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Healing can happen
(Continued)

To this day I don't exactly know why that first neurologist tossed me off as a "Somatoform Disorder" when my hand was 'disappearing'. I suppose it was because the nerve conduction tests had come back 'normal'. It took nearly another year for my left lateral forearm to atrophy; it almost halfway disappeared until one doctor agreed with me that maybe we should look into this situation more closely.

I was referred to an orthopedic surgeon who recommended a triple laminectomy and advised that my neck was unstable with some degree of cord compression at three levels.
About that same time my family lost our medical insurance coverage which seemed like a curse but may have been a blessing in disguise. Instead of having the surgery immediately, further medical care was delayed. I relied on chiropractic, massage and acupuncture, which helped relieve some of the pain some of the time.

I recall a conversation with a friend of mine, Marion, who is a retired psychologist. She at one time had taught on the Ph.D. level at a well-respected university. I have always loved talking to Marion about life and all sorts of things and consider her to be an extremely wise woman.

"I don't want to be paid to be a victim!" I insisted to my friend, Marion, who was urging me to seek legal counsel.

"You've got it all wrong," she replied, "You don't get paid to be a victim-you get paid so you don't have to be a victim."

"Gee, I never thought of it that way," I mused.

"Denial is a great tool when you need to use it," she added, "but you're not being realistic about how much this injury has affected you. You're being way too nice about this. This problem has really affected your life!" she added.

Her words echoed in my mind. That was, perhaps, the first time I really acknowledged that I was really having some serious problems. This injury had affected not only me, but also my children, my husband, our family income, our stability, my livelihood and much more. "Maybe I should seek legal counsel," I had thought. Maybe my friend was right.

It was not until months later, when I got medical insurance re-established I saw a well-respected neurosurgeon for a second opinion. He advised not to have surgery telling me that neck surgery would not help the problem I seemed to have. His testing revealed, of all things, a possible right brain injury. I was referred to a second neurologist. Now I felt I really was beginning to lose my mind.

A brain MRI was recommended. The brain scan revealed ischemic changes in the periventricular regions of the parietal lobes. It was advised I get yet another neurological opinion. I was sent to Stanford to see a third neurologist in Palo Alto, California. My husband and I dutifully flew to California hoping for the best but fearing the worst. As we approached Stanford Medical Center, the huge adobe style complex reminded me, for some strange reason, of pictures I had once seen of Texas' historical fortress, the Alamo. A huge clock tower added a modern flair. This all seemed like some strange dream

 
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