see a neurologist

And she said, “I don’t know.”

So, they’re going to put me in a room with wires on my head and deprive me of sleep until I spazz. Sounds like a scene from a weird sci-fi movie, only I get no super powers out of the deal.

No fair.

I say I got bonked in the head when I was a kid. By a minivan. At 45mph. But the “seizure-like symptoms” didn’t manifest until I was 19… so what do I know?

I have an appointment in November. I know being epileptic isn’t ideal, but I would actually rather hear that than “anxiety.” Because doctors who say I have anxiety don’t offer any solutions. Besides, I already know I’m anxious. My body has quit on my mind. I imagine that tends to make a person a little self conscious.

Well, at least my DNA is normal. Well, at least that one chromosome is normal. What I mean is: I do not have the disorder my mother has.

Whew!

Apparently they will stick needles in my muscles, give me little shocks, and measure how the muscles react. They assure me it won’t hurt a bit. I am skeptical, and my friend said her sister had to have a valium to complete the test when she had it.

But heck, I’ve had electrolysis, and I did it willingly! I can take this.

If I do have the disorder, I could possibly find out today. If I don’t have the disorder, I may not know for certain for months—first I would need a DNA test and those results take a long time to come back.

I’m getting blood tests tomorrow and an electromyogram on Friday. They want to get some preliminary results before they order the expensive DNA test. Thank heavens for good health insurance!

The disorder my mother has is a form of muscular dystrophy called myotonic dystrophy, type 1.

Wish me luck!

This hasn’t been on my conscious mind much this week—I have been busy and working a lot and there’s just so much going on. But when I go to sleep I have bad dreams about babies. Last night I dreamed that my baby was a murderer and I had to kill it before it killed again. It was horrible, like a late-night horror flick. After I threw my baby out the car window, it didn’t die but instead got mad (like horror-movie killers always do) and came after me.

It all seems very melodramatic.

That is, if I have the gene and want to have children. Which I do—want to have children, that is. Scary.

I have an appointment with my mom’s neurologist on May 15. Please hold me in your thoughts, pray for me, or whatever you do. Thanks.