I remember so clearly the day I saw the neurologist for the first time. He was young, a second year resident, and he seemed almost giddy as he described my symptoms to the attending doctor. I, having no idea what any of it meant, was also a little giddy, because someone was taking my situation seriously for what felt like the first time. That was January 9, 2012.

When I had seen the nurse practitioners the year before at UCSF, they were dubious about my claims that something was wrong with my feet. One ordered blood work and told me that I was fine. The other reluctantly agreed that I should see a podiatrist. I thought I had a pinched nerve. The NPs seemed to think I was a bit of a hypochondriac.

But I had been falling. Read More>