Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Nothing Changed, But Everything Is Different.

D. doesn't have the syndrome the neurologist thought he had. He also doesn't have anything else that specific test covers. The neurologist said he was "surprised" that D's results were normal. I think I'm offended by that.

I'm "surprised" that I don't feel more relieved. I thought that I would feel like everything was all better, that we were out of the woods. I guess my reaction is guarded because we are still looking for answers. We still have to get through the MRI next week, and we still have an appointment with a geneticist in May, when I'm guessing other syndromes will be considered for several more weeks of angst-ridden fun.

There's this bit in Civil Disobedience (dudes, I warned you that I'm an intellecutal snob, so suck up my Thoreau references):

When I came out of prison--for some one interfered, and paid that tax--I did not perceive that great changes had taken place on the common, such as he observed who went in a youth and emerged a gray-headed man; and yet a change had come to my eyes come over the scene--the town, and State, and country, greater than any that mere time could effect. I saw yet more distinctly the State in which I lived. I saw to what extent the people among whom I lived could be trusted as good neighbors and friends; that their friendship was for summer weather only; that they did not greatly propose to do right; that they were a distinct race from me by their prejudices and superstitions, as the Chinamen and Malays are that in their sacrifices to humanity they ran no risks, not even to their property; that after all they were not so noble but they treated the thief as he had treated them, and hoped, by a certain outward observance and a few prayers, and by walking in a particular straight through useless path from time to time, to save their souls. This may be to judge my neighbors harshly; for I believe that many of them are not aware that they have such an institution as the jail in their village.

That's a little bit like what I feel. I see yet more distinctly my son.

We still have a lot of unanswered questions, but we can begin to dust ourselves off and move forward with, perhaps, a slightly lighter step.