Next stop: Who knows?

Me: The neurologist called and he has referred me to a neurosurgeon.
The husband: Why? Didn’t he go to school for this stuff? Shouldn’t he be able to tell what he’s looking at?
Me: Well yes, good point. But secretly….I’m having a hard time understanding everything Dr. M says and since we’re talking about my brain here, I don’t really mind seeing Dr. J.
The husband: Because you think he won’t have an accent?
Me: I’m hoping. Again, we’re talking about my brain here.
The husband: Baby, his first and last name are Dutch. He went to school in Ireland. And his profile says he speaks German.
Me: Damn it.

Tomorrow I see a neurosurgeon. The spectroscopy came back normal (yay!) but the MRI with contrast was “extremely abnormal,” according to Dr. M. He referred me to the neurosurgeon in the practice and that guy got me right in. Tomorrow morning, 9:15.

The husband will come with me and when I told my boss today that I need to work from home tomorrow, she asked me if everything was alright and I cried a little. I mean, for all we know, everything is alright. Mostly I cried because I’m afraid they’ll tell me I’m fine and I won’t understand through the accents.


Shout at me.

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