I count down the days to the MRI. I feel nervous and anxious but most of all excited. Having spent the last six months in pain, I count every hour that passes as my appointment nears.
I get a phone call the afternoon before my scan. They have to rearrange my appointment as The Doctor will not be able to attend. I'm not sure who this Doctor is, but I assume he is the injection-giving doctor who has to deliver the radioactive fluid and oversee the arthrograms. Because the MRI is a mobile unit, I have to book in the following week and the lady on the phone doesn't quite understand why I'm sobbing down the receiver.
To be honest, I probably should've been prepared to be let down at some point, but I didn't expect it from a private hospital. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so hopeful at all! Perhaps I should accept that, actually, the MRI may not show what the doctor hopes. And what if the scan is postponed again... and again? What if I have a negative reaction to the contrast dye and they're unable to do the scan at all?! Perhaps I shouldn't rely on hope to carry me through this process - it's so sparse anyway, the energy it takes for me to gather the specs of it to create even a sense of hope is far too exhausting. I may as well maintain a pessimistic outlook, and be surprised when good news comes my way. At least then when I'm hit hard I won't have so far to fall.
My life is full of highs and lows at the moment. Peaks and troughs of the absolute kind. Like an earthquake measured on a Richter scale that will just not stop shuddering. Ugh.
A terrible afternoon followed by a night of restlessness. My hip pain seems to correlate with how I'm feeling mentally.
I let myself cry and my face is soaking wet and my eyes are sore but I am silent because for everyone else this is so boring and I'm bored of telling them my problems and I'm bored of losing concentration and I'm bored of taking painkillers and the more I get worked up the tenser I get and my hip feels as if it's made of lead, weighing me down and luring me into the dark place I know I should stay.
I get a phone call the afternoon before my scan. They have to rearrange my appointment as The Doctor will not be able to attend. I'm not sure who this Doctor is, but I assume he is the injection-giving doctor who has to deliver the radioactive fluid and oversee the arthrograms. Because the MRI is a mobile unit, I have to book in the following week and the lady on the phone doesn't quite understand why I'm sobbing down the receiver.
To be honest, I probably should've been prepared to be let down at some point, but I didn't expect it from a private hospital. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so hopeful at all! Perhaps I should accept that, actually, the MRI may not show what the doctor hopes. And what if the scan is postponed again... and again? What if I have a negative reaction to the contrast dye and they're unable to do the scan at all?! Perhaps I shouldn't rely on hope to carry me through this process - it's so sparse anyway, the energy it takes for me to gather the specs of it to create even a sense of hope is far too exhausting. I may as well maintain a pessimistic outlook, and be surprised when good news comes my way. At least then when I'm hit hard I won't have so far to fall.
My life is full of highs and lows at the moment. Peaks and troughs of the absolute kind. Like an earthquake measured on a Richter scale that will just not stop shuddering. Ugh.
A terrible afternoon followed by a night of restlessness. My hip pain seems to correlate with how I'm feeling mentally.
I let myself cry and my face is soaking wet and my eyes are sore but I am silent because for everyone else this is so boring and I'm bored of telling them my problems and I'm bored of losing concentration and I'm bored of taking painkillers and the more I get worked up the tenser I get and my hip feels as if it's made of lead, weighing me down and luring me into the dark place I know I should stay.
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