Last Monday, December 16, I received a Christmas miracle. The date was the fourth anniversary of my ill-fated visit to the local hospital’s ER. While I’d been experiencing involuntary muscle twitches during massages in the previous month, on that day, my right leg was kicking it overtly. When my physical therapist witnessed the ‘jerks’, he suggested that I go to the ER.
I knew it was a bad idea when I saw the medical yurts stationed outside the entry doors. I’d seen them on the news coverage about the Covid-19 crisis in New York. While California, because of a high burden of cases, had been on lockdown since March 19, the disease had ravaged other areas of the highly-populous state.
Holy crap, the disease had arrived in Orange County.
Because of the COVID-19 admittances, I remained in the ER all day, surviving on water, half of a protein bar, my cell phone, and an iPad loaded with good books to read. When I wasn’t ignored, I was treated poorly by the staff. I left without a diagnosis, though I did receive a half-assed apology. One of my worst days ever…
Several medical people have helped me tremendously to countermand the rough, ill-considered actions of others. Recently, a specialty neurologist recogmmended an EMG test, but the first availed appointment was a year away.
An EMG test is a medical procedure that measures the electrical activity of muscles and nerves. It helps diagnose various neuromuscular disorders and provides clues to the origin and best treatment for my myoclonus. That diagnosis hadn’t produced any answers, nor did it comfort me.
I was sick and tired of being a cool jerk.
Back to the call, the momentous call, which I answered on my Apple Watch. There’d been a cancellation in the once-monthly EMG test schedule, and I could be seen!
The test is done – yippee! Renewed hope has arrived in my life.
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