Friday, 22nd January, 2016
The First Stop – ENT Consultant
My referral to an ENT specialist arrived quickly, courtesy of private insurance. I was seen by an elegant and attractive looking lady who studied my case with interest. After the introductions were over, I was given a hearing test, which showed that my hearing was slightly impaired in my right ear. “Not of much significance,” I thought to myself, as I can hear perfectly no matter what the tests show. The Consultant however, was concerned and told me that together with my other neurological symptoms, we could be looking at an Acoustic Neuroma tumour. “A what tumour…,” I asked her somewhat alarmed upon hearing yet another unpronounceable condition.
A MRI had to be done to rule out or rule in the tumour. I begged for this part to be skipped, as I am extremely claustrophobic and really couldn’t imagine myself going inside that horrendous washing machine. No can do. A MRI had to be done and it had to be done quickly. An ‘open,’ standing MRI machine was instead found for me in London.
The dreaded day arrived, and I reluctantly went on my own to London. All of this time, my heart was running away like a Japanese Bullet train and my anxiety was terribly out of control. Once there, I sat down sandwiched between two giant and fearsome looking metal plates. Trying hard to control my tears, a type of ‘helmet’ was placed on my head, cruelly making me look like Hannibal from the Silence of the Lambs. Talk about adding injury to insult.
The MRI turned out to be clear. “Phew,” I thought, no more scans and tests and possibly a lucky escape from surgery too.
But my problems were still there and so far there were no clear answers.
The ENT Consultant wasn’t done with me yet and she next referred me for vestibular testing. Another long day was spent in the hospital with yet more tests and no answers.
All the results were once again normal. Perplexed by my mysterious symptoms, the Consultant next recommended Physiotherapy for my ‘vertigo’ and for the relief of my stiff neck and shoulders. A referral was quickly sent to a local Sports Injury and Physiotherapy Clinic.
It now seems that destiny was really playing a cruel joke on me, as going for physiotherapy was going to be my third mistake and one that would determine the following course of events.