It's been a very long week. The last seven days have been somewhat of a strain as I have worried myself sick over my health. What's she going on about now? I hear you ask. Something I've been wanting to share with you for some time but have been unable to find the right words to make it sound, how can I say this, a walk in the park. As you know, I've been having a few issues with my epilepsy recently, issues that have stripped me of my driving licence and a lot of my independence, not to mention the happy go lucky attitude I have always enjoyed. Being unable to wait for the NHS to make up its mind about giving me an appointment, I decided to throw caution (and money) to the wind and go private. How glad I am that I did. Last Friday was my initial appointment with the consultant, a lovely man, knowledgeable and helpful, determined to get to the bottom of my sudden seizures. I was booked in for an MRI head scan and an ECG, all within a matter of days. I have hardly slept all week, lost my appetite (probably not a bad thing) and worried that my results would result in something far more sinister than I could possible cope with.
The lovely nurse at the hospital where I had the MRI scan removed the cage-like contraption first when I told her how incredibly claustrophobic I am. It was just like lying in a tunnel with a few very loud noises to keep me company. It didn't hurt and wasn't half as bad as I imagined, having kept myself up most of the previous night with worry. The only part of it that was uncomfortable however, was the gown I had to wear with only a pair of knickers underneath, and I hadn't shaved my legs. The ECG made me think of the electric chair, without the priest. My hair was gooey afterwards but another lovely nurse comforted me and made me realise that having tests wasn't so bad after all. But then, on Friday afternoon, came the results.
I wasn't sure I could get through the morning without at least a prayer or two; and I didn't. I've never prayed so much in all my life. The picture of Amy on the fireplace kept me strong; I asked that I be spared in order to look after my girl and see her grow into the beautiful young woman I imagine. The consultant called me into his office, his hand shake and smile telling me very little in my uncertainty. The Farmer and I sat next to each other, opposite the consultant, watching as he went over his notes and recollected our meeting the previous Friday. "So, the results," he began, as I clenched my hands, perhaps an obvious horror telling in my eyes. "The MRI was absolutely normal," he said, as he looked at me and smiled, watching my tears stream with relief. "The ECG shows an impressive photo sensitive epilepsy but we knew that already. I am changing your medication because the one you are currently on isn't the correct one for this type of epilepsy." He went on to talk about it being heightened at those crappy hormonal times, you know, the ones where we ladies call, 'time of the month' and told me that I could be sensitive to the computer and it might be an idea to wear dark glasses when using it. So here I am, sat looking at you with my sunglasses on. Probably looking like a complete prat, but who cares? At least I'm still here.