Wednesday was my 18th MRI. (I went back and counted, so I’m pretty sure I’m right.) 18 MRIs in 10 years. Nearly 2 a year.

3 brain surgeries.  1 radiation treatment.  1 other surgery. (I never talked about it here because, unlike my other surgeries where we’ve spent time discussing the unlikely possibilities of death, paralysis, and blindness, this time we talked about the unlikely chance of a blood transfusion.  I’m fine, it helped with what it was suppose to help with.)  Migraines.  And countless orders for bloodwork, medicine scripts, and pills.

10 years.

It is unfair.  It is burdensome.  It is invasive.  It is hard to explain to other people.

It is my life.  It is all woven into my life to the point where I no longer really remember “before” except that it was.  It is all woven into my life so that my life is so much more, and always connected.

18 MRIs, 10 years, 3 surgeries.

 

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