It's 11 a.m. Friday and I'm nervously watching the clock. At 12:45 they're going to do an MRI on my brain -- or the space where the brain is supposed to be. I expressed to my oncologist that I've been having some issues with my balance. I haven't fallen, other than normal clumsiness -- like not lifting my foot high enough to clear the curb. But I have caught myself weaving, etc., without the benefit of alcohol.
There are just too many hospital shows on TV where the docs order MRIs and they find something potentially fatal and they put the patient through all kinds of hoops and tests. Of course, they save the patient more often than not, but the patient looks like hell. I've already looked like hell all last year so I'd prefer not to do it again.
I'm also hoping that they don't find anything untoward from the MRI. And I hope they do confirm that I do have a brain, contrary to a lot of popular opinion!