Saturday, 25 May 2013


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.

More nostalgia. 

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.

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