, loud enough for him to hear.
“Correct, but I am referring you to Duke University. They have a very good group of otolaryngologist there. They can help answer any other questions you have. I also recommend looking into the acoustic neuroma society website in the mean time. They offer a lot of up-to-date information and support groups,” she responded with, what felt like, urgency to end the phone call.
“Sure. Ok. Thank you. I will start looking up more information as soon as I get home.” I said. Fully knowing I plan on preoccupying myself over it the minute we hang up the phone. “So what happens now?” I ask before she ends the call.
“You should be hearing from someone at Duke within the next couple of weeks,” she answered. She continued to say something else after that, but all I heard was a couple of weeks.
“Ok. Thank you again for the call.” I said. All while thinking, what the heck just happened.
“Of course. Again, I apologize the results weren’t in sooner. If you have any further questions, until Duke contacts you, please feel free to call and leave a message. As soon as I am able, I will contact you back with an answer,” she said in an assuring way. “Have a good day,” She continued, before officially ending the call. I then looked down at my phone to check the time, 12:47 PM, as if it would change something. The only thing that did was etch into memory the moment my life completely changed.
“A brain tumor?” My husband asked quietly enough for me to hear, yet softly enough to avoid our children’s hearing. He placed his arm closest to me around my neck and fills his hand around that half of my head, pulling me closer to him, to place a gentle kiss on my forehead. As the tears started to slowly stream down my face, all I could think about was my two little boys, sitting across from us, blissfully unaware of how much their little lives will change in the next coming months.
