It may be the worry about the results day itself that is to blame.
Does my awareness that in a couple of weeks that I’ll have an MRI scan, and then a couple of weeks after that I’ll be told whether my brain tumour has increased in size or blood uptake, somehow cause my seizures to intensify?
The brain is a wonderful organ, even when it’s not working properly. So, who knows how this stuff breaks down?
In the weeks running up to Christmas, I was experiencing relatively minor epileptic seizures. Just fleeting fuzziness really. But, for the first time, my language in those weeks would frequently get confused.
Words would come out wrong or I’d be reaching for a phrase I couldn’t quite get. Most often it happened when I tried to say a phrases we all say most days of our lives (‘doing the school run’, ‘get round to it’, ‘give it some thought’) but the words would come out jumbled.
I guess I had to take more effort to say things that for most of us normally roll off the tongue unconsciously. And perhaps that conscious thought – as I was saying it – is what caused them to come out jumbled.
The speech difficulties gradually faded away before New Year, and now only return after a particularly bad seizure or when I’m pretty tired. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve had just passing seizures. They haven’t really got in the way, nor have they kept me off them bike.
(I’m not going to mention the rain. We all know about the rain).
But just as soon as my next MRI and neurologist appointment goes into the diary, the seizures have returned in frequency and depth.
I’ve got used to the pattern now. First, one deep and intense seizure a day, then two. Little doubt that in a week or two, I’ll be having a handful or more a day: a mix of light, medium and intense.
Today, like yesterday, like tomorrow, I feel seizure-y – like I’m on the cusp of one most of the time. One could break through anytime.
And I’ve notice a funny little trick of the mind.
Sometimes I’ll start to think about having a seizure, and then about 30 seconds later the early stages of one will set in, then it will come on full. Which often leaves me wondering: did my very thinking about the seizure make it happen?
Or does it really work the other way around? The seizure has already started, very light and (metaphorically at least) deep in the recesses of the brain, and it is that made me think about a seizure before it properly broke through?
I suspect it’s the latter. After all, I’m thinking about seizures and writing about seizures right now. And all I feel is the same dull ache in my left temple that I always have. Or at least, the dull ache I only have when I’m thinking about it. (Ooops, there it is.)
But none of it’s helpful as my results appointment approaches.
I want to leap into my doctor’s office and shout: fine, I feel just fine! No change since I last saw you. Next to nothing. Why am I even here? Move along, there’s a skinny Americano with my name on it at Costa on Southampton Row.
But instead I have my little list of peaks and troughs to report. And this time there’s the new symptom of language difficulties. And that – as it always has so far – offers up the worry that this one, this time, my results meeting might be the one that changes everything.