Brain MRI scheduled, whee!

As the saying goes, if you do what you’ve always done, expect to get the same results. That’s why I decided to take a bold step in a new direction this morning - namely, parking on the Tammy Wynette floor at the Northwestern Memorial Parking Garage. Yes, it’s true, no Babs, just the twangy sound of Tammy belting out “Stand by your maaaan.....” Perfect way to start the day, with that irony-tinged voice.

As an aside, and purely hypothetical, do you ever get to the point in, say, a parking garage, where you’re on the way to the 8th floor (Babs) and going by what should be (and would be) space after space if people hadn’t deliberately parked like total asshats? Because their behemoth Escalade is so important to them that they feel they deserve to take up two spots? And then perhaps you feel this compulsion to stop your ascent and wedge your car into the tiny spot next to an asshat car such that it’s almost impossible for them to get in on the driver’s side? Okay, maybe that’s just me. Never mind.

Anyway, My Brain Tumor and I pluckily make our way to the Prentice, where eventually I get to see Dr. Von Roenn and tell her my symptoms, which, quite frankly, could mostly just be signs of me getting decrepit in my old age. Stumbly, forgetful, screwing up words, neck pain – ech, what sprightly young person doesn’t have all that going on? But that still leaves us with MBE and the increasingly frequent migraines, which defy explanation. Dr. VR can’t figure it out either.

Though I have to say, the fact that a brain tumor IS so unlikely kind of makes me feel like my doctors think I’m just MSUing. Making Shit Up. Now, why I’d do that, I have no idea. Perhaps I miss my frequent visits to various doctors and the subsequent deluge of nonsensical bills that BCBS doesn’t want to pay? Right, because that’s so much fun. And why would I make up MBE, rather than something more potentially intriguing, like liver pain? Liver problems are a big thing in Ukraine, where the standard excuse for anything is “oh, I can’t eat/drink/do that, it affects my liver.” Seriously. So there’s precedent there.

Regardless, Dr. VR decides to humor my seemingly hypochondriac self and says we should either do an MRI or send me to a neurologist, and we decide to do the MRI first so we have more information to work with. I’m on board with this, but then afterwards I belatedly realize that my neurologist is Dr. Grimm, aka Dr. Grimmhottie. Damn! Well, this’ll give me time to decide on the appropriate hoochie-mama attire and practice my lines: “Yes, Dr. Grimm, I’ve been having this MBE for 7 or so weeks now, and hey, are you single?” I think that’s sufficiently subtle. And even if it’s not, I’m not entirely responsible for what comes out of my mouth – it’s the brain tumor talking. Filter, what filter?

Anyway, MRI is scheduled for next Friday, so hey, at least I'll know something (maybe) before Christmas. And how festive would THAT be, if I seriously did have a fucking brain tumor?? "Thanks, Santa, just what I've always wanted!" Sigh. I tell you, if that turns out to be the case, there'll be no holds barred when it comes to the drinking and other vices, yes sirree. In fact, just in case I'm going to make sure there's a bottle of, umm.....glogg, yeah, that's it, glogg, with MY NAME on it. So there.

As an aside, Blurry Eye has been completely acting up tonight, worse than usual as I'm trying to get work done, and even better, I have a headache that's originating from, yes, directly behind MBE. Perhaps this is MBE's last stand ("You are not the boss of me!!") before the jig is up and he's exposed as the tumorific self that he is? Gee, it couldn't have anything to do with stress, now could it.....