Can I ask a favor?

As I slid slowly into that familiar, narrow tube with an IV pumping contrast through my veins, I focused on my breath. 

In

Out

Deep 

Slow

The room was cold. Classical music played in my headphones, attempting to drown out the banging of magnets which whirled around my body. I opened my eyes just long enough to catch a glimpse of the top of the MRI machine inches from my face, then quickly closed them before a claustrophobic panic set in.   


Third MRI in 12 months, I thought to myself.
Good thing they don't use radiation, or my uterus and ovaries would be crispy by now. 
Oh crap, my hands are falling asleep. 
 I wonder how long I've been in here?
Breathe. Focus on breathing!


In
Out
Deep
Slow


Mozart and Bach were frequently interrupted by the tech's voice telling me how long the next set of pictures would take.

"This one will be about nine and a half minutes, Ok? Hold real still."

"Ok," I would respond, as if there was anything else I could do. My hips were anchored down with a brace and my feet were taped together. 

The entire scan took 2 hours.

***

My recovery from back surgery has been a very slow and painful process, both emotionally and physically. Without going into a ton of detail, I'm still experiencing immense pain most days in my back, hips, pelvis, and legs. The pain I'm having feels very different than before surgery so we're hoping last week's MRI of my hip and back will shed some light on what might be going on.

I'm scared of what they might find, but even more so, I'm scared of them finding nothing.
Because I want answers.
Answers to why my body feels like it is failing me at 26.
Answers to why surgery by one of the top neurosurgeons in the state of Colorado might have helped one problem but caused others.
Answers to when, if ever, I can expect to feel like myself again.

I've moved through the spectrum of emotions over the last six months: hopeful, encouraged, defeated, depressed, furious.

Keane has been such a tremendous support through it all. He reminds me not to give up, to remain hopeful. He sends me emails throughout the day to check up on me, and holds me when I fall apart on the floor in a puddle of my own tears.

Hopefully, I'll know more next week after meeting with my Doctor. If you wouldn't mind sending some prayers, thoughts, or positive vibes my way, I would be very grateful.

xoxo