I missed the month of March and a couple of weeks of April. The days passed me by while I was suffering from unrelenting migraines and the haziness brought on by medications and too many trips to doctors’ offices.

I’m feeling better now, and starting to notice how beautiful it’s been. The fact that daffodils are already shriveling makes me feel sad, but there are plenty of other glorious floral displays to behold:

And, although it’s just a lowly weed, I love the humble dandelion:

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.