Sunday, 24th January, 2016

The Neurologist – continued…

Greeted with a big smile and a warm welcome, I once again found myself at the MRI centre in London. This time I was slightly more prepared. The ‘helmet’ was placed back on my head together with a very heavy collar attached tightly around my neck. Holding back my tears, I looked across at my husband who smiled reassuringly at me and gave me a big thumbs up.

Once again, all the scans were normal. No damage was detected either in my brain or in my neck. Everything was ‘perfect.’ I requested that the Neurologist view my MRI scans once again to see if something was missed by mistake. Loading the images on his exceedingly slow, stone age computer, he shows me two big ‘blobs’ on the scan. “Hmm, those are the inflamed parts of your neck,” he confidently tells me. I am told to take Paracetamol and Ibuprofen and all will be good.

Months later, I was to find out from an Orthopaedic Surgeon that those two ‘blobs’ were not images of inflammation, but were my neck joints!

In the meantime, my symptoms become worse and I start to develop some new, disturbing ones. My legs start to feel as heavy as those of an elephant. I also start to experience a sharp burning sensation in my lower limbs. Something was now seriously wrong. I decide to call the old, decrepit Neurologist once again and tell him about my new symptoms. “It’s just stress,” he retorts back. I am given advice to take plenty of walks and keep the blood circulation going in my legs. I obediently carry out his instructions for the whole of October.

My downfall really starts on the 1st November 2013 whilst taking a shower, I suddenly lose all muscle power in both of my thighs. I struggle to keep upright and grab hold of the shower door in incredible pain. With tears streaming down my face, I somehow manage to get out, crawl into my bedroom and collapse on the bed. I spend the next few hours crying out loud hysterically and asking myself over and over again as to what was happening to me.

“We’ll need to do a full blood test, an EMG, a Nerve Conduction Test and another MRI of the thoracic and lumbar spine,” explains the wise, old Neurologist. All the tests are completed and sent to the Consultant within a couple of weeks.

Looking at me through his 18th Century spectacles, he tells me “there is nothing wrong with me.” All the tests are clear, bar a few minor abnormalities like a raised CRP. There is nothing more he can do, apart from giving me a tentative diagnosis of “Muscle Disease” or “Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.”

I unexpectedly breakdown and beg him for some pain killing medication, which of course he refuses to prescribe. Losing patience, he gets up, takes a CD out of his drawer and rudely shows me the door saying “take your brain and spine with you!”

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