So, my big neurosurgeon appointment was this morning. What a mess that was. For starters I got a little lost finding the place, which is not shocking and why I gave myself a ridiculous amount of time to get there this morning. Then I got there and there was ten pages of paperwork to fill out. Meanwhile, I got nervous, and more nervous, and more nervous, and more nervous, until I was shaking so hard I could hardly write and I was dripping with sweat. (Add to all of this, the pain from not taking any pills this weekend, and oh yeah, it was special.)
I went by myself because The Hubby was like, "Hey, I'm not going to have to be there, am I?" And I said, "Oh no, they're not going to do anything to me that day." So while I was having a mini-heart attack in the waiting room, and blowing up my husband's phone with texts about my sweat level and the fact I was pretty sure I was about to vomit, The Hubby said, "Hey I could be there in 35 minutes if you need me/think it'll be that long before you get in." And I said, "No, it's fine." Because I am an idiot.
By the time they took me back into the examination room, I was crying. Kind of a lot. The doctor walked in (who was not the neurosurgeon, but the PA, which I have learned means Physician's Assistant), and he was just kind of stunned by the fact that I was having a freakin' nervous breakdown. He was really nice though, he told me that he didn't bite and he had no needles, and I laughed a bit at that (because needles don't scare me, my dad and I celebrated my seventeenth birthdat by me giving blood, true story). So, I started to calm down a bit. We talked about my pain and how it hurts and where it hurts and all that jazz. Then he pulled up my MRI and walked me through the images, showing me how severely screwed up the major herniation is (and good lord, is it screwed up). He told me that physical therapy wouldn't really help me, and, in fact, could increase my pain. And then he walked me through my options for how to proceed. I can: 1) do nothing, 2) take painkillers and some steroid, 3) have epidural shots to control pain and inflammation, 4) have surgery.
So, he typed up his notes for a bit and I looked at the MRI image and thought about it. I started sweating and shaking again. And then I thought, basically, everything but surgery is pain management. Which is kind of like putting a Band-Aid on a broken bone. I don't want to be hooked on pain pills. I don't want to have depend on pain medication for the rest of my freaking life. I want to fix the freaking problem. So, that means surgery. And I told him that I wanted surgery.
And proceeded to hyperventilate. So, I now have an appointment on the 29th to discuss surgery with the neurosurgeon. Apparently I may be a candidate for minimally invasive surgery, which would be excellent, and would apparently just require shaving off the bulging parts. I will be up and walking by the next day and my recovery period will be: walk, rest, walk, rest, walk, rest. There's a 15% chance that my discs could herniate again. There's a chance that the surgery might not get rid of my pain. I'll never be able to lift more than 20 pounds again. But you know what, I'm okay with all of that. I've been dealing with this stupid back pain since 2005. It's time to get it fixed. (And hell, maybe if someone had taken me seriously back then, it would've never gotten this bad. Friggin' asshats.)
So. That's my plan.
In my "my head is spinning too fast to be able to think clearly" daze after the appointment, because, HOLY CRAP I'M HAVING BACK SURGERY, I bought a couple of books by an author I've recently discovered, Eloisa James. She writes historical romances, and a couple of them are revisions of fairy tales, which I love. The first one I read by her was When Beauty Tamed the Beast, which was a retelling of... Anybody? Anybody? Bueller? (Yeah, that was lame.) Anyway, you get it. But it was completely lovely. The beauty was Linnet, a stunningly beautiful young woman who has been completely ruined by a bad prawn, a frumpy dress, a flirtation with a prince, and her dead mother's reputation as a tramp. As her father and aunt are trying to fix the situation, because Linnet's really not pregnant, they find a duke, a bit obsessed with royalty, whose estranged only son is apparently... incapable... of having a family, due to an injured leg, not to mention a fiendish temper. His name is Piers and he's the beast. He's also an amazingly brilliant doctor, and fashioned a bit on the character of House. (Except he's not an addict, yet. There's a temptation to numb his pain with laudanum, but he hasn't succumbed yet.)
So, the duke, supposedly desperate to see any heir in the family, agrees to set Linnet up with his son, and takes her to the castle in Wales where Piers has set up a hospital. And sparks fly. As do tempers. It's wonderful to read Linnet and Piers going back and forth on each other, because Linnet's no dummy and can give all his venom right back to him. There's one glaring possible historical inaccuracy, but I don't even care, because it's a truly wonderful plot point that gets them alone together. The sex scenes are fabulous. The damages they both carry from their parents is fabulous.
But lemme tell ya, that's not why I love this book. Why do I love this book? Because some crazy bad scarlet fever breaks out, and Piers kicks everyone out of the house so he can tend his patients. He says some terrible things to Linnet to get her to, not just leave the castle, but to leave him. We know he loves her, he knows he loves her, he knows that she loves him, but he doesn't think he should have her -- because his father was an addict, and Piers is really, desperately afraid of becoming his father, and with his injury, the temptation is always there. So, he kicks her out, and she leaves.
Piers saves all of his patients, and is seriously regretting sending Linnet off, so he's thinking of going to London to bring her back and make all better. But he's been having these dreams about Linnet that have been nagging at him. And then suddenly, he realizes that there is a damn good chance that Linnet may have been infected with scarlet fever before he kicked her out, and then he goes searching for her. He finds her in a coma, dehydrated, covered with the sores and rash of the fever and very, very close to dead in a chicken coop. That whole description of what he does to save her, how hard it is for him to see her that way, how hard it is for him to do the things he needs to do to save her, because of his leg, is freakin' heartbreaking. I think I've read the book three times now, and I still sob like a freaking baby all throughout that part. It is so gorgeous, and sad, and just shows how desperately he loves this woman. It's wonderful, wonderful stuff.
Anyway, the point of this is that that's the book, when I was scared to death last night of my appointment, and I hurt, and I couldn't sleep, I turned to that book, specifically to that scene in that book, because watching him fight so damn hard to save her, when he can barely carry a bucket of water up the stairs by himself, is such a wonderful, beautiful thing. It's comfort.
And I love that so much about stories, that they can give you that. That they can make you cry, but you're so happy that you don't even notice that you're crying. That they can give you safe space for you to go when you need to, that you can get a bit of peace for a moment, so that you can finally get a couple of hours of sleep.
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