Thursday, June 13, 2013
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
I suppose I should say something...
Seattle rejected me because my herniation was too small. This, coming from the surgeon who believes in a "Chiari 0" - symptomatic with zero herniation. Needless to say I felt my world unravel.
I've spent the last few months fighting severe depression and anxiety. Seattle was The Plan. I couldn't process the thought that I would have to start all over again.
Through some therapy, pouring myself into art projects, and a medication adjustment I'm... well, I guess I'm better. If by "better" you mean "not on the verge of a major meltdown most days." I'm still in pain. I've resigned myself to using a wheelchair when needed, although I fought that decision tooth and nail. I have at least one doctor on my side and he's promised to help me find the care I deserve. We're sending my information to Dr. Oro in Colorado next. I spoke to the receptionist there and she said, "Even if he determines you're not eligible for surgery, we will still put you on a care plan. We won't leave you drifting out in limbo." That's what I need. Someone who knows this disease helping to get me on a path to healing.
In three weeks it will have been one year since my diagnosis. I look back and wonder at how naive I was. Truly, I believed I would find a neurosurgeon immediately, have the decompression surgery I need to get back on my feet, spend a few months recovering and then get back in the game. As the weeks and then months rolled by, my hope and positive attitude were whittled away. I miss my old life. I miss being active in my community. I miss having friends. I miss driving my car.
There's still some hope left in me, I guess. It's hard to see some days. All I can do is put my head down and hope this misery ends sooner rather than later.
I've spent the last few months fighting severe depression and anxiety. Seattle was The Plan. I couldn't process the thought that I would have to start all over again.
Through some therapy, pouring myself into art projects, and a medication adjustment I'm... well, I guess I'm better. If by "better" you mean "not on the verge of a major meltdown most days." I'm still in pain. I've resigned myself to using a wheelchair when needed, although I fought that decision tooth and nail. I have at least one doctor on my side and he's promised to help me find the care I deserve. We're sending my information to Dr. Oro in Colorado next. I spoke to the receptionist there and she said, "Even if he determines you're not eligible for surgery, we will still put you on a care plan. We won't leave you drifting out in limbo." That's what I need. Someone who knows this disease helping to get me on a path to healing.
In three weeks it will have been one year since my diagnosis. I look back and wonder at how naive I was. Truly, I believed I would find a neurosurgeon immediately, have the decompression surgery I need to get back on my feet, spend a few months recovering and then get back in the game. As the weeks and then months rolled by, my hope and positive attitude were whittled away. I miss my old life. I miss being active in my community. I miss having friends. I miss driving my car.
There's still some hope left in me, I guess. It's hard to see some days. All I can do is put my head down and hope this misery ends sooner rather than later.
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