As instructed, I called my doctor early Monday morning to discuss the results of the MRI I had done last week. She wasn’t available, so I dutifully left a message for her and waited for her to call back.

Hours passed and not a ring. I decided to go for a walk during lunch to get some fresh air. I should have eaten my lunch at my desk, since (naturally) she decided to call when I was out. I suppose she was unable to say much about the results due to privacy laws, nevertheless, her remark that there was “nothing alarming” about the MRI results wasn’t very informative.

I called again and a third time later that day.  The receptionist informed me that they had been passing on my messages to my doctor. Fine.

I refrained from running to the restroom for the last hour of work, since I didn’t want to miss her call. Nada. At five o’clock, I raced to the restroom.

When I came back, the light on my phone was blinking. The message was from the nurse who worked with my doctor. She said she could tell me a little bit about the test, but it was probably best that I make an appointment and speak with my doctor about this. Great. Another opportunity to miss work to hear about test results that show NOTHING.

I know my doctor is busy, but her failure to contact me yesterday really upset me. I’ve been battling this for two freakin’ years, with very little help from any medical personnel. I’m at my wit’s end. I’m desperate. I’m depressed and I want to be done with this NOW.

To make matters worse, when I expressed my frustration with the doctor and with my inability to do work comfortably and enjoy any of my old hobbies (knitting, cross-stitch, web design, etc.), he told me he was sick to death of hearing about my back and that I should just get over it. This is the same refrain my mother sang to me during the Christmas holidays.

I know no one enjoys hearing (or reading) someone talk over and over again about how they hurt and how frustrated they are. I don’t enjoy it myself. But what am I supposed to do? Pretend that everything is fine? Pretend that life is good; that I can enjoy things the way I once did? I guess I’m missing the heroic streak I’m supposed to have.

Sure, I’m relatively lucky…I have all my limbs; I’m not paralyzed or blind. But just because it could be worse doesn’t mean that I should totally discount my current suffering, does it? Or does it? The message that I’m getting from my closest friends and family members is that it does…that I should stop talking about this; stop feeling sorry for myself and move on.

What they’re discounting is that I have been trying as hard as I can. I’ve changed my habits (I excercise regularly and watch my posture). I’ve tried to find new activities and tried to focus on the good things in my life (my kids). But try as I might, I can’t help but resent these physical limitations and the lack of sympathy I’m experiencing. I feel really alone in this. 

P.S. I made an appointment to see my doctor on Thursday. I’m going to ask for some meds that actually help mask the pain and for more physical therapy. I’m also going to ask for a referral to a mental health counselor…perhaps there I’ll find the attentive listener I really need right now.

Has it ever happened to you that you passed blindly by something one day, but then noticed it on another day, and from that point forward, noticed that item all over the place? This has happened to me with Flickr. I have seen the badges here and there, but never really took the time to explore what they were all about…until this weekend.

I’ve really enjoyed looking at all the photo challenge groups and trying to work up a couple of shots to submit to them. You can see a few of my most recent shots towards the bottom of the sidebar.

I tried taking some self-portraits. They never quite come out looking like me. These especially don’t. I don’t recognize the person in them, but I like them from a purely aesthetic point of view Robert likes them for other reasons, which I don’t think I need to spell out…

My mother and I took a drive in our old Mercedes, the dark green one with the leather seats my thighs always stuck to during heat waves. We drove up Highway 93 towards Missoula, Montana and talked about the scenery on the way. We were preoccupied with the level of the river, which had been rising at an astounding rate. Normally, the river was much farther from the road, but this year, it ate away at the edges of the road. It was hard to remain calm, whenever Mom drove a little too close to the edge. I frequently gasped and grabbed onto my seat, knuckles blanching.

With no warning, we plowed into a deep puddle and watched in horror as the water washed over the hood of the car. Next thing we knew, a gigantic wave engulfed us, and we were deep in the murky embrace of a cold spring river. Leaks sprang around the edges of the windows and I started hyperventilating, desperate for each lungful of air.

How were we going to get out? If I broke the window, the water would get in that much faster and that would spell the last of the air we had available. Would I be strong enough to swim to the top? Could I pull my mother to safety?

At that point, I woke, tangled in my sheets, sweating and gasping for air.

This is the imagery I carried with me as I headed to the imaging center for an MRI. Not good. I’m not claustrophobic, exactly, but have to admit that I was not looking forward to being trapped in a tube for 20 minutes while they performed the scan. It proved to be more of an ordeal than I had anticipated.

Since they were scanning my neck to see if I had a pinched nerve or a bulging disk of some sort, they instructed me not to swallow during the scans, each of which lasted approximately four minutes. How, I ask you, is one supposed to refrain from swallowing after someone specifically told you not to? How do you prevent that from happening, when you’re in a partial state of panic about being trapped in a tube with loud sounds buzzing around your head and visions of drowning still flickering through your mind’s eye?

It’s impossible. Nevertheless, the scans were performed; I survived and will wait to hear the outcome on Monday. Hopefully, after two years of waiting for a definitive diagnosis, I’ll finally get an answer to what’s been causing me so much pain.

If not, I’ll head back into physical therapy.