It’s 4pm and I’m trying to stay cool in this heat wave. The AC and fan are blowing warm air, which defeats the purpose. I’m listening to my favorite band, Incognito and their song, “There will come a day.” I love this song, because it talks about how change will happen someday. I think about that for my life—change. Someday things will be different and I’ll be back to my new and improved self again. Here’s an update on my walking dilemma.
Monday, July 15, 2013: “Hmm…this isn’t good.”
I went to see my hip specialist at the hospital. I wanted to let him know about the increasing pain I’ve been having since late May. I also mentioned the fall I had in January. As I told him, I don’t know if that plays apart in my current situation but its good that it’s noted. As he examined me, he knew how much pain I had just lifting up my left leg. Once he pressed into my left hip, there was a loud “Ouch.” My doctor said, “Hmm, this isn’t good, too much pain. Let’s get you an X-ray.” I got the X-ray and left with not only the CD but also the slides of the X-ray. They are huge pictures of my hip. I think they’ll make a nice picture on my wall, maybe. The doctor wasn’t available to look at my X-ray, but scheduled me for a MRI next Friday. I have a follow-up appointment on July 29.
I was fine until I got on the downtown 6 train. A woman was nice enough to offer me her seat. Once I sat down trying to maneuver the large envelope of my X-ray slides, I felt worried. The playlist in my ears wasn’t helping. No song could take away the “whys” and “again,” thoughts roaming through my head. I’m not a fan of MRIs. The closed in capsule feels weird, and the loud noises from the test makes me feel nervous. This would make the fourth MRI I had in a three year period. The first one was in 2010 and the other two were in 2011. I should be used to it. I’d hoped that the last one would’ve been it. I guess I’m wrong. The biggest worry is hearing my doctor say I need another surgery. I don’t want that, because it’s painful and the recovery time (for me) is three months. The train pulled into Canal Street station and I noticed the woman, who gave me her seat, was looking at me intently. She was sitting across from me. The woman looked at me with concern. It could’ve been my face expression. I don’t do well in hiding my emotions, especially on my face. As I looked away, I looked at my cane. “Will you be a part of my life for the rest of my life? Is this my fate?” I said to myself. My stopped arrived and I got off to transfer to another train. I stopped thinking about this walking dilemma. I don’t want to think at all.