Joseph Levy Escapes Death. Rick Strassman

pours over him. He feels a healing angel touch the tooth.

      “Oh, God. Thank you for sending me a healing angel. Finally. My God. You really put me through it this time.” Tears mix with the water. Ground down tooth, gritting his teeth, apologizing. Karma. Reward and punishment.

      The next morning, the tooth feels as bad as ever. He returns to McPherson’s office that afternoon. Another 300-mile round trip.

      The x-ray shows no sign of infection, no abscess, but the tooth is swollen.

      “I think you’ve got pulpitis,” the dentist opines.

      Pulpitis. Levy’s never heard of it, but it sounds reasonable. The tooth’s pulp is inflamed and swollen, pressing on nerve fibers supplying the tooth, causing pain.

      McPherson says, “I’d like to prescribe a short course of steroids. They’ll reduce the swelling and give the tooth a chance to heal. As long as it’s swollen, the blood supply is restricted.”

      Levy has never taken steroids, drugs like prednisone. But his mother had. Many times, for recurrent pneumonia. High doses in the hospital for a few days to reduce lung swelling and inflammation. After returning home, she’d stay on a lower dose for several more months. Prednisone made her happy and easier to relate to. Levy could tell by her tone of voice over the phone what dose she was taking. More than 5 mg and she was chatty, slightly elated, and optimistic. Lower than 2.5 mg and she sounded dull, lethargic, and slightly depressed.

      Levy says to McPherson, “Okay,” and adds, “Besides, I could use the mood elevation.”

      The only complication is an upcoming trip to Santa Barbara. In 10 days, he’s flying to the West Coast to meet Karen, a woman he’s met on Match.com. A Chinese immigrant who teaches English for the government. They’ve been emailing and Skyping for several months and it was time to meet.

      Dr. McPherson and Levy do the math.

      McPherson concludes, “You’ll be off steroids for a couple of days before flying.”

      If all goes well, the tooth will be good, his mood better than good, and a romantic rendezvous on track. The less optimistic scenario is beclouded. He simultaneously represses and denies any but a rosy outcome.

      Levy picks up the “Medrol Dose-pak” at the Wheaton CVS. He recognizes “Medrol.” In solution form, it’s Solu-Medrol, a drug whose name he remembers from medical school. Neurosurgeons used it to reduce brain swelling after strokes or in brain cancer. Everyone—medical students, residents, and attendings—regarded it with fear and awe. It was the nuclear option, leading to bleeding stomach ulcers, psychosis, and malignant hypertension. And don’t forget otherworldly infections due to the drug’s devastating effects on immune function. As Levy recalls, only senior level medical staff could administer it. A chill runs up his spine.

      He looks at the package. The initial days’ doses are massive. Then, they taper precipitously over the next week. Giving big doses quickly and getting out just as fast reduces the risk of shutting down your own adrenal production of steroids—another potential catastrophe.

      Levy’s tired of the bad tooth, now into its second month. It’s time to feel normal, happy, and healthy again. Within a few days!

      Feeling sickly, he takes the first dose. In a few hours, his mood rises; or rather, his mood accelerates and amplifies. It’s not happiness or euphoria, per se. More like a heavy coat of shiny paint over rusty metal.

      For the next three days, his tooth hurts less. He eats more easily, but maybe not, as the drug suppresses his appetite. He feels strange, half in and half out of his body. He lowers his Tylenol intake but can’t stop it. The trip to Santa Barbara is approaching. As the steroid dose descends rapidly, Levy’s anxiety rises in equal proportion. Is it because of the steroid or because of its withdrawal? Or is it anticipation of flying to California to meet an internet date? There’s no way to tell.

      The night before his planned departure, he meditates on his cushion for an hour, hoping to broaden and deepen his perspective. Instead, terror descends. How can he possibly travel in this condition? Should I cancel the trip? he wonders. I have an excuse, two excuses, maybe three. He writes in his journal, “Don’t go.” I’ll sleep on it, he finally decides.

      He dreams. A horror cat sinks its claws into him, all four paws. It attaches itself to one of his hands, the right one. The cat isn’t moving nor letting go, just attached. It hurts, but not more than he thinks it should. After he awakens, he considers how he would have dislodged it. He’d smash it against a rock, as simply pulling it off would be too painful.

      He gets up and makes coffee, eats breakfast, and finishes packing his suitcase. He’s scheduled to see McPherson that morning before going to the airport.

      On the road, Levy thinks, I’m crazy. What am I doing? Is this right? I must be suffering from some kind of mental disorder. I’m jeopardizing my welfare in full awareness. First the zirconia, which I agreed to too quickly, and now this, a trip to California in a demented and disabled state. I’ve lost my common sense. Maybe I’m dissociating, separating from my own life, my own experience. Apparently I am. Because my welfare isn’t a priority, something else is, something I’m completely unaware of. Besides, Karen would be angry if I canceled.

      McPherson says, “I want to save the tooth. If it’s not better before too long, we can do a root canal. That, before an extraction.” Somehow Levy feels reassured. Not by what McPherson says, but how he says it.

      As Levy dons his coat and hat, the dentist adds, “By the way, I’ve seen cases where the zirconia is so hard that it traumatizes the underlying tooth.”

      TWO

      LEVY PACKS LIGHTLY so he can get by with carry-on alone. Waiting for his flight in the Southwest waiting area, he riffles through his bag and takes inventory. He left behind his Cialis intentionally. He doesn’t want his penis to play an inordinate role at this point in their relationship, not that it could in his condition. But he hadn’t intended to leave behind powdered psyllium fiber, crucial for his regularity. And he sees only a day or two’s worth of Tylenol in their bottle. Lastly, he forgot his vitamins. Boarding the plane, he feels riddled with holes.

      Karen is mainland Chinese-born with advanced degrees in English language education. Married twice, she has two sons from her first marriage. Levy and she met on Match, emailed off the site, and had several Skype visits. She’s intelligent and her good English skills have made their conversations easy. Levy decides her temperament is withdrawn.

      There have been warning signs, like her not appearing twice in two days for scheduled Skype calls.

      “What happened?” he asks, after she no-shows for the second time. She says nothing, just looks at him over Skype. His feelings are hurt, but he decides to ignore them. If he ignores them, they—the signs and his feelings—don’t mean anything.

      He understands. Chinese women lack empathy. She doesn’t consider how others feel about what she does. Nothing to do about it, really. It’ll work out. He does resent her not asking about his tooth.

      Levy’s brother asks, “Does she even know about it?”

      “I’ve told her a couple of times.” Maybe not enough. Or he’s not asked her directly enough to talk about it with him.

      He doesn’t know Karen, but hopes he’ll feel better around her. Actually, he expects it and sees it as a test. If he doesn’t feel better, she will have failed. He’ll resent her for not being a panacea. More ominously and less conscious, he realizes that if he doesn’t feel better, he’s in for a long dark spell.

      As the plane makes its way west, Levy is struck by the intensity and depth of his need to be healed. At this moment, it’s by Karen, a woman he’s never met, and someone he’s not sure is trustworthy. He wants her to be trustworthy so much that he’ll overlook that she’s not. He’s scared and recites under his breath Jeremiah’s plaint (Jeremiah 17:14): “Heal me Lord, and I will be