There is light at the end of the tunnel. At least, there was light at the end of mine. Bright, soft lights and a reassuring doctor.
For I had not just been in a metaphorical tunnel in my search for diagnosis, but had just come out of a real tunnel: a barely-lit basement corridor, where in tiny adjoining rooms patients like myself had their heads jerked around, lights shone in their eyes and large amounts of water injected into their ears: all in the name of finding out what neurological or ear problem was troubling them.
After nearly five years of unexplained symptoms, I hadn’t expected much from this particular appointment. Yet here it was: the long-awaited objective test result that pointed to cerebellar disease, which was causing myRead more on themighty.com