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Tuesday, January 4, 2022

At Least the Sun's Out

Aside from that, this is how I feel this morning (see Coco at right). I just want to curl up in a ball and ignore reality.

I heard back from Neuro Man regarding my request to postpone Saturday’s MRI until March. He’s not keen on putting it off for two measly months. The sooner he (and the radiation folks) know what exactly’s zup with my thoracic spine monster, the sooner a plan can be made. The goal is to keep me neuro surgery free in ’22.

Sounds great but there’s really only so much I can do vis-à-vis my stupid claustrophobia. I can take chill-me-out pills, do deep breathing exercises, envision floating in a geothermal lagoon, balance my checkbook in my head, count up to 100 again and again. I’ve done all that in the past and more. Sometimes, like now, there’s no easy way to flip the off switch on this irrational fear.

It is sometimes curiously difficult to name the emotion from which one suffers. The naming of it is sometimes unimportant, sometimes crucial.
~ Iris Murdoch, The Black Prince
Claustrophobia is the symptom, the manifestation of my fears. The thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, is the cause. In order to get past this (or, at least, make it more manageable/less unmanageable) I need to dive into this root, not just put bandaids on the horror-show boo-boos.

Can I do it in time—slay the dragon before it rears its head—or what?

The law of centrifugal force seems to be as true for the human condition as it is for the Newtonian mechanics. The faster our lives spin, the more things tend to fly apart.
~ Richard Paul Evans

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