Writing the previous blog entry somehow served its purpose and the two weeks have passed in a blur of postmodern parenthood: preschool, elementary school, soccer, tennis, Cub Scouts, magazine sales and general mayhem. I managed to get our church’s preschool Sunday School program started last weekend and then there’s that whole college teaching thing that I barely remember I have to do until Wed. mornings. Wait, it’s now Wed. afternoon and that means I have to teach tonight . . .well, crap. Oh wait, it’s just Rome. I can teach Rome in my sleep and the way this day is going, I may be doing just that.
But it’s done. I went for the MRI at 9 this morning. Half hour in the outer waiting room of the incredibly swanky Neurosurgeon’s office (there are like 5 neurosurgeons that share this place, which works since I don’t think any of them are there more than one day a week). Then I got called into the MRI waiting room, a bare little hallway with a bathroom (thank heavens) and a water cooler, but not even a magazine. And the entire building is subzero. Sat shivering for another half hour before I finally got placed in the machine. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think the damn thing has gotten even louder in the last year! RATTA TATTA TATTA. CLACKETY CLACK. Then the technician comes in to inject the contrast dye via IV. Deep breath. I can handle this. Ouch. What the hell is he doing in there? “Do they usually have trouble finding a vein on you? Let me try the other arm.” So he tries the left arm. “Is this where your IV was in the hospital? You have a lot of scar tissue over here.” You do realize that you’re making more scar tissue right now? Dye injected. 8 more minutes of clackety clackety clackety clack. Then it was over and I had to pull my frozen stiff body off the table. Foot drop in full force, I limped back to the waiting room where Matt was waiting with our preschooler, who doesn’t start class until 12:45.
As I limp over to the other side of the waiting room, Matt tells me the school nurse has called and that our middle son felt sick during mass this morning and is in her office. Over the next hour (things do not move quickly in this office), while we were being climbed upon by our 4-year-old who had already burned through the battery on my kindle fire, my husband talked to the school nurse three more times. Our son was sent back to class. Our son was sent back to the nurse. Our son was sent back to class to get his lunch to eat in the nurse’s office to see if that would help his stomach ache. Over and over, my husband explained that we were IN A NEUROSURGEON’S OFFICE and if the child’s limbs were intact and he wasn’t puking on anyone (or even if he was), we couldn’t come get him for at least an hour. Then my cell battery died and we realized Matt’s cell was at home. Awesome.
Finally, at 11:30 I got into Rock Star Neurosurgeon’s office where I got weighed and measured. Hey, I’m up to 108 pounds now. I still look like a freakishly frail old lady, but I’m lot better than I was when I was in Rehab. Then we waited another 15 minutes for the Rock Star himself. By that point my anxiety level was so high over the kid in the nurse’s office and the preschooler who was rapidly going to be late for his school and the impending pick up from school carpool circuit that I do every day that I really didn’t freaking care about the MRI anymore. I just wanted out. I secretly think that is Rock Star’s plan. By the time he walked in, I was halfway out the door. I heard the “everything looks good.” Luckily, he had to re-adjust my shunt since I’d had the MRI and that brought me to my senses long enough to blurt out some of my questions. “Will I have to do this every year?” Yes. “Am I at an increased risk for a second stroke the same way other stroke victims are?” Yes. “Why is my dentist making me take antibiotics when I have a cleaning?” Apparently that answer is complicated as there hasn’t really been much research done with shunts, only other implants, but they can’t hurt, so just keep your dentist happy. Matt asked about plane travel which made me wonder where we are going. Yes, plane travel is fine. There are not magnets powerful enough in airport security to mess with my shunt.
I made my appointment for 2015. Then we drove like a bat out of hell to get home. I packed our preschooler’s stuff and Matt called the elementary school AGAIN. The child was still alive and back in class. We took the preschooler to school and then went to lunch and took a breath for the first time today. Now I have ten minutes to get this posted before the afternoon circuit begins and I have to get ready for work tonight. My husband said “at some point, try to take a minute to absorb the fact that he said everything looked good.” Does he know me at all? I don’t work that way. I’m already onto the next fifteen crises in our path. But for his sake, I will do it. I will stop. For a minute.
Everything looks good.