She said that the MRI showed a herniated disk between the - I think she said - the C5 and C6 vertebrae.
"A herniated disk."
"Oh. Well, okay. That stinks. I'm glad she figured out what it was though. I'll go ahead and make an appointment for physical therapy then."
"Yes, it says here that she's going to need you to have a consultation with a neurosurgeon."
"I know, but why?!"
"For a consultation ma'am."
"I get that, but a consultation for what? There's no way I can get surgery. Why would I see a neurosurgeon if I'm not getting surgery?"
"Don't worry ma'am. You'll be getting a call soon for the consultation."
And that was it. I hung up the phone and sat staring. A neurosurgeon. A neurosurgeon?! Maybe he'll just go over my options for physical therapy or a shot or something I can get. Surgery is not an option though. Not even a tiny, little ounce of an option. I don't have time for it.
Man, getting old is a pain.