Alone. In a big tube. - On Friday, the numbness and paralysis started climbing into my abdomen and chest. No more waiting. To the emergency of the closest big city and I was in being assessed within an hour. Lots of strange neurological tests of touching my legs, moving my toes, trying to walk. And in the wee hours of the morning, I reflected on what was happening to me. What if I never get to walk again? all I could think of was how hard it would be to take my kids to do their favorite thing, go to the park. How will I go to the park? How will I go to the park? What if I can't ever go to the park with them again? It seemed so trivial to focus on but I couldn't get it out of my mind.
I've seen lots of movies where the character gets wheeled into a tube for an MRI scan, but this time it wasn't a movie. It was me. My body. My brain. My Spine. My Scan. Just me.
I don't think I've ever felt as alone as I did in that tube. Just sitting. Still. Not quiet. (I had no idea it would actually be loud. I had to wear ear plugs). At times, the noise was comforting. At least I knew something was going on, but I felt isolated from the whole world.
Still. Alone.
I don't think I've ever felt as alone as I did in that tube. Just sitting. Still. Not quiet. (I had no idea it would actually be loud. I had to wear ear plugs). At times, the noise was comforting. At least I knew something was going on, but I felt isolated from the whole world.
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