Guess Who Gets an MRI?

Me.  That's who.  

The Lyrica high has mostly subsided.  Now I just feel pain and discomfort.   My big toe sometimes feels as if it is broken in two longitudinally.  My toes hurt randomly.  My foot feels cold.  It tingles.  It feels cold like I went out and played in the snow barefoot - except it's 77 in my house.  Walking makes my foot numb from the ankle down.  Sometimes the outside of my foot hurts.  Sometimes the toes hurt.  Sometimes it does not hurt at all.

This means the diagnosis of Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy (RSD) is wrong.

As requested, I called the doctor's office this morning for a status report.  What happens now? An MRI.

I am over this.  Over. This.  I am irritated.  If a toddler-approved temper tantrum would solve the problem, I would fling myself on the floor and commence flailing and wailing.  Instead, I am a grown woman with a husband and children who certainly do not deserve my wrath.  They also do not deserve my bad mood or weepiness or anything but the best version of me.  At this point, the average, normal me would be best.

I'll let you know more when I know more.  

Lyrica has given me a wretched headache and I just want to curl up and sleep.  But I can't.  Swimming lessons for the kids start today.

Whine.  Whine. Moan. Complain. Moan. Whine.

If I'd known I'd be this fancy, I would have named the blog something else.