“I was hoping it was a tumor.”
That’s what he said to me this morning.
No good conversations ever come from that kind of opening.
Last week, he gave me three options.
I know it’s not bad. I know it could be so much worse.
Except that I was sorta really hoping it was a tumor too.
And that I could have a little surgery and that would be that.
Instead, my answer is that there is no answer.
And that it might be years before I have another “attack”
Except that this isn’t the first “attack” that I’ve had.
It’s just the first time that it was bad enough that I thought to see a doctor.
I have lesions…. a lot of lesions.
It’s why my mouth is numb.
It’s why my hands and feet go numb.
It’s why I sometimes fall down.
It’s why I can’t stand to take hot showers.
It’s why I get dizzy.
It’s why I can’t remember things.
People always tell me I’m so organized, like it’s a compliment.
I wish I didn’t have to be, because I lose everything all the time.
It’s why I’m tired all the time.
It’s why I have the headaches.
It explains so much, and I’ve known that this was coming.
I’ve known for more than a year…
But it’s a tough pill to swallow, and I really wish I could go back to where it was just a thought in my head, instead of a confirmation.
I would really rather not know.