It happened again, dang, another relapse in the books. Two Junes in a row, bad trend I’m starting, and I liked June! I guess I never really got over that cold (see previous post, shameless plug) and I think that’s where it all began.
Fast forward a month.
“Ask him if it’s bad” whispers my boyfriend sitting a few feet from my chair, trying to hear my conversation with my neurologist. I give him a look, but his look speaks volumes, so I ask. “Can you see this one on the MRI? How bad is it?”
“Well, it’s not subtle”
Not subtle. At least I’m not crazy, right? There’s scientific evidence that my hard to define symptoms, the numbness and tingling, the sensitivity, the ‘weird feelings’, are actually there, and not just my imagination. The feeling of ‘being off’ actually takes evidentiary root, in black and white picture format.
But that scientific evidence (proof of sanity?) that is so validating, is so damning. It’s evidence of progression, of worsening. What we’ve been trying so hard to stop and slow down is taking a natural, organic, progressive shape. What a horrible quandary that makes us want to betray either body or mind.
What is better, to be wrong and crazy or right and sick?