I spent a lot of time flat on my back on a cold, hard x-ray table. Around 45 minutes, as near as I can figure.
While I'm staring at the ceiling, at first I wonder if anyone actually counts all the dots on the tiles as they lie there. And I decide that I'm not that motivated to actually be one of those people. Then all I can think is how thankful I am that the reason I was there can be taken care of. That while painful and aggravating and annoying are all words that describe my situation in a medical sense, there are words that my situation isn't.
Then right there on that table, I just started counting my blessings. Since I was under orders to not move, for the whole time, be it four or forty-five minutes, what else was I supposed to do?
"Alright, hold your breath." God is good
'bbbbuuuuzzzzz' This doctor knows what she's doing.
"Okay, breathe." Considering my start in life, this could be so much worse.
When I was finally allowed to get up from the table, I couldn't. My back had stiffened up to the point that I thought that a crane was going to be necessary to get me off that table.
Thank goodness that wasn't the case.
I have to admit, I'm not without a breakdown moment in this though. Seems that one test that I am scheduled for next week involves needles. Now, generally I'm okay with needles; I've had so much blood drawn in my life that I'm surprised I have any left every time they go for a vial.
But this test involves multiple needles and no one is drawing blood.
Scares me a bit.
And I also realized that all my life, through almost every medical issue that I ever experienced, I always had my Mom by my side.
She and Dad spent countless hours at the hospital after I was born @28 weeks.
I'm sure that she was with me when I had heel cord surgery at age 3. After all, she's in the pictures.
She's written in my baby book that she was with me when I had to ride in the ambulance after I hit my head at school and had a seizure. I was seven then.
She was also with me, that I vaguely remember, when I again had heel cord surgery at age 7. The best memory of that time though was that Dad came to visit me at the hospital and he ordered me real food. I remember being so happy.
And she was right there when I was on the verge of giving birth to Caleb. I'd had a very challenging pregnancy and I remember being so scared. Just the sheer number of doctors and nurses in the room had me in a panic, but she was right there, telling me that she was sure that everything was going to be okay.
But she wasn't there today. And circumstances being what they are, she won't be able to be there Monday for this needle-y procedure nor Thursday for the MRI.
And I wish she were.