“I know God won’t give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish He didn’t trust me so much.” –Blessed Mother Teresa
It’s been a rough two years for me. I’ve had some health problems, and no one has really been able to help. My doctors have all shuffled me from one to the other, all claiming that my problems were not their problems (professionally speaking). I went from never feeling bad, to feeling bad every couple of months. I’ve been diagnosed with PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome), Epstein Barr Virus, severe vitamin deficiency, and–my personal favorite–depression. All were treated (I even had a surgical procedure for the PCOS), yet I never felt better. I would be healthy and energetic for a few months, then I would get sick for a few months.
Then, shortly after my grandfather’s death, I woke up one morning extremely dizzy, with blurred vision, a pounding in my head, muffled hearing, and left-sided numbness. I got out of bed, then fell against a wall. As scary as that episode was, it was the best thing that could have happened. It sent me to the ER–which found nothing. I was told that I had an anxiety attack. (I don’t know how one wakes up with anxiety–apparently that was one hell of a nightmare.) But, the ER doctor had me follow-up with a neurologist a few days later, who ran a battery of testing, including MRIs, CT scans, a VEP, and a lumbar puncture.
After one month of testing and waiting, I finally got an answer last week. The neurologist came into the examination room, looked at my husband and myself, and proceeded to show us numbers and test results that I didn’t understand. But, even though I didn’t understand his medical terminology, I did understand his facial expressions. His face betrayed his professionalism; he had bad news. What was his “bad news?” Continue reading