The test results are in but are being "held" until I come in in person. That was initially going to be in July, but after some mild prodding, it got moved up to June. It's also probably worth mentioning that when I asked at my last appointment what the genetic tests were for, they refused to tell me, even when I asked, "So, what are you looking for with these tests?" The response was, "oh, don't worry about it, if anything comes back positive, you'll have lots of interesting things to talk about at parties." Seriously. Not making this up. This is not the first time this has happened. I've let it pass before. I don't intend to do so again.
Fortunately, I am both literate and not a complete fool and was capable of puzzling out, in a manner that would do Sherlock Holmes himself proud, what it was they were looking for. In other words, I looked at the lab paperwork they handed to me. I didn't even have to whip out my large vocabulary or write anything down to look up later. It said, in plain English - Ataxia Panel. Clearly, my deductive reasoning skills are to be feared and worshipped.
Also, as I am familiar with the use of both a computer and Google, and have devoted pretty much the last 10 years of my life to learning how to do research, I had already guessed by the range of questions I was being asked that they were getting interested in my cerebellum. This was confirmed when I cornered the resident who also "cares" for me and asked what was up. Apparently the first MRI they did, when they re-examined it, showed some possible cerebellar atrophy. Of course, they didn't notice that 10 months ago. Why that is is something I best not speculate about...
Anyway, this is what I've been coping with since late April and more so the past few weeks since I found out that they won't tell me my results by phone or email. I've been trying to stay calm and upbeat, and have been reasonably successful, but the toll is starting to tell. I have more trouble sleeping, even though I'm exhausted. I've had a few nightmares about being paralyzed and able only to move my eyes or being told I only have a few months to live (highly unlikely, but still...). I have tried to be optimistic and hope that they simply don't have conclusive results to share or that someone just cocked up the test (if that is the case, I will be highly pissed that they couldn't just tell me that). But I also catch myself at odd moments trying to make a deal with...I don't know - God, myself, Obi-Wan Kenobi - "just let it be my legs; please not my eyesight; please, don't make me loose my mind; please, as long as I can still read and craft and eat..."
I've managed, for the most part, not to have a crying jag, until last night. Right after a shower, I just lost it and started blubbering. Fortunately, Tom seems to have a 6th sense for imminent ferret-crises and he came to comfort me (because he is awesome). And Oreo overcame his deep-seated fear of the bathroom to join us (because he was lonely in the living room). The truth is, hard as I'm trying to be brave and not to whine or be morbid or be an attention whore, I'm terrified. I'm furious - no one should have to sit and wonder about things like this for weeks on end or be treated like an idiotic child by their doctors. What is going to happen? There aren't a hell of a lot of treatment options for ataxia - care is primarily supportive. I'm afraid of what they're going to tell me and I'm afraid of the inevitable confrontation when I finally tell them how inappropriate I find their behavior. Smack-talking to the contrary, I usually try to avoid such things. And partly it's because I am so very angry that I'm worried, because I know that the more "overwrought" I seem, the less seriously I'll be taken (if that's possible).
I am at least happy to have found, in my research, that there are specialists here who deal with Ataxia and they are very highly regarded by their patients. And I do have a wonderful support system. I just have to get through one more week.
