And here's what I think. 1. The neurologist is so busy with other patients that she doesn't have time to check the fax machine or her email. 2. She has checked them, but I'm in line behind lots of other patients, and she has to go in order. Or 3. The news is so bad, something so traumatic, that she's consulting with her partners about how to tell me. Should she tell me over the phone? Should she schedule a special time to talk to me so that she'll know I'm home and not driving or not in the middle of getting my kids ready for school? Should she tell me when she knows my husband'll be home from work? Should she have me make an appointment so I can come in person to get the results? Maybe, because, after having met me once, she's so upset by the news, it's hard for her to function. Maybe she's taking some time to summon her resolve, to calm herself down, before telling me.
Guess which scenario I'm going with?
Update: OMG, I just thought of something. (Sorry, I haven't heard from her yet and my brain's still in overdrive.) But here's what I thought. What if the news is so bad, that she wants to come out here (to New Jersey from Manhattan) in person and, you know, since that takes a few hours, she's got to block out her schedule. My dog was feeling bad last night due to getting vaccines yesterday (I'm guessing) and so he woke me up in the middle of the night and I couldn't stop fixating on this thought. Effin modern medicine. Veterinary and otherwise.
Yet Another Update: Good christ. Nothing. It's been 9 days. Nine days! And I called on Thursday (when it was only 7 days) and left a message and then called back a few hours later and was cut off by the receptionist "She got your message." Wait. Did we sleep together, this doctor and me? Am I trying to have the day after phone call to reassure myself it wasn't a horrible, horrible drunken mistake? No. No, it's not. I'm a 38 year old woman who went to see a specialist who said I could email her. Who said she would review my MRI and get back to me. That's what this is.
Lame. Lame, lame, lame, lame. What happened to my thinking she was so upset she'd drive to New Jersey to tell me in person? Gone. Forever. Now, she's just a coward who isn't brave enough to tell me I have something horribly wrong with me and she's waiting for my next doctor to do it. To quote my sister-in-law (who was addressing my mother at the time), "DONE! I'm done with you! Done with you!" Yelled, of course, while pointing her finger at my mom. This is what I do to my neurologist.