As time was of the essence we rallied fast to get a second opinion. Luckily for us we have friends in high places (well one friend who works for a hospital). An appointment was scheduled for the following day with a very accomplished surgeon who’s credentials alone could have filled an oversized suitcase.
He was tall and dark and handsome – and obvs very brainy. What more would one want from a brain surgeon. He was relaxed and behaved as though he saw this kind of thing every day – he probably did. He ordered a very special test called a magnetic resonance spectroscopy and then we chatted about Marks & Spencers chicken tikka and how delectable British scones are. I promised I’d make him some before our next meeting. I haven’t.
After the meeting M and I decided to go to Starbucks to way up the pros and cons of each surgeon over a latte. Tall, dark and handsome vs. rugged cowboy man.
Whilst we were sitting there I felt the déjà vu creeping up on me again and then I started to slide into my parallel universe. This was my debut full-on public seizure and as much as I love being centre stage I didn’t think this was going to be a BAFTA worthy performance.
I held on tightly to my stool – told M I’d be back in a few – and just put my head down ready to ride through it. When it was over I finished my latte and home we went minus the standing ovation but with a gargantuan decision ahead of us.