Yes; I have a rare form of cluster/ice pick headaches that can affect any part of my body. It's quite uncommon, but essentially I can get an excruciating migraine in my arm, leg, etc., on top of getting them in my head/temples. For years my family and I had no idea what was happening, and with no vocabulary to properly explain what was happening, I described it for about fifteen years as "beeping." Doctors told us it was anything from growth spurts to a grab for attention, and for a while I gave up trying to figure out what they were. When they got worse and I couldn't ignore them anymore, I was finally sent to a neurologist, who diagnosed me with ice pick headaches. I let out a sigh of relief that I didn't even know I was holding in; I felt like I could finally breathe. Years of stress and confusion washed off of me, and I started taking a beta blocker to prevent them. I've been on them for a few years now, and it's changed my life for the better. I used to be terrified of learning to drive, for many reasons, but a large one being that if I got an ice pick headache on the road, I couldn't guarantee the safety of those around me if I was at the wheel. Now I'm considering finally getting my license (considering - I still don't like being behind the wheel), I don't double over in white hot pain randomly anymore, and when I do get a cluster headache, I can still function. It almost sounds a little silly, but really, they were crippling, and being able to work through them on my own? It's the greatest gift I've given to myself. You know yourself better than anyone, even if you feel like you don't know yourself. If something feels wrong, don't just live with it - keep pushing for a correct diagnosis! According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: How long did it take to get a proper diagnosis? Options: - 1 year - 15 years - couple of years - not enough information
15 years

(Question)
The bright Sunday morning sun illuminated the stained glass windows, diffusing multi-colored hues across the congregation. Attendance is up today, thought Greg. As the organist was nearing the end of the Prelude, he stepped up to the podium. "Please take your hymnals and turn to page 23, and let's stand and sing 'Holy, Holy, Holy.'" Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty! Early in the morning, our song shall rise to Thee... As Greg sang and conducted the 4/4 pattern, which he could do in his sleep, his mind began to wander. Shouldn't he feel guilty about what he was thinking last night while kissing Cynthia on the couch? His actions had been within the bounds of acceptable behavior. He had nothing to be ashamed of in that regard. But what about his thoughts? It wasn't what he did with Cynthia--it was what he wanted to do. He didn't want to dishonor her or his commitment to God. But his feelings had been only natural. God created humans and gave them sexual desire. Wasn't it okay to want to have sex, as long as you didn't actually do it? Then he remembered the passage from Matthew 5:28. But I say to you, that whosoever shall look on a woman to lust after her, hath already committed adultery with her in his heart. At the end of the hymn, Greg stepped back and Dr. Huff went to the podium and said a prayer. Then there were announcements, two more hymns, and a chorus. After the offering, it was time for the choir to sing their anthem. When Greg motioned to the choir to stand, Cynthia smiled at him from the Alto section. She was so incredibly beautiful. Standing there in her choir robe, she looked like a redheaded angel. If they could just get married, Greg could stop feeling guilty about his desire for her. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: What does Greg wish he and Cynthia could do? Options: - not enough information - Have a family - Go for a walk - Go to church together
(Answer)
Have a family

Ques:The doctors told me I would be placed on a seventy-two hour hold for observation. Knowing this was the only way out, I obeyed and diligently signed all the papers. I hated my parents but still felt the inescapable drive to prove to them that I was worth something. I had to show them I wasn't crazy. As the hours passed, I was shown to a blank room with plastic sheets and plastic pillows, which caused me to wonder what kind of distant confused souls had been imprisoned in this sterile place. There were bars on the windows and the only door out of the unit was locked 24/7. I knew my only refuge for the time being would be through the hour a day art therapy class and the smoke breaks I could take at will. They had given me a legal pad after my parents had told them of my affinity for writing. With it I set to work on the flow of words and the river of thoughts, both dark and hopeful that careened through my tired mind. Instead of sleep, I would write. I expressed my vicious frustration for the place and thought constantly of the passing hours, counting them down as they went. Because of this I was thankful for the eight to ten I would use up easily in my escapes to the world behind my eyelids. There I was free and could experience a life unhindered by limitations of ethics or gravity. When I'd awake I'd write what I could remember of my escapes on the obtrusive legal pad. I had the suspicion that the attendants would come in and read my thoughts as I was eating meals or watching TV and I wondered if this was hindering my ability to get out. I wondered what kind of opinions and judgments they were forming about me. I had bared my soul on those pages explaining desperately how the thoughts would not leave even in this place, where it mattered most that they were gone. The fuckers would never leave. Maybe I was crazy. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: What does the narrator believe might be true? Options: - He would never get out - not enough information - He might be crazy - They could sleep

Ans:
He might be crazy