I should be basking in the quiet of my empty house. But. I am not. About 30 minutes after Des left for her pool fun with her friend(that I did not see because I was upstairs, still in my night shirt, and dreading hobbling down the stairs), I have had an awful sinking feeling in my gut. I asked her to call or text me with the address when she got there, but I have not heard from her yet. Maybe I should call her friend’s phone, or text. No, bad idea, she may be driving. Why I am on edge? I know, I will call the friend whose home she is headed to. Cool, I just spoke to her and I got her address. She sounded like a nice girl and told me Des had been there for a while, even thanked me for letting Des come. But, why do I still feel so anxious? I hobble back to my bed and realize 1. I’ve missed two texts and 2. one of them is from Des letting me know she made it about 25 minutes after she left. Still no relief. So I begin research. Recipes, prayer, health tips, news articles, scriptures, FB funnies, etc, etc. What is the deal??
It has now been over 3 hours since she left. I still have a slight weirdness… I even read an article, that had nothing to do with anything remotely similar to today’s events, but involved a mother’s instincts… I. Must. Call.
Ok, I think I’m good now. I heard her voice and she sounds happy. Seems to be having fun. But, why oh why do I still have the shakes in my belly???
Fast forward to 6:45. I arrive at the hospital for my MRI. I limp all the way to the check-in window just to be told to go back to the Inpatient Registration window, which just happens to be back at the beginning of my hospital trail, what seems like a good mile from where I eventually end up. I get registered then head back to Radiology where I wait and wait and wait and wait. They really meant it when they said my appointment was at 8:00. Oh, what fun. I get to listen to the sad replay of the Michael Jackson saga and the resulting trial of the doctor, whose name was on the tip of my tongue, but I for some reason cannot remember at this moment in time. Oh yea, Conrad Murray.
Fluttering tummy again. Why?!
Finally I am called back. My right knee clicks like I’m transforming as I slowly follow the tech into the hallway.
Now I’m in the inner sanctum. It’s freezing in here. Is this a meat locker? The nice lady tries to make small talk. I ask how long this will take. She replies, “about 30 minutes.” Sigh.. Oh and if I move, she has to “start it all over again.” Double sigh. How long before the results come back? “About 4-5 days.” More waiting.
I must say, this is not my first time in the MRI dungeon, but it has been a while since my last trip and I may have forgotten the terror in detail. If you have never had the pleasure of being tortured in this manner, then count your blessings. No collection of adjectives could ever accurately paint the picture of this experience, but I shall certainly try.
Forget the fact that it’s so cold you can easily have visions of fire pits and electric blankets dancing through your head in early Spring time. But knowing that you must remain perfectly still for at least 30 minutes, can frighten anyone, I’m sure of it.
The first hurdle is the ice cold conveyor belt thingy I had to stretch out on in order to have my left knee uncomfortably strapped down in preparation for the scan. She begins twisting and pushing and squeezing as she tries to lock my knee in some sort of brace-like tubular contraption. Now, I have already made it known that I cannot completely stretch out my left leg, nor can I have any measure of comfort without a pillow being propped underneath. To which the tech replies, “oh, ok”, and proceeds to push my leg down flat anyway. I guess I was speaking another language. My bad. Let me try again. Umm, that hurts. A lot. “Oh, ok, let me get you a pillow.” Insert blank stare.
The second hurdle is the fact that I’m freezing and so are her hands. I’m now shaking like a leaf and praying for this to be over. She notices my convulsive behavior and remarks, “Oh, I forget how cold you guys are. I’m always moving so, I’m not cold. I’ll get you a blanket.” Which turns out to be a thin sheet folded in half. But, a barrier between me and the frigid temperatures, none the less.
The tubular contraption will not work due to the inflammation in my knee. The sides must lock in place, but there is far too much fluid to allow this. She resorts to some sort of make shift remedy. I refuse to look because I am in so much pain. But, it feels like.. Wait for it.. Blankets. Hmm, ok. Nice and warm and thick. However. Let’s just move on. Shall we?
The last hurdle, which didn’t seem like much until about 12 minutes into the scan, is a sand bag. Apparently, she feels my left leg may go rogue and she places a sand bag on my left ankle to help keep my leg still. Seems harmless enough.
Now, the torture begins.
I cross my arms over my chest, just because I don’t really know where else to put them and I’m afraid I may move them if they are down by my sides. She places headphones on my head, I assume I will hear muzak of some sort. Then the conveyor moves me into the machine until only my head remains outside. Well, more like half-chest and above.
I wait for the music, none comes. I hear 3 slight ticking sounds and then the jack hammer begins. Seriously? No music?? The constant vibration and loud thuds are sure to drive me mad in 30 minutes or less. Wait. Why the headphones, then? Ugh! Have these been sanitized?! Oh, Lord, please help me. Yay, though I walk though the valley of death… For the Lord does not give me a spirit of fear… Why can’t I finish these thoughts? I seriously cannot complete a thought or say a prayer for myself. It’s too much. Ugh! Why does it feel like something is crawling on my right shoulder blade?? I can’t even scratch. And now, there’s a tickle in my left ear. Cooties! I bet these stupid headphones are dirty! After what I estimate to be about 10 minutes, the noise stops. But, I notice my heart rate is definitely increasing. I’m certain my BP is through the roof and I feel out of control.
I hear the slight ticking sounds again and the madness continues. 30 minutes? That seems like a lifetime at this point. I can hear myself screaming inside my head. I wonder if anyone has ever gone clinically insane or any insane after spending time in an MRI machine. I shall probably be the first. This darn sand bag. Wait. Are my left toes wiggling? I think they are. I shall will them to stop, because I certainly cannot endure more than 30 minutes in here. Wait. Are they really moving or is this my mind playing tricks? I really think they are. No! Stop moving! Is this what it is like to be in a coma? Alone with the thoughts swimming in your head? Why are my butt cheeks hurting? Oh no, I’m tensing up. If I relax, is that moving? Will she notice? Oh God, please, please don’t let her say she has to start over. The noise stops.. I wait for her to deliver the bad news. Nothing. I wait.
I hear the slight ticks again. More torture. There has to be a better way. They need to acquire one of those cool machines like the one I saw two episodes ago on Grey’s Anatomy. Oh to be scanned in 13 seconds flat. Back to reality. I open my eyes and hot tears roll down the sides of my head into my hair. I wonder how hot tears can benefit an afro? I can’t feel my body below my neck. Is it because I’m still freezing, because I am paralyzed, because I am tense or because I’m completely insane? Who knows. But I feel that I’ve been left to waste away in a strait jacket and Chinese handcuffs. Madness I tell you. Please be over soon. Please be over soon. Please be ov… The noise stops. About a minute later, she reappears. “Ok, all done!” She startled me. I jumped. She chuckled. “I did the same thing to a lady earlier, I thought she was going to hit me.” Hmm, nah, too easy. I just want to get out of here.
The conveyor belt frees me from my torture tube. Wow, I really can’t feel my body. My fingers are interlocked in a death grip. Truly Chinese handcuffs. Finally I yank them free. I sit up. Then a song floods my mind. “You need ta. Pick yo afro dad-dy. Because it’s flat on one side…” Thanks Erykah Badu. I needed that comedy relief. I begin to fluff my flattened fro. I hurriedly jump off the conveyor. I stand up, shakily and brace myself for the impending dizziness. And then, what do you know..
My nervous belly situation subsided.
Fear. The destroyer of dreams, lives and sanity.
apeaceofmine 