I'm, once again, in the middle of a series of tests with the obvious unstated goal of not actually figuring out what's wrong with me. As my physical condition continues to decline we're again ramping up tests. Last week I made my way through three different MRIs, all of which, as usual, were mainly normal. When we get back from Portugal I'll be heading in for my third EMG (no one should ever live a life wherein they have one EMG) and apparently some sort of biopsy and a couple appointments with different doctors. I'm sorry if I sound whiney (or more whiney) because I do appreciate the efforts of my various and sundry doctors to sort out my mystery condition. I told one of the doctors the other day that this is my punishment for hoping to be known for something someday; apparently I'm just going to be famous for being the first authenticated case of Scudder Syndrome.
I'm not certain why I posted this screen capture of one of my MRIs. It's probably because I just finished reading Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain and Hans Castorp, the "very ordinary young man" and protagonist of the story, carries around an x-ray of his erstwhile beloved.
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