“This doesn’t feel right” — Post contributor recounts recent health scare

Published 12:00 am Thursday, January 30, 2025

By Susan Shinn Turner

For the Salisbury Post

On Jan. 15, Dr. Sam Roy with Piedmont Plastic and Oral Surgery removed a colorless benign mole from my face. 

The fancy term is “melanocytic nevus.” I’ve had three of those little suckers develop over the years. I’ve noticed lots of people have them, and it’s no big deal. But I also don’t want to be one of those old ladies with hairy moles on my face. 

It can happen. 

Dr. Roy graciously removed the first one about a year ago, and, because he suggested we do this in cold weather — plus I hate to sweat anyway — it was time to do another. 

It was no big deal, easy peasy. My friend Libby held my hand last year; this year was Gail’s turn. Gail and I were in and out in less than an hour. As many of you reading this know, Dr. Roy is awesome. I teased him once because it seems like half the people in Rowan County have his cellphone number. I do because my parents were his patients, and Dr. Roy removed my son Andrew’s wisdom teeth. 

Gail and I went on with our afternoon. The local anesthetic that numbed the right half of my face went away in a couple hours. We enjoyed a nice dinner at her home and prepared for bedtime around 11. As I got in my bed, I felt what was like a strand of a spider’s web on my left elbow. As I started to brush it away, I noticed my entire lower arm to my wrist was tingling. Same with the upper arm. Same with both hands, and the right arm. It was working its way down my legs.

Then I noticed that the right side of my face had gone numb again, as had the left side; my nose felt completely numb. 

“Huh,” I thought. “This doesn’t feel right.” 

I remained calm. 

It was 11:15 p.m. by now and I hated to do it, but I sent Dr. Roy a text. He didn’t respond so I waited 15 minutes and called him, and told him what was going on.

“That’s not normal,” he said. “Go to the emergency department immediately.”

I kept calm. I went across the hall and tapped on Gail’s door. She was still up, reading. I explained the situation. We both started getting dressed, not rushing, and I got a bag together, in case I had to stay: my gown, my bedroom shoes, my toiletries, my cellphone, my laptop, my chargers. This was a Wednesday night, soon to be Thursday morning, and I had a story due for the Post at noon Friday. I figured I’d have plenty of time to write the story; I had done all the reporting. 

We decided to go to Lane Street Emergency Department. I’d heard wonderful things about it from my friend Lee Ann. Six years ago, doctors there diagnosed her with SCAD, a fairly rare condition in which a torn vessel in the heart causes a heart attack. 

Plus, I knew if you present with heart attack or stroke symptoms, you’ve got the “golden ticket.” 

Gail and I arrived around 12:30 a.m. Thursday. Sure enough, I was seen immediately by a triage nurse. I was placed in a large room — complete with my own blankie warmer — shortly thereafter. While there, I had a CT scan, EKG and bloodwork, all of which were normal. A nurse said that my doctor wanted to send me over to Atrium Cabarrus for an MRI. It was still quite dark. 

She said, “We have 10 people we need to move to Cabarrus, and it will be in the daylight hours. But it will be today.”

I didn’t mind. It was quiet there and, as I said, I had a huge room. By 1:30 a.m., Gail had “encouraged” me to call my husband, who was home in Raleigh. I realized she needed to go home. I told her it was fine to leave, but she wouldn’t leave my side until Jim arrived at 4 a.m. Those are the kinds of friends you want. 

I slept after Jim arrived. Around 8 a.m., he told me he needed to get back to Raleigh to check on Deacon, our 3-year-old Lab. At that point, I called Linda, who had been a dear friend of Momma’s and who had retired from a career at Atrium Cabarrus. She came right over so Jim could leave.

After we chatted a bit, she said, “Susan, I’m going to go back home. I can be back in less than 10 minutes. Just call me when you get your room assignment.” 

(I will tell you that she left home without “fixing” her hair. It looked perfectly fine to me, but I had never seen it like that, and I’ve known her since I was born. So it was a big deal to her.)

I was perfectly content to rest in the peace and quiet. I worked on my story; I knew Chandler, my editor, would be proud. I do want to give a “shout out” to my friend Bill, who dropped off a notebook I’d forgotten to pack. Bless him. 

I had drinks with the “good ice.” The nurse showed me a completely stocked refrigerator and told me to help myself. A kind woman who worked at the front desk even brought me a bottle of Cheerwine when she ran out for errands. I could have stayed there all day. 

Which I did. 

When Linda texted me at 4:15 p.m., I’d just gotten my room assignment, and she was on the way.

There was a bit of a “discussion” as to whether I could ride with her or go by ambulance. I told my nurse I was absolutely not going by ambulance. In a few minutes, the nurse supervisor came in, nice as he could be.

“We need to get you to Atrium as soon as possible,” he admitted. “If you will please sign this release form, you can go.” 

I did and we left, arriving 9 minutes later at the Atrium Cabarrus ED. Shortly after, I was wheeled up to my room and Linda left. 

Lee Ann, whose mother was coming home under hospice care the next morning, thoughtfully brought me a steak from the Stag & Doe. We chatted and munched on our salads, and had a nice visit. 

After she left, I asked the nurse what time my MRI would be. She said it would be sometime during the night. She gave me some melatonin to help me sleep. I’d never had an MRI before, so she kindly gave me Ativan as well. 

At 4:10 a.m., my nurse gently nudged me awake.

“It’s time,” she said. 

I put on my “complimentary” eye mask and my face mask, and a polite gentleman rolled me down in my comfy bed. It felt like we went to China Grove. When we arrived, the two technicians explained what was going to happen. I never saw the machine. 

“You will hear a series of sounds and tones and hammering noises,” one of the techs said. “It takes about 15 minutes.”

“Will I touch the machine?”

“No,” he said.

I lowered my eye mask while they moved me onto the machine. Wherever I was, I was not there. I went to sleep. Before I knew it, it was over. 

The diagnosis? Stress. 

When I got my stitches out, Dr. Roy explained that my nervous system was already under stress — we are going on month three of my husband’s youngest sister’s stay in ICU.

The procedure in his office, while normally not a big deal, sent my nervous system over the edge, he said.

“When you called that night, all of the local anesthetic should have been metabolized within two hours of the procedure,” Dr. Roy said Tuesday. “So what worried me were the symptoms you were describing and I knew it had nothing to do with the lidocaine: sudden numbness, tingling, weakness in the extremities, dizziness — all things that should never be ignored. I worried about some neurologic event occurring.”

Thankfully, it did not.  

Bottom line: Take care of yourself, especially if you are a caregiver. Listen to your body, and don’t ignore unusual symptoms. At every point in Concord, I was taken seriously by every provider. 

I am grateful. 

Freelance writer Susan Shinn Turner lives in Raleigh. Her beloved sister-in-law is improving daily.