You know that feeling - that one that sinks right down into your stomach and makes you feel uneasy?
I get that feeling a lot lately. I notice things from my past, remember events and places, and I can't help but think about how life used to be.
Going alone to my MRI appointment tonight didn't help the nostalgia. All I could think about was sitting in this exact same seat, 9 months ago, waiting for my first brain MRI. I was terrified, and desperately seeking answers to what was happening to me. It didn't matter if they were bad answers - I needed something.
An elderly gentleman waiting for someone in the imaging suite started chatting with me tonight. He could see from my hospital attire and clipboard full of paperwork that I was waiting for an MRI. He was polite at first - recommending an astronomy magazine in the waiting area. We talked about planets and telescopes. Then he overheard me talking to the MRI tech, who jokingly called me a "pro" because I have been there so many times in the past year. I know the drill and don't need any explanations.
After the tech left he turned to me and said "Well, whatever it is that you have, I really hope that it isn't serious."
For once, I didn't want to talk about my MS. I didn't want to share the burden of information. I just told him "It's okay. I'll be okay."
After I left the appointment I drove past an old apartment I lived in. A neighbourhood that used to be my home.
It's as if these moments are cosmically planned for the exact second you are feeling just a touch too vulnerable.
My evening alone, thankfully ended with my lovely friend Trish and a nice big bowl of beef bourguignon.
Comfort food makes everything better.