Revision

This past week has been a bit of a roller-coaster.

I’ve been having severe headaches for about a month now. I finally figured it had to be that my eyesight was, at long last, going. So a quick trip to the optometrist, eye check, get glasses, right? Oh wrong, wrong, wrong. My vision is still 20-15. The doc found I had some swelling of the nerves in my eyes, so he referred me on to an opthamologist. I was worked into one of Andy’s kind colleagues’ schedule the same day. So hey! I got to have my eyes dilated twice in one day.

All-day eye blurring aside, Andy’s insistence that I be checked the same day was very disconcerting. I know Andy. There’s just no other way to explain it and he wouldn’t have pressed it like that if he wasn’t worried. And when he is worried, I am more so.

The finding of swelling was confirmed and the opthamologist referred me to a neurologist and got me scheduled for an MRI the following day (Friday). Cue Geneen freakout. Well, not really, but I did go to bed at 6 p.m. and didn’t get up until the next day right before I had to go to the appointment. That’s my method of dealing with reality sometimes: Hide.

That night I dreamed of my late friend, Julie. In the dream she sent me a letter from Heaven (it was postmarked with a special “Heaven” postage stamp and everything!). In the letter she thanked me for my friendship and told me she was happy and peaceful in the afterlife. She told me she was happy because she was able to watch over her children always. She also told me “everything is going to be OK.” I knew that was a positive omen, but I was still scared.

Next day, ugh. MRI. Little tube. Close quarters. Loud noises. Controlled freaking. Sort of.

In the hour I was in The Tube, I somehow did lots of thinking amidst the racket and commotion. I prayed. I thought of Julie and how brave she had been. I thought of all the hockey players in the NHL who’d had MRIs recently and how they all survived. I thought of Annabelle and the way she laughed and kicked her feet in the pool earlier that day. I thought of Andy and how loving and caring he always is. And my parents and sister. My in-laws. I prayed some more. I sang the Brady Bunch theme song several times over to stop myself from laughing after the MRI tech told me she thinks the sound the machine makes is like “bad techno music” (very true, by the way; though “modern jackhammer” is also apt). I thought of how little the minutiae means in the grand scheme of things. I prayed again. I thought of Frodo and Sam on their quest with The Ring (the mind does wander doesn’t it?). I repeatedly thought of the “find a happy place” scene in “Dumb and Dumber.” I prayed some more and vowed to be brave. I thought of this crazy story a friend told me about a certain member of the Colorado Avalanche and what a baby he was at the doctor’s office. I vowed to be braver than that. And I prayed.

Then it was over.

Skip forward a little. The scans were all negative. No tumors. No lesions. No aneurysms. What a relief! I felt very grateful (and still do). So whatever it is that is causing the headaches is probably not deadly. But the quest for an answer continues.

I have a headache right now. It’s pounding and painful, but I don’t care. At the moment I feel very blessed and lucky to be alive to have a headache. I was pretty scared there for a while and the foremost thought in my mind was Annabelle. Not for me, but for her. I know I am not the best mother in the world, but I do know she needs me and I want to be there for her. So I am thanking God that the MRI came back negative. Maybe, on Annabelle’s behalf, you’ll join me in thanking Him too.

And here I go again, getting all cheesy but if you’re reading this, I just want to say thanks for being my friend/family (I know in the case of the latter you have no choice, but you know what I mean). Thanks for being a special part of my life. When I was in the little, cramped tube I thanked God for you too.

*hugs*