Anticipation

Given how shit riddled these past few years have been, (like swimming across the Charles with ten pound sacks of whole wheat flour chained to each ankle), I didn’t wish anyone a happy new year. Ya see, I wanted to sneak into 2022 unnoticed, not jinx anything. Maybe, I figure, if this infant year doesn’t see me, I won’t get stuck with fresh neuro surgeries. That’s realistic…right?!

With the holiday hoopla pretty much over, I need to create a realistic plan. Neuro Man, Plotkin, wants me to have a spine MRI to run past the radiation folks. Problem—my always challenging claustrophobia levels are at an all-encompassing exospheric high right now. It’s so bad that wearing my usual layers of winter clothing sparks fits. Yeah...fer reals. This doesn’t exactly give me confidence, calm and warm fuzzies about my upcoming MRI time. Ah…no.

Tube time is scheduled for this coming Saturday afternoon.

Given that my last spine cut up was two slim months back (November 2nd) AND that most of these meningioma suckers are relatively slow-growing, I’m figuring it’s probably safe to postpone both MRI and the radiation meet’n’greet for a couple of months.

As I’ve mentioned bazillions of times before, I need a goddamned, motherfucking breather. Gimme just a little while to catch my breath, advance more with my rehabbing, take care of other health crap (diet and that broken tooth) and recharge my batteries.

I’ll send Doc Plotkin a note tomorrow, explaining my sitch. I hope to hell he feels it’s safe for me to wait.

I’m getting psyched in anticipation of a positive yes-you-can-wait vote. The muscles in my neck and shoulders are considering the possibility of maybe easing up on their industrial strength clench. Mood-wise, I’m so used to worst-case-scenarios chasing me into bleak rainy corners (with just-in-case planning leading the charge). I'm beginning to feel my heart sending out feelers—like munchkins poking their heads out, wondering if the big bad witch is dead.

I totally get that a break in the Nf2 action would be just that—a respite, an intermission. I’d prefer an all done now but I’ll take a hiatus in a downtown second.

Once I get the, hopefully, good word on a potential recess, I’d like to do some fun stuff. (DUH!) I can walk slow but reasonably well now (with brace/walker combo) so a bit of travel would be grand. BUT COVID is raging once again. I can’t risk air travel so Iceland is out. *sob* Ten and I could take day trips around New England but it looks like not even Vermont is safe. Maybe a drive down to catch the sunrise at Nantasket would be enough—we wouldn’t need to leave the car.

OR, here at home, we could just cross the street to the seawall. Yeah, that’d be good.