After a mere 2.5 years of intermittent nerve pain from my lower back to my ankle, I thought I should see a doctor. It flares up for about one month out of every three or four, and spending 1/4 of my life disabled does not appeal to me.
So I made use of all that sick time I’d accrued and saw the doctor this morning. After flailing around the exam room and crying out in pain on the x-ray table, he had a potential diagnosis. The x-rays didn’t show anything (of course), so he had me get an MRI.
I squeezed in four hours of work and had an MRI done this afternoon. Conveniently, right across the parking lot. I got to wear my second open examination gown of the day. This time it was a luxurious teal fabric, nothing like the pale blue tissue-paper from this morning.
It was my first MRI and I’d heard nothing but bad news about them. But lying in that noisy coffin was almost peaceful. It was the most comfortable I’d been all day. I nearly fell asleep as huge magnets whirled and clanked inches from my face.
Now I need to setup another doctor’s appointment so we can get a solid diagnosis. It would be nice to know why I’m 25 and have to wince and gasp with every step.