Since we talked last, I’ve had my second MRI. I’ve seen my doctor for a follow-up/second MRI discussion. And I’ve gotten a diagnosis.

For me, this month simply meant two things: doctors… doctors… an all-important MRI exam… and yep, more doctors. Maybe by the end of November it would mean one more thing: a diagnosis. …Maybe.

Again, again, again, again… and again. Five times. That’s how many times James and I had problems with our health solely in the month of May. In fact, there were so many health fiascos, I started keeping a list in my head.

Soon, James and I will be married. And instead of relishing in our wedding plans, I’m concentrating on November. November means doctors, and tests, and possibly answers.

James told me recently he doesn’t necessarily believe people are given more than they can handle. Instead, he thinks people are given what they and their support group can handle. I’m beginning to believe this.

My MRI is scheduled, and I have no idea what the future holds.

This is what I don’t want to admit and yet what set all after into motion. This is the start of my health journey.