Thursday, March 10, 2011

If March Was Your Last Month {#reverb11)

Prompt:  If March 2011 was your last month to live, how would you live it?

I received this reverb prompt in my inbox just after I'd been for an MRI scan of my brain.  Not the easiest thing to be thinking about at the best of times, let alone while you're waiting on scan results.

Even though I knew what my response would be I found myself unable to type the words until I knew the results . . . .  fear that putting it in print would somehow tempt fate.

Personally, I don't have a glorified bucket list.  There aren't exotic places I would want to visit, extreme activities I would chose to do, there aren't any famous people I would want to meet or new foods I would want to try.

For me it's simple, if I knew I had just one month left I would go and live by the sea . . . . . .

I would surround myself with those that I love (including my furry friends) and mark the passing of time with the ebb and flow of the tides.  I'd want to be happy but in all honesty I'd probably cry my eyes out the entire time.

I'm terrible at expressing myself with the spoken word so I'd make sure to find time to write each of them a letter, putting down everything I wanted to say to them, telling them how much I love them.

It's a pretty deep question isn't it?   Just thinking about it is making me cry.  If you feel it is something you can share, how would you spend your last month?

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Images Of A Different Kind

Today I went for my MRI.  I was feeling ok until I was sat there in the waiting room . . .  the place where seconds seem like minutes, minutes like hours.  Anxiety levels soaring with each tick of the clock and then my name was called and I didn't know whether to feel relieved or even more anxious.
Before being placed in the machine the technologist went through what would happen.  It was then I found out that not only was I having imaging done but that I would also be having a dye injection too.  For those of you who don't know, I have a huge fear of needles and veins and usually black out when having blood drawn so this just about tipped me over the edge.

Even though the staff were amazing, I felt anxious, vulnerable, scared, frightened, and extremely stressed.  By the time I left I was emotionally fraught and just about made it to my car before the tears came.  My sobs filled the car on the way home, overwhelmed by it all . . .  the culmination of feeling unwell, reminders of hospital visits, thinking of my dad and all the scans he had before he passed away, wondering what the results would be.

Now it's another waiting game, waiting to see if the scans shed any light on the vertigo and migraines I've been experiencing the last six and a half weeks.