It's been going on for months now. Since the beginning of summer. At first I didn't think much of it - I thought it was because of the heat and humidity. But it isn't normal. I knew that, on some level. Then it was a matter of getting a doctor's appointment. In a normal country, you choose your doctor, pay your fee, and get your answers. In Canada, you get in line, and hope you don't die before someone figures out why. Often times you get better (and quicker) diagnosis from the medical examiner who does your autopsy. Fat load of good that does you!

So I finally got to the doctor. She took one look at me, and pronounced that I was too heavy, and that was where all my troubles were coming from (she ran the basic tests first). Okay, I'll buy that. So what do we do about it? Well, I have now been on doctor supervised starvation for five weeks, have lost over 20lbs, my blood sugar is back to normal, and I need smaller pants. This is all fantastic! Except for one small problem:

I still can't walk.

Now, when I say I can't walk, that isn't strictly true. I can. Eventually. On good days I can walk minutes after waking up. On bad days I need help to the bathroom. My legs do not respond to the messages my brain is sending them. They can't hear me - or they don't care. I have been late for work almost every day since the start of summer (I have the best boss ever. Thank you, B.). If I walk more than fifteen minutes at a time, I tire, and my muscles begin to throb and pulse. If I sit too long, it is difficult for me to stand back up again. I have very little balance. It's frustrating to fall back onto the bed every morning, just trying to reach a standing position. I'm tired all the time.

So back to the doctor I went on Tuesday. I was worried that she would roll her eyes at me, tell me it was all in my head, and shout next! She didn't. I kinda wish she had. Instead, she started using words I really didn't like. Words like:

Motor neuron. Multiple Sclerosis. MRI. Spinal tap. Muscle Awareness Testing. Neurologist. Lou Gerhig.

I'll be twenty-nine in less than a month. I really don't want to hear about Lou Gerhig, unless it has something to do with Gary Cooper.

She has decided - just to be sure - to run another barrage of basic tests (blood sugar, thyroid, iron count, etc). We'll meet next week, because she knows the test will all come up normal. We'll meet to discuss how quickly I can obtain the tests I need to find out what's really wrong with me. Will it make more sense for me to pay for it in Quebec or Stateside? Is it serious? Am I going to die?

Today I took out another $200 thousand dollars worth of life insurance. Just in case. After all, I've had no diagnosis yet, so they can't refuse me. B will notarize my will on Monday. Just in case.

Am I scared? Fuck yeah. I had it all planned out, you see. I was going to follow the same pattern the rest of my family followed: die of cancer between the ages of 45 and 55. I was going to finish out my roaring twenties, be a success in my thirties, enjoy my forties, and die in my fifties. Too young, still, but I had made my peace with it. Some days I even looked forward to it.

I'm not ready for this. Not now. We're just getting on our feet here in Canada. Just getting on our feet, and mine have stopped working. Within the next couple of months, I will have to give in and start using a cane. A cane! What a lovely 29th birthday present! How unique!

At least my pants will be smaller.