Queen Donna of Valhalla

I had to go in for another CT scan yesterday. Traffic was light, the scan went quickly and there was time for a cup of coffee and an apple turnover afterward. The best part was that, over the past couple of weeks, I figured out why I get so cranky and snappish on days when I have to go into Mass General Hospital.

It’s NOT just the beastly Boston traffic. I’ve gotten to the point where I’m just worn flat out from being an Nf2 warrior superhero babe. I’m tired of losing more and more of my ability to function like a healthy human. 

While I’m in no way happy about being deaf, I’m used to it (more or less). I’m used to carrying around those little ampules of preservative-free, lubricant/moisturizer for my dry eyes (Sahara-like due to nerve damage from one of my eight brain surgeries). I’ve accepted that I may always need my rollator to get around safely (my balance is fucked) but I’m still working on rebuilding strength and recovering (as much as possible) my equilibrium.

Having said all that, I’m really sick of all the goddamn hurdles I need to jump through. I want to be a queen in a castle. The medics all come to me to run the tests. (no more annoying rush-hour drives into MGH) My strength, balance and agility is quickly and effortlessly restored post-procedure with Star Trekian technology. The tumors in my brain and along my spine will stop growing because I SAID SO. Hells bells, as long as I’m wishing for the moon and stars, Queen Donna of Valhalla shall have her hearing miraculously restored. I’ll wake in the morning with music playing—Gregorian chants, Beck’s Bolero, The Downward Spiral, Fanfare for the Common Man, the B side of Abbey Road, Paul Simon’s Cool, Cool River and so damn much more.

Dunno when I’ll get the results of this latest scan. I’m naturally hoping the techs and docs don’t see anything new that they need to take out right away.