And The Winner Is...

My doctor's nurse called my cell phone last week while I was at work. I recognized the number. I don't know too many people who would recognize the number to their doctor's office when it appears on their cell phone. I suppose that puts me in an elite few. Yes, I'll choose to look at it that way.

She had the results of my recent MRI. I braced myself for the answer, the solution to all of my pain was around the corner, it was in the next breath of this stranger.

"Well, the Dr. has reviewed the results of the test and she's concluded that everything is absolutely normal. There are no herniated or bulging discs or any other abnormalities detected by this test. Everything looks great."

I crumbled. Now, it's not that I WANT something to be wrong with me. Something IS wrong with me. No one is able to find it. I don't think there are many more times in my life when I've been this frustrated. Not until the nurse recommended seeing a pain management doctor.

A pain management doctor. Why don't they just send me to a hypnotist? Maybe they can convince me that I don't have any pain since the only physical evidence is my wincing when touched and frequent tearing up when asked to pick anything up that weighs over 10 lbs. No convincing physical evidence anyway.

A pain management doctor. That recommendation means only one thing to me: I will have this pain forever, that everyone has given up and that I am now expected to learn how to "manage it." O.k. So that's three things.

Sorry Cody. No college for you. Mama's going back to the physical therapist.