I've said it before and I will say it again (for the umpteenth time): If someone had said to me, "Lizzy, we would like to try a surgery where we cut off your head and reorganize some things in there. It is an experimental procedure, with a 50% chance that it will reduce your dizziness and a 50% chance you will die," I would have said, "Sign me up." The chance was worth the risk, in my little fantasy world created to describe the level of misery of my invisible injury.
So, I was actually happy to be back in the MRI machine that cold October day. My symptoms were worsening and doing nothing was not an option. I waited anxiously for the results from my neurologist.
The call came quickly, (in medical exam results sort of quickly), but strangely. I expected the easy, monotone, Russian accented voice of my neurologist and instead I had heard the chipper, familiar, Minnesota-esk voice of my primary care doctor.
"Lizzy, it's John. So - I got the results of the MRI. The good news is that the lesion in your brain is healing quite nicely... The other part, though, is that there seems to be a mass on your thyroid..." The next day at John's office, "So, most masses in the thyroid are benign nodules, but some are cancerous. There is roughly a 10% chance that it is the latter. But who wants to walk around with a 10% chance of having cancer when we can know if it is or not..."
Good point. Is this the point where he suggests that they cut off my head?, she thinks sarcastically. (Your thyroid is in your neck, by the way).
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