Wednesday, 30 March 2011

PTSD Panic

Things at John Hopkins Medical are gradually moving ahead. As of yesterday they have all of the medical reports and MRI scans. The former have been sent off to a translation company for translation. The PDF documents they copied from my website (irregularities and report analysis) are already in English. Once the translations are done (probably by the end of next week), the MRI scans will be send off to radiology and the translated reports and the JHM radiology reports will be send to the endocrinologist and psychiatrist in charge of my case.

After that it'll take supposedly another two weeks for the Medical Second Opinion to be finished. The MSO result should then be known by around April 22nd or during the week following it. It's still a long wait, and if there's one thing I find very hard to deal with it has to be waiting on something as crucial as this. The past few days I have noticed that I sleep very poorly, that I feel highly agitated and restless during the day and that I generally feel unhappy and out of place.

Probably thanks to my PTSD I experience a constant sensation of near-panic during every waking moment, which I can only somewhat suppress by taking large doses of valerian root extract sedative. I guess that JHM really is my last shot at life, because I can not possibly imagine getting kicked out there like I got kicked out of every hospital so far, and moving on to yet another hospital. Heck, if JHM can't help me, I doubt anyone can, with them being the best US hospital and among the best in the world.

Which of course then brings me to the eternal question of why I can't just give up on finding those answers. My answer to that is that giving up on finding those answers and committing suicide is virtually the same thing. Both mean giving up on life, or at least a significant part of it. Either way I'd be giving up on my body, in a physical or practical sense. An additional answer is that emotionally I have never been able to deal with not having these answers, not when I was about five years old, not when I hit puberty, and it still plagues me to this very day.

Not understanding one's body is akin to not having a body.


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