A year has passed..

On October 16th I went back to the neurologist to receive my most recent test results, and to discuss the MRI results from back in June. I've been so incredibly lucky with my neurologist. He's a fantastic doctor. We talked about my test results, and he was quite happy to inform me that there are no signs of more blood clots or any other problems. My blood tests are normal, and as long as I'm on the anticoagulants (and off any hormonal birth control) I should be quite fine. What a relief! I spent a whole hour talking things over with him, asking all kinds of questions, and when I left his office I felt almost.. light as air! After more than a year I finally got some answers, which made so much worry instantly vanish, and funny enough.. I've been feeling a lot better since that.

What really makes me angry though, or rather seriously pissed off, is the fact that because of the doctor I can't even speak of without becoming infuriated.. they were now unable to pinpoint the exact time of occurrence of the infarction because the scarring was more than a month old by the time I had the MRI. According to my neurologist I should have been transferred to neurology immediately when I arrived at the ER with my symptoms, which apparently is typical symptoms of an infarct. Instead of doing an MRI, I was admitted to the pulmonary wing, and got stuck with a doctor who didn't take me seriously and pushed me so far down into the darkness that I nearly failed to find my way back up again.

So, apparently there's so way of knowing for sure when I had this infarction or blood clot in my brain then, but according to my neurologist it's very probable - judging from my symptoms - that it happened when I was first came into the ER back on October 28th 2010. No actual harm was done by not doing the MRI at once, and I was put on an anticoagulant in March, but it maddens me that I was treated like an idiot instead of being taken seriously. And I don't doubt for a second that I had a guardian angel watching over me. I've asked to be transferred back to my old hospital, because I like it there. I feel safe, I'm respected and heard, taken seriously, and they've done a lot for me over the years. When I moved to Trondheim back in 2006 I actually didn't want to switch hospitals, but I thought it would be better, safer and easier to have my doctors close by. If I had known back then what I know now, I would never have transferred to St. Olavs Hospital.

I wish I could say I was done with this whole ordeal, but there's still things going on. Matters that bring me down, confuses me, and make me feel all empty inside. Things I wish hadn't happened, matters I don't wanna think about - but somehow I need to muster up the strength, the courage to take on the fight and climb to the top of that hill, without giving up.