So, they admitted me to a Kennet Ward and dispatched me for MRI scans. I won't go into detail about them - they're nasty, claustrophobic, noisy as fuck (think jack hammer inside your head) and take ages, bu they do their job.
A couple of hours later in troop the team. Mr. Important first, followed by the various levels of importance all following with their heads bent at respectful distances.
"Well we won't beat about the bush (good thing really, my lady garden was not in a good state after 3 months with a very bad back!). You're got severe compression against a nerve in your back which is pushing against your spinal cord. In these scenarios we typically have up to 72 hours to save the use of your legs. What time exactly did they start to go? We need to figure out how far into the window we are?
Well, about 6ish yesterday evening in the truest sense, so we're already 24 hours in. Shit.
But oh no, he wasn't finished yet.
Now, these things apparently just don't happen by themselves. The MRI had identified some nasty legion of things ganging up on my spine - called cancer. Yep, the big C was dropped in the same conversation. Not the best 6 minute chat I've had in my life and I've had some shite ones with some very pissed people over the years.
They then very sensitively said they'd leave us to process this bombshell before they discussed next steps.
Where do you go from here?
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