Last night I had all the anxiety. All of it.
Will I have to go to the ER before I get my appointment at the MS Center? How will they get my records before I’m an actual patient? Will they arrive and get lost because no one knows who I am or why they’re being sent?
Who are you kidding, self? No one is even working on your records.
Should I keep my sleep consult appointment on Wednesday? I already have to lean on the counter just to brush my teeth. I don’t want to walk from the parking garage to the doctor’s office. I’m not sure I can do it, whether I want to or not.
I feel like I can’t breathe.
What if it is MS?
What if it’s not MS?
What if I don’t ever get better?
Last night Dan was working on a little project for me: removing, washing, drying, and replacing the covers we keep on our living room furniture to protect the upholstery from Boomer and Izzy.
Putting them back on required moving the couch and love seat. At one point he bumped the lamp on the sofa table, knocking it to the floor. The shade came off, the bulb broke. And then… the broken light bulb started smoking.
“I need you to unplug the lamp!” Dan said.
“OK!” I was sitting right next to the power strip where it was plugged in, but I couldn’t reach it. I made efforts to get out of my seat. I grunted. I rocked myself forward trying to use momentum to get me off the couch, knowing that once I was upright, I’d still have to turn 90 degrees and recover my balance. Then I’d have to bend over and, using my weak arms, try to pull the lamp cord out of the outlet.
“Fuck. Nevermind, I’ll get it.”
I had only managed to scoot myself closer to the edge of my seat. I wasn’t anywhere close to standing when Dan realized it would be faster for him to get up off the floor and walk over to the outlet.
Crisis averted. Nothing caught on fire. But I was smacked by the depressing reality that I can’t do anything and I certainly can’t do anything quickly.
I’m officially sick and a burden.
Thank you for writing honestly even when it’s hard. You’re loved. A lot.