Saturday, 15 December 2012

Multiple Sclerosis.

Here I am again in yet another waiting room.
Linda's with me so I don't have to be a brave soldier on my own:
The waiting room of the Munro Unit at St. Richard's Hospital is empty except for Linda and myself.
Feels like some kind of portent.
I am amused by a sign on one of the doors:
Linda finds a copy of George Orwell's '1984' on a book shelf and sits reading quietly.
I wander around poking my nose into any door I find open.

Eventually we are asked to go and sit in a different waiting room.
I am invited into another room with a neurologist in it.
The neurologist asks lots of questions and carries out several tests on me.

Cut to the chase:

So what?
What difference does that make to me in this moment?
The future?
Who can tell?

I have to have several blood tests to rule out some decoy conditions.
I have to have a chest XRay for the same reason.
I have to have another MRI scan, on my spine this time (how much am I looking forward to that?).

Once again:
It's not the hand you're dealt, it's the way you play the hand you're dealt.


Le Sanglier said...

I think it must have sucked to hear the doctor say it, in spite of the fact that you already decided that you had it. There is always the part of us that sneakily thinks, "Yeah but maybe tomorrow I will be all better and I will be young again."

M.S. or not, you can still "skid in broadside, totally worn out & proclaiming "WOW, what a ride!"

I am more of a limper, I think, and so I feel sad about M.S. and sick Outa Spacemen.

Mereso 15... still human, I guess.

Laurent said...

Boy, what a nasty surprise... I wish you all the luck and strength.

Laurent said...

Boy, that's a nasty surprise...

I wish you all the strength and luck you need.