Waiting for a Diagnosis when you are a CONTROL FREAK!

So, for the third time in ten years, I’m in search of a diagnosis. The first time was for infertility. Clearly we found our way around that because we have an awesome little kid. Next, awesome little kid needed a diagnosis. He has autism and is every bit as awesome as before the doctor put a name to what was going on. In both of those cases, I hit Google hard and promptly scared the crap out of myself. This third time, I started down the same path. “WAIT” has always been the worst four letter word for me, but this has to stop.

What is it all about this time? To sum up, over the last year I have been tired. I know, I know. I’m a mom teetering on the edge of forty. I’m supposed to be tired. That is what I thought too, until a couple of weeks ago. After one of my usual three mile walks, I lost the use of my legs. On the way to the ER, I lost the ability to speak correctly as well. No stroke, but no answers either, (and I still don’t have my legs back completely.)

Here I am again. Stuck in the middle of the cycle of testing and waiting. Here are a few of the thoughts that I was having during the beginning of all of this…

“How will my mobility issues affect my ability to parent?” This is a valid concern.

“I can never hike into the woods, because I may never make it out.” (And not because of mountain lions or bigfoot.) This is not so much a valid concern because if I am hiking in the woods I am either lost, or hiding a body.

“Will my garden die?” (The garden gnomes have my back.)

“What happens if I’m using one of those power chairs and the battery dies in the middle of Target?” (Hilarity. That is what happens.)

“How will I dust the ceiling fans?” (Really? When was the last time I dusted the ceiling fans?)

“What if my husband can never check out my ass as I walk away?” (This is important marital stuff.)

As my mind went off in wild directions, one thing remained clear. I will not allow myself to lose a moment to depression. Legs or not, this is where I take a stand.

Throughout my family’s various journeys, I gave away so much to the bottomless pit of, “what ifs.” I kind of wish that I had set a timer. OK Self! You can be sad for exactly this amount of time, then you have to get yourself together.

As a control freak, I thought that I required answers. Well, once the answer was autism. Just try to control autism. The answer will not give you the control. The only thing that you can control is how you react to a situation. So, if I must control things, I will control that.

P.S If I do end up wheelchair bound, I am shaving my head and changing my name to Professor Xavier. Wolverine better not park in my spot.

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