I never actually thought I'd be happy to have a medical procedure scheduled. But the insurance company finally approved the MRI, which means that I, the doctor, and therapists will know what the heck is wrong with me. We've all worked out the disc part, but is it bulging? Herniated? Ruptured? How many are involved? Do I have a tumor on my spinal column?
All it took was falling over in the physical therapy clinic. If I'd known, I could have engineered that sooner.
(Actually, I couldn't have. That's the scary part. I don't know when the muscles are going to just stop working.)
And while I don't want bad news (bad news is surgery, worse news is a growth of some sort. Best news would be it will heal on its own, but reality? Probably not.), I can't continue like this. It's not getting better, it's getting worse. This morning at the grocery, I realized I'd lost track of my lower leg. YAY!
My greatest fear? That after all this carrying on, they'll do the MRI and say, uh...there's nothing wrong with you. Really, I worry about that.
Because I am an idiot.
Go listen to some good music: "Idiot Prayer" from the album Signify by Porcupine Tree. For those of you keeping track: the cat is back at the vet with a slight fever, which is bad, but they tricked him into eating, which is good. For those of you really keeping track, this is all I know: surgery would put me out of commission for at least two months. But a friend assured me that she was able to jump out of a helicopter almost two months to the day after hers. So there you go, even though I don't actually know anything yet.