27 January 2011

...until your heart stops beating

Five discs.


L2 through S1.

Bulging. Torn.

Broken cartilage.

"...severe stenosis of right lateral recess."

"How?" I frowned.

"Consistent with severe impact," the doctor replied. "Heavy lifting."

Of course, there's been no severe impact, and my heavy lifting tends to be emotional rather than physical. In me-speak, this is business as usual. This is living with a broken body.

(Don't feel sorry for me. I don't. This is living with a broken body. Living. You see what I do. I don't stop. Ever.)

"I'm so angry with your insurance company," she said. "I was sure that with such significant neural impact, you had a tumor."

"I was sure that with my family history, I had a tumor," I replied.

I don't have cancer. This is mechanical engineering. This is something I understand. Even if I don't want to, I can deal with this.

I've already been referred to a spinal surgeon. He is very conservative, I'm told. But a significant look passed between my GP and I.

"Yeah," she said.

"What I figured," I told her, shrugging.

And so, I'll go from there.

But come June, body cast, wheelchair, whatever...

Go listen to some good music: "Shellshock" from the album International - The Best of New Order by New Order. It's easier not to fight phantoms. Broken I can cope with. Not happy about it, but I can cope with it. I do not stop.

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