Last Tuesday I found myself sitting my neurologist's waiting room alone.
In my horrible gastro haze I'd muddled my appointment time and arrived thirty minutes late. The receptionist made no attempt to constrain her extreme displeasure despite my profuse apologies.
The kids had gastro the previous weekend and I'd come down with the super-duper immune compromised version on Sunday night. I'd subsisted on a half a piece of white bread and two glasses of gastrolyte in the thirty-six hours since then. Bearhands had intended driving me to the appointment, but he'd fallen foul of the same bug a few hours previous. So I found myself sitting in the waiting room alone.
I did not have a good feeling about this meeting. I'd had a routine MRI of my brain and spine the week before to check if I'd developed any new lesions. Over the past few months I've had a few returned symptoms. It's unsettling when these reappear - you never know if it's just stress or fatigue exasperating existing damage or whether your condition is deteriorating.
My Neuro is a nice bloke. He quickly accepted my apology and got down to business. The announced "there are no new lesions on the scan" so routinely that I had to check he was looking at last week's scan and not old results.
There are no new lesions on the scan!
This means no new lesions for twelve whole months! There's no real way of measuring whether the treatment is working, but no new lesions is an encouraging sign.
The whole thing still seems like a dream. Part of me wants to swing from the chandelier and announce my miracle manifested. The other part isn't willing to relax - there's still a chance that new lesions will develop going forward. It's a watch and wait situation, but a hopeful one.
In the interim, its easier to live with my existing symptoms knowing their only remnants of damage done. It's also comforting to know that I've given myself the best chance of living the life we've planned for ourselves - come what may, I know I didn't leave any cards on the table.