There were two things scheduled to happen today. The first was our bed being delivered. The second was a phone call with a doctor at the rheumatology centre. As it happens, both of these happened at exactly the same time. The call was the longest out of the two and lasted a whopping 8 minutes.

The call was my intake for a possible fibromyalgia diagnosis. Because of all the Corona measures happening right now, they'd called me last week and asked if I'd be okay with changing my intake from a face to face meeting to a phonecall. As a side benefit switching to a phone call, I'd be able to have the intake sooner rather than later. So instead of the end of May, I had it just now, from my own (new) living room.

The call lasted only 8 minutes and he concluded that fibromyalgia sounded like a probable diagnosis. He still wants to rule out some other things and see me in person, but it sounded like it might fit. We'll try to set an appointment in about two months when this hopefully will be possible again. Until then, I get to sit with the knowledge that what was a hunch on my part, might be true. There is something very anticlimactic about the talk we had. It was so short. So to the point. Just a few questions and.. done. On the other hand, at least it happened and we'll move forward when this is a possibility again. I don't know how to feel about it yet. It went so fast. There was so much I wanted to say that I didn't manage to. What I do know right now is that I'm so so tired, that my brain is foggy, that everything aches and that this is not an unfamiliar feeling (nor an unexpected one considering I spent all yesterday cleaning!). Maybe we're both right about that diagnosis thing.