I think Salvador Dali said that.
This is how I felt all weekend. The anti seizure meds mixed with bouts of deja vu had me wishing that I’d experimented more with drugs during my youth. It’s hard to explain but I felt like I was in my own little bubble of euphoria and it felt weirdly good.
We were struggling to decide which surgeon to go with so I busied myself doing important things.. watching Cold Feet, eating vast amounts of hazelnut chocolate, online shopping for non-sexy practical hospital pyjamas and playing with the dog.
I also realised that I would’t be going to the gym for a while so I called and asked to put my membership on hold.
“Well you’ll need a doctor’s note” said Larry.
“But I don’t have time to get a doctors note” I replied “I’m going into hospital this week and have loads to organise.”
“Sorry but we need that note” insisted Larry.
Right, time to play the ‘brain tumour card’ I thought to myself.
“Look Larry, I have a brain tumour and I need to get it removed asap – I really don’t have time for this” I was starting to feel very slightly vexed.
“I’m sorry to hear that” answered Larry “but I can’t sanction suspension without a note.”
“Look” I added “I have some photos of my brain with a massive FUCKING tumour on it so how about I fax you over a copy of that?”
“Oh um no um don’t um do that um. I’ll see um what I can do um.” responsed Larry.
So Monday came around and it should have been D-day but instead it was President’s Day – apparently Mr Trump thinks it’s his day but in fact it’s Presidents’ Washington and Lincoln’s day. Sorry Mr. Trump.
Tuesday arrived and off I went for my extra special test. The machine was much like any other MRI machine but I think it had some extra special magnets that did some extra special things.
After pleading chronic claustaphobia I was handed a heavenly little cocktail to help me relax while they rolled me into the oven. This time I had a tranquilized hour of Chopin and no cursing required.
I was informed that the results would be available tomorrow.