“How’s your summer going? I haven’t seen you much,” said the friendly IT guy at work.
“Well my dad died after a long hospitalization that had me making lots of trips to his hospital in Philly,” I replied more cheerfully than was expected or warranted.
“And now I’m on my way to get a follow-up MRI on the tumor/mass/lesion inside a bone in my arm.”
<he’s backing away now>
“I’ve been eating every carb I can find and petting kittens.”
“So, like, byeeeeee. Thanks for fixing my laptop and stuff.”
It’s the third time the neurologist has said the list aloud, asking me to repeat the words back to him. I get three words right the first two times and on the third, I remember four of the five.
‘Wagon’ eludes me. It isn’t on the tip of my tongue. I am not close to spitting out the word. I feel as if I am blindfolded in the woods, grasping in all directions for some sense of where I am. I couldn’t even guess what letter that fifth word starts with.
I can feel my brain contracting, pulsing and squeezing like a muscle as I try to jump through the cognitive hoops the medical and psychological professionals present to me.
On the forth round, I hit “sandwich” and then pause. It’s a long pause. I somehow find ‘wagon.’ None of the visualization techniques or mnemonics I would normally use to remember things are working. Instead, I find wagon because I suddenly heard in my head the somewhat awkward way the doctor said the clunky word.
Wagon. Continue reading
My Friday started with an MRI.
(You’re probably wondering “how does that qualify as a treat?” Just trust me.)
After I got my head examined, I had to run some other personal errands so I took the day off. It was a beautiful day in NYC – very unlike our typical Augusts – and I was feeling better than I have most days since the concussion. Continue reading
It was time to be measured. Or rather, to have my tumor measured. Just a routine MRI albeit one with contrast (ew).
“Headphones with music or earplugs?” Carlos the tech asked.
“Headphones today, I think,” I said before adding, “but nothing too loud because I will definitely doze. Lite FM?”
Somehow I didn’t care about sounding like an old, old lady.
“You got it.”
Once all of the adjustments had been made, Carlos popped some giant headphones over my ears and pushed me into the tube.
The first song? Only one of the world’s worst songs.
It’s well-established that I loathe Train.
I was spared from Pitbull audio abuse only by virtue of the soft rock format. THANK GOODNESS.
Now I wait to see the doctor (October, darn it!). I’ll let you know but assume that the freeloader in my arm is still 8 cm.
My body is letting me down recently. Maybe I have let my body down. Either is possible, I guess.
While much of the last six months or so has been pure NYC-infused joy for me, I have also been dealing with some health concerns.
A week ago, I started getting symptoms that I had previously ascribed to allergies, both seasonal and to a new medication (Celebrex): Continue reading