I was terribly disappointed to discover that I wouldn’t find out the results of my torture until November 21. Yep. Two weeks after the test. This is what happens when you live 90 miles from civilization. The civilized doctors only come to town once a week.
So, I was thinking today… “One more week. I can make it one more week. One week isn’t that long. I can do this.”
I knew I was being a bit optimistic. After all, the tests could be inconclusive, not tell us anything at all, and other similarly discouraging things. We may be at square one! I was prepared for that. I wasn’t prepared for the reality of a diagnosis.
See, it just occurred to me a while ago that a diagnosis is just the beginning. Even if the doctor tells me that I need surgery, it won’t happen for a week or two or three. At the EARLIEST. (Holidays and what not) Then, there is the whole recovery period. After that, there is the rebuilding of my strength.
As far as I can assume, I won’t be out of this chair before January and it isn’t unrealistic to assume that it won’t be before Easter!
I am so discouraged. I am really extremely discouraged.