"Patient has a small AVM in the brain" Part IV

I demand an addenda to the radiologist's report, and call him for several days until he finally breaks and returns my call at 8pm. It's a war of attrition, and frankly, I have come too far to just surrender now. For his part, he is apologetic and very nice on the phone, though I still think the first report was unforgivably inadequate and unprofessional. It would seem like precision of language would be key in this situation, and that the specialized skills of the radiologist, and the mandate that he and he alone interpret the images, would result in a less laissez-faire assessment. I ask him to bring up the films on his computer while I have him on the phone, and he tells me that the nidus of AVM has shrunken to 9mm by 4mm. This is a reduction of about 50%. My anger towards the radiologist is replaced by gratitude, and relief begins to settle in. About thirty seconds after I hang up I realize that this means that I still have an AVM. That nothing reduces risk except obliteration. That risk is cumulative. That I am getting closer to that 'average age of first bleed' statistic. That I have begun another year exactly were I started the last. When I told my husband that the AVM had shrunk, I actually broke down and started sobbing in the middle of our kitchen. It was hard to explain how I could feel both so happy and so devastated at the same time. More than anything, there was just this overwhelming wave of exhaustion. Tears of joy never tasted saltier.

"Patient has a small AVM in the brain" Part II

So, I rush home, the roads are covered in snow, it's almost midnight, and the pre-MRI xanax had long worn off. The first thing I did when I got home was load the CD in my computer, I don't think I even shut the front door. I click through 43 images and then, there it is. The AVM who I have only seen in pictures, but could recognize instantly. I open a beer. I feel like I am trying to interpret a home pregnancy test: 'is it a little shadowier? Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Should I get another MRI, just to be sure? Did this thing even work?' The next day, I call the hospital and my doctor to ask if the radiologist has made a report yet. I do the same thing the next day. And the next. Then there was the long 'holiday' weekend. (Cue festive music and joyous...um, despair.) On Tuesday, I get the radiologist on the phone. He wants to do another MRI. (Repeat from beginning).

Well, this is awkward...

Like running into someone you once dated, who one day, without explanation, just stopped calling. Everything seemed to be going so well, and then--Poof! You see him at the farmers market one Sunday morning, walking hand in hand with someone who is not you, buying flowers for their table, or some stupid arugula for the salad they will later prepare together, and maybe you just want to snatch their Venti lattes and scald the smugness right off of their pretentious little life. Believe me, I understand, but please, before you cause a scene, hear me out and give me a second chance! It's not you, it's me!

Doing the blog was really getting me down. It was a very long year, filled with periods of deep anxiety and depression. The more I thought about or talked about the AVM, the more anxious and depressed I became. Waiting 12 months to have my first post-gamma MRI, with no (medical) encouragement was driving me mad. Every day I feared that the gamma knife was not working, that I was going to have a bleed...I had to stop thinking about it for a while. Like a prisoner, I had to do my own time. A year has passed, and I am eagerly awaiting my appointemnt to ge before the parole board (otherwise known as the MRI tech, radiologist and neurologist.) I am hoping that they will give me life.