Editor’s Journal (03.08.07)

Costochondritis finally ready for the spotlight

By: John Dunphy
   My body is a roadmap of maladies.
   As I type this, the right side of my jaw aches from an undiagnosed bout of temporomandibular joint disorder. My triceps are sore from a recent return to working out. My sensitive neck, fine for now, will surely become a pock-marked mess when I shave later.
   None of these ailments bother me. The clicking in my jaw materialized about 17 years ago I remember, quite clearly, as my mother and I were leaving the old A&P in Middletown. And while perhaps I should have it checked, my jaw hasn’t fallen off and it’s not like it hurts all the time; it just hurts right now. So I deal with it.
   I consider the soreness in my triceps a "good pain." Yeah! Feel the burn! You can do it! Whooooo! and all of that sort of thing. While I’m not looking for massive triceps like Ed Hocules (the NFL referee whose Herculean arms have since had my brother and I referring to them as, yes, "hocules"), I’d like them to improve. So I deal with it.
   And the neck? Well, I suppose I could go Grizzly Adams like I did a few months ago, but there’s this period between that and clean shaven where the whole face just itches like the dickens. So I deal with it.
   There was a pain a few months ago, however, that I didn’t want to deal with — a pain that scared the living hell out of me. That pain was from costochondritis.
   The disease, an inflammation of joints connecting the ribcage to the sternum, is so unknown the name isn’t even recognized by the word processing program I’m currently using to type this.
   Yet, do an online search for "costochondritis," or its near identical twin "Tietze’s syndrome," and you’ll find a bevy of message boards and forums like askwaltstollmd.com, chock-a-block with testimonials from people that have described this ailment as soreness in the heart area that "got so bad one day I drove myself to the hospital and was admitted for several days of testing," to an admittedly extreme testimonial that describes how one U.S. Army veteran had "surgery to remove a portion of my sternum due to costochondritis or Tietze’s Syndrome.
   "I survived 13 years of hellish pain, a real nightmare that somewhat destroyed my physical and mental health. I endured at most times a dull, aching, pressure-like pain, and occasionally severe pain about my left chest where the third rib joins the sternum."
   So, here I was, 27 years old, the newly crowned (well, crowned figuratively I suppose. Though there was the crown from Burger King) editor of The Lawrence Ledger. Soon, I would finally get out of Dad’s house and be "on my own" soaking up single life in Princeton. Until one afternoon, I felt a crack.
   At first I didn’t pay too much mind to it. So my chest cracked, so what? I crack my knuckles all the time. If I sit in one position for too long, my knee cracks. It’s really kind of refreshing when I walk a few steps and hear that little "crick" signaling that my legs are back on track. But, whenever I mentioned this chest cracking thing to anyone, they reacted with revulsion and a "that can’t be good for you."
   Apparently it wasn’t. A few weeks later, I noticed it again. This time, it didn’t crack a little and go away. It stuck, and it hurt. And like the numerous folks that have posted their thoughts about costochondritis on askwaltstollmd.com, I thought it was something worse. A heart attack? Who knows. All I knew was that I was scared out of my mind.
   A couple doctor’s appointments, a couple (literally) hundred ibuprofen pills, and several months of trial and error later, I can say that my bout with this little-known disease has eased. I cut out caffeine (a mighty feat for someone who consumed coffee by the sleeve), which made a world of difference, almost overnight. Then there’s all that working out stuff I’m trying my hand at again. But, I am being careful with chest exercises, of course.
   The thing about all this, though, was how it has quick-as-a-wink changed my mindset. I can remember standing outside my father’s girlfriend’s house, her bushes with these Christmas present shaped lights on them, with "Jingle Bells" or "O Holy Night" or "Silent Night," I don’t know, playing their tinny tune. I felt equal parts nostalgic and sad. Was I dying? A part of me knew I wasn’t. But, then again, what if?
   It seems so extreme and dramatic now, but while it was going on, while I was waiting for my medical insurance to kick in and not knowing why this sharp pain knocked me out every time I reached over to get my seat belt, it felt very real. Is that what it’s going to feel like when we really die?
   The whole thing was so important to me, I asked Michael Redmond, Lifestyle editor for The Princeton Packet, to contact the folks over at Princeton Healthcare System, who have regularly contributed a health column (one that also has appeared in these pages). They hadn’t heard of costochondritis, either. No surprise.
   But now they know. And their report, on Page 11A, can hopefully serve as a balm to any Lawrentians out there who might have felt similar foreign discomfort. It’s good to know someone else out there can relate, especially in those moments, no matter how few they might be, when you really discover what mortality feels like.
   Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go refill my cup of decaf. Believe me, the tradeoff is well worth it.
John Dunphy is managing editor of The Lawrence Ledger. He can be reached at [email protected].