Anybody wanna go to Denver?
Today I talked to my local neurosurgeon, who spelled out for me the plan going forward. I have what he describes as “mild hydrocephalus”. This is fluid on the brain–in my case either Coca-Cola syrup or hot fudge. I also have a Chiari malformation type 2. And, as diagnosed during my last hospital visit, I have autoimmune polyglandular syndrome–also type 2. (This has to do with the endocrine and thyroid, and adrenal glands, and the like.)
All of these things combined equal “send this poor bastard to a university hospital where great minds can figure out what the hell is going on here.” So, at some point, I will be Denver-bound. This whole Chiari business has moved forward at a snail’s pace, and in involving an even larger hospital I don’t exactly expect the wheels of medicine to whirr into high gear. This may be because “the wheels of medicine” is a truly heinous mixed metaphor and I’m too tired to think of a better one.
The gang at Regional West (my local brain and spine center) said that if I don’t hear from Denver in ten days to give them a call.
My neurosurgeon says the folks in Denver, armed with all of my MRIs and other tests, can best determine what steps to take. It may be that they do a shunt to deal with the fluid. It may be that they operate on the Chiari. It may be that they do both. Or other things. And, noted my doc, it may be that I want these Denver doctors on my side going forward. Which I take to mean, “Even if they do everything your malformed lil’ Chiari could possibly desire, you may have more of these types of issues later in life.”
So, in my usual self-medicating way, today I’ve been telling myself, “Hey! Everytime you go to Denver to see the Neurology Super Friends you can also go to Mile High Comics! And have lunch at a different restaurant!” Pitiful, I know. But I need stupid little motivations like that. Sometimes stupid little motivations are the only thing that keep you going.