I saw my neurologist and consumed a full forty-five minutes of his time. (I think he was ok with it.) Usually I tell him about my latest bit of weirdness, he writes a prescription or gives me advice, and we agree to get together again some day. But today I had a long list of questions and I wasn’t leaving without answers.
First off, my EEG was normal and there’s an 80% chance I’ll never have another seizure. Yes, we talked about how I tend to fall into those little 20% margins on stuff like medication reactions and weird symptoms, but we decided to grip that 80% rule like a five-year-old who just caught his first lizard.
Next we discussed other possible diagnoses. If I had MS in my spine which caused the start of my symptoms ten years ago, the MS would have worked it’s way into my brain within one year. Last month’s MRI would have been rampant with lesions, but was completely clear. (Thank you, Jesus!) And my symptoms don’t match tick-borne or other infectious diseases, while the likelihood of me contracting something in that arena is extraordinarily remote.
And so that brings me back to just plain old me being weird. Last year I was on a psychotropic medication (a drug that effects brain function) and had great success with it. In addition to having no headaches or ataxia, I had more energy, slept better, and generally felt the best I had in years … except for that big, deep, black pit of depression. I tried a couple of anti-depressants to counteract, but the side effects and allergic reactions were unbearable. I was tired of being a petrie dish and quit the meds.
For the last ten years, I’ve been content to have a tough day, use my cool cane, get a good night’s sleep, and keep moving the next day. Because in truth, my life is good. Nothing hurts, I’m not dying, I don’t have cancer. There are plenty of people who are far worse off than me. But now my bad days are becoming more frequent and my level of badness on those days is getting worse. I’m ready for a change.
Today, my doctor, my husband, and I decided to try a different anti-depressant. Once I’ve found something that works and I’m stable, then I’ll start the psychotropic that worked so well last year. It could take several weeks or months to find the right anti-depressant, but I’m willing to be patient because I know there is a purpose.
I’m thankful to God for sending me a knowledgeable doctor who is willing to listen to my complaints, answer my questions, and let me cry a little when I need to. (Yes, I did cry in his office, but it’s only the second time in ten years.) And I’m thankful that God has given me a new direction to travel in the search for better health. Above all else, I’m thankful to God for walking this road with me and never abandoning me.