This morning I got a call from my doctor's office about scheduling an MRI. It should have been a relief- I've already discussed it with the doctor and was just waiting on all the communication happening behind the scenes to make insurance cover it. But instead it gave me that precedes a panic attack, and it took me a minute to understand why.
It's two years this week since my brain surgery. And I'd like to pretend I'm old hat at this, like I did for my mammogram earlier this year, but if having a half-dozen MRIs in as many weeks taught me anything, it's that I hate the damn things. It's funny; I was fine the first time I had one, when I figured it was just routine, and each progressive scan has been harder.
But I promised Amber. And I promised myself, when I started Deb's New Year, New You course last year... I'll take care of myself. So I agreed to the appointment. I will put things off over and over again, but it's much harder for me to back out of something once I've made serious plans. An appointment is a big exclamation point in my head, something I will follow through on. And sure, the timing is hard, but this was never going to be easy.
Once this is sorted, seeing someone about my anxiety and OCD is next on the list. I can't believe I'm even thinking this, but I'm looking forward to it.