To Truro first thing for an MRI scan. My post-ACDF neck did not enjoy this. The sound and reverberation penetrated to its core. Afterwards, as I always do (being an old hand on the MRI front), I asked the radiographers if there was anything to worry about. As they always do, they said they couldn't comment for to do so belonged squarely in the neurosurgeon's domain.
However, as I scrutinised their faces with the insightful glare of the recidivist lawyer it was impossible not to discern A LOOK OF CONCERN. I'm getting used to this, too. It happens when a highly trained medical person is confronted by a scan of my spine or the sight of my Lyme rash. Their expressions assume the "Hmmm, very interesting, very interesting indeed" look. In layman's terms, this means: "You have got something seriously wrong with you." This perception was amplified when one of the radiographers looked at me kindly and said: "We're sending the scans off for urgent reporting."
'Urgent reporting'! I don't want to be 'urgently reported'! I want to be ROUTINE. I want to have a scan that is greeted with boredom, tending effortlessly to withering contempt, the look that says: "Why have you wasted our time coming here and getting us to scan your spine when there's nothing wrong with you, you malingering fool?!"
I want to be routine. I want to be normal. I want to be boring. I want to be OF NO INTEREST TO THE MEDICAL PROFESSION.
After the MRI scan I made my way to West Cornwall hospital in Penzance. There I saw that all the nurses were wearing fake buttocks. Fleshy but plastic derrieres were everywhere, for it was Bowel Cancer Week. Wouldn't it be better if they wandered around half-naked, that's what I started asking myself as one particularly lithe behind sasshayed past me, but just then I was called in to see the neurologist.
"Good news," he said. "As far as we know, you have not got bowel cancer. However, this Lyme of yours is perplexing. The rash has faded, yes, but it's still there."
He went on to explain that this raised various possibilities. A nurse, whose bottom I did not see, came and took some blood. This is to be analysed for Lyme and another possible immune system problem. What it might be I no longer recall, blinded as I was by medical jargon and plastic posteriors. But the laboratory in Southampton find me interesting. "It's not often they get three blood tests showing positive for Lyme," said the neurologist. The upside is that when my latest sample arrives, they will leap upon it in a Dracula-esque frenzy and get the tests done super-pronto.
Back home I set about work with no other thought than that whatever happens, it has to be done. By lunchtime, however, as if to endorse the radiographers' look of concern, the electric shocks set in. I took some Gabapentin, a drug I dislike (it sorts your nerves out but messes up your mind), and fell asleep, managing to snooze through the appointed time for a telephone interview.
But all is not lost. So far as I know, I do not have bowel cancer. The nurses at the West Cornwall hospital are doing a good job at raising awareness of what must be a very debilitating condition. I hope, meanwhile, that I'm doing something by way of raising awareness of cervical myelopathy and Lyme disease. My interviewee has forgiven me and in half an hour I shall be talking to her, refreshed and free, for now, of electric shocks. Our topic is coastal access for walkers, which, of course, dovetails neatly into coastal access for surfers, which ever so slightly makes me gutted to think that if I do need another op, it'll be sometime in 2011, not 2010, when I next paddle out.
But onward! I WANT TO BE ROUTINE. One day I will be ROUTINE again. One day I'll surf again. Meanwhile, thank God for work. Without it I think I might be posing a problem for the shrinks as well.
Why is the image above here? Bowel cancer. It's worth thinking about. Don't let it, and the likes of myelopathy and/or Lyme disease, beat you. (Below - me training in the old days. Well, about five years ago. I think this shot was taken at Walcot ABC in Swindon. I will never box again, in terms of sparring and/or fighting, but I will hit the heavy bag when all this is over. Hard.)
Yes, why is the above image there? My husband has just become a fanatic of your blog & wants to know if there is anything else easy on his vision that he has missed!! I'm with you there on the normal & of no interest to the medical profession bit. Can't wait until my op, getting fed up of waiting now, & want the stabbing myself with clexane bit to be over. Thinking of you all, hang on in there, Lx & the crew.
Posted by: Lucy | January 27, 2010 at 11:19 AM