Hey, No Need To Rush...

So, if, after badgering and badgering your doctor, and I mean RELENTLESS, like a rabid, well, badger, I guess. Your doctor FINALLY does a specific test.

And the test results are: OHSHITSERIOUSLYOHSHIT

You get sent for more tests and more, and your doctor, who you always thought pretty much hated you, is visibly worried, frantic even, and is trying to get you into specialists and an MRI with every favour, trick, or paperwork that can be scrambled.

And your doctor's request for a MRI is denied.

But you do see a specialist--actually you see the specialist's intern / assistant / something, because the specialist doesn't have time for patients, even though you thought that was the major part of the whole 'doctor' gig. But, after a FOUR HOUR differential and history and exam, the specialist pops in for maybe 30 seconds. Most of which is to scan over test results, and then fill out a req for a MRI, and mark it URGENT.

Because the tests so far all 'suggest' you've got a tumour in your head, and 9 out of 10 doctors agree that is a Bad Thing.

(The tenth doctor insisted on Very Bad Thing)

Oh, and when they believe said growth is big enough that it is crushing your pituitary AND your optic nerve--sending your hormones into chaos, your migraines into excruciating (and potentially lethal), and frequently shorting out your vision...

When you get all this, and you get your MRI appt...oh, and most importantly, you are me:

Your appt is in two months.

I am not being a drama queen when I tell you...

The pain, and everything else, but oh especially the pain, is getting worse
EVERY SINGLE DAY. I can't--

I can't imagine I'll be alive in two months...