I'm standing by the window, looking down 16 stories to the highway below when he walks in the door.  We introduce ourselves, and he starts asking me questions.  A couple of minutes into our meeting, he hits gold and I answer 'yes' to EVERY question he asks me.

He chuckles and tells me I'm falling to pieces, and I laugh and agree with him. He takes my hand. 

'We need to get an MRI.  I don't think you have MS; I think that a lot of what you're experiencing is due to the medications you're on - including the weight gain.  Elavil is a great drug; I prescribed it a lot when I was a n00b, but it makes people gain weight and that's not good.  I have something better that you can take home with you.  I also think that you have a little bit of brain damage from the accident you were in - it's not much, just enough to make you feel dizzy from time to time and have trouble remembering things occasionally.  You just cannot expect to come out of something like that without having some residual damage.'

I start to cry, and I don't know why.

'It's ok, Karen.  We'll get you taken care of.  It's nothing that's going to kill you - and I bet that by the time you come back to see me in a month, you'll have dropped 10 or more pounds'.

After I set up the appointment for the MRI, I take the express elevator down to the main floor, find a bathroom, and start bawling.  It's a release of tension, mostly, and it's over within minutes.  I compose myself, and head for Euclid Ave exit so I can walk back to the Metro.

I want to go home.