How scary is that?

So you have been having a hard time with getting around the last couple of weeks, mostly because you are tired right out at the end of the day, so you start to slip into this blue funk, what I called the Black Hand, this depression that envelopes you and freezes you and keeps you from doing anything productive. Naturally, you begin to think, maybe you are really depressed this time, so much you just don't want to move. You realize that is a whole lot of being depressed, but then, its been seen; you're not breaking any new ground here.

So when your legs finally decide not to go forward anymore, you almost accept, almost anticipate it. "Just give in," you tell yourself. Then you change your mind and try to move - too late, the legs are not working for you'

But after a day of resting, you feel like you can take on a day of work once more, so you go. The results are predictable: within hours you are back in the same predicament.

So you see your doctor, who looks at you and says, "Let's call someone to come get your things, and we will transport you to the hospital."

You call your Dad, who comes to get you and take you to the local hospital, where you are ushered in as a "Direct Admission." You get a bed, a late meal (Mac and cheese, baked), and changed into hospital gowns to be rushed to an MRI - stat!

Except the machine won't accept people your size. In fact, after calling around the area, no one seems to have a machine large enough - so the nurse walks in and announces: "You are being transported to Gainesville, four hours away." I have time to call my Dad at 2am to let him know I am leaving - then they load me in an ambulance and we leave.

How scary is that?