Brigham

I got hooked into all the machinery (again, so surreal). Another round of compassionate faces met me, one and two at a time. They introduced themselves and asked for me to recite my story, always apologizing for making me run through it again. They ran through all the same neuro checks - follow the finger, touch your nose, where are you, etc. Physical and mental assessments to determine how neurologically compromised I might be. 

I couldn't help feeling like I was acing every test (in fact, I'm pretty sure I told them that - "I'm nailing these tests!"), but that didn't really help me feel any better. How could there be something wrong with my brain if I can do all these things? Again, the feeling of being a medical mystery persisted and left me feeling unsettled, nervous, anxious for answers. 

At some point, maybe around 7, one of the ER doctors let me know the plan was for me to do another CAT scan and an MRI with contrasting, to try to get as much information as possible before they could determine my next steps. I would just need to wait until they were able to get me in... a few other folks in line ahead of me.

As a reminder, throughout the day and into this moment I mostly felt fine. The headache was lingering, but not as bad as it had been. They gave me some Tylenol and said they'd get me in as quickly as possible. I asked if I might be able to eat something and they assured me they'd pull something together for me once I was done with all the imaging. 

So. I waited. I read on my phone, I texted with my family and some friends, I passed the time.

Doctors and nurses wandered in, checking on me, letting me know any small updates they might have about when I'd be seen. Ultimately it was decided that they did not need to do another CAT scan, just the MRI, and they'd be ready for me in the MRI suite around 10pm. They wheeled me down around 10, but I wasn't on the table until more like 10:30. 

My go-to Medical Professional friend suggested I ask for anti-anxiety meds to help me relax through the process, noting how intense the feeling of claustrophobia can be in the machine. No one really asked me about anxiety at any point, though, and I felt uncomfortable bringing it up, so... I got through the MRI by singing a lengthy concert of showtunes in my head. 

Finally I was done with that and they brought be back up to room F-80 (or whatever), where the nurse found me a Chicken Caesar wrap and small fruit cup. 

They assured me that they had a bed for me for the night, outside of the Emergency Department proper, and they would get me up there as soon as possible.

I inhaled the sandwich and fruit, sipped some water, and continued my time-passing... Eventually a team of lovely young Neuro PAs made their way to me to do another round of "What's the Story" and neuro assessments. 

They told me they had seen the scans from the MRI, but that we really needed to wait for the Neuro Radiologists to review the images to determine what needed to be done. I pushed a little...

"I get that you can't tell me anything definitive, but... you're not looking at this thing and saying, 'well that's textbook cancer,' right?"

"Right," they told me, "but cancer is still on the differential." (I was SO in an episode of House. Where was Hugh Laurie and Omar Epps??)

"Okay," I took a deep breath. "Again, I get that you don't have all the answers, but how likely do you think it is that I'm having brain surgery this week?"

"We really can't say."

Okay. Okay. It's fine. Okay. 

Still freaking out but trying so hard to be patient and not lose my mind, I chatted with the PAs a while longer.

Around midnight or 12:30, it seemed they had a bed ready for me in "the Surge Pod."