Monday, November 17, 2014

MRI Yi Yi!

Once upon a time I had a shoulder. It was a good shoulder, but it got strained and decided to go on strike. Now I no longer have a shoulder- I have this creaky old arm hinge that hurts whenever I try to lift stuff.

I asked for an MRI. I got an X-ray. X-ray said the bone was fine. Duh. I already knew that. This wasn't a bone issue, medical people- even you told me it was a tendinitis thing. But let's waste some fundage anyway by taking useless pictures of perfectly healthy bone. Sheesh.

Only after the X-ray was I allowed to get an MRI. So I took my permission slip and off I went to schedule an appointment.

I've never had an MRI before. Oh, I've heard tales of claustrophobics having panic attacks and people not knowing they had metal in them (like a pin they swallowed in the second grade), but I watched House and Bones and knew that those machines weren't as small as my friends had told me- they seemed roomier on TV. After all, TV doesn't fabricate...right?

The TV people lied.

Everything was hunky dory as I lay down on the little bench, trying to keep my bulk from slipping off the sides as the technician screwed on a shoulder holder thing that reminded me of a really weird-looking C-clamp. This was to keep my shoulder from moving during the photo shoot.

They laid a cotton blanket on me that was thin but warmed me up in a jiffy- especially nice since the room was below freezing. I really want to know where they sell those things- I want one to slip between my sheets on winter nights!

I also had a firm pillow tucked under my knees to make things more comfortable. Back spasms are bad if you have to lie still for forty minutes. I was given a panic button to summon the tech if I needed anything. Now it was time to stick me in a tube that reminded me of the casket shooter that shot Spock's body into space in Star Trek: Genesis.

As my head went in I was also concerned I might reenact Mr. Incredible's entrance into the travel pod in The Incredibles. A few more pounds and that might have actually happened!

My body parts that tried to slide off the sides were suddenly scooped up and pressed against the very tight walls of the machine. Oh sure, my shoulder had some support now, but was squished against the C-clamp and the wall. Looking up only rewarded me with a close look at frosted glass that glowed like a small sun. 

To hide the impending noise of the machine, I was gifted with earphones. Before the earphones were put on, I was given ear plugs. Talk about an oxymoron. But the best part was that my ears were already half plugged with wax (yet another health issue from the Wonderful World of Old), so I could barely hear the music from the 80's that I'd requested. 

But I'd heard that machine. 

I imagine it would sound the same from the inside of a dryer that contained a pair of sneakers. Thump, thump, thump. I hit the button several times to ask for her to turn up the music, but my requests fell on deaf ears- or the button she gave me was a fake one. I suspected the latter. I closed my eyes and thought happy thoughts- like how I was eternally grateful not to be claustrophobic.

Believe it or not, I fell asleep.

The sound of my own soft snoring woke me, and the tech clicked in. "How are you doing in there?" she asked. I think she thought my snores were me having labored breathing from a panic attack. "I'm good- can you turn up the music please?" But I heard a click after "I'm good" and the music remained muted.

So I fell asleep again.

The machine stopped and started a few times, and she kept announcing every four minutes that another four minutes had passed. And each time, she woke me up. Apparently I didn't need an update- I needed a nap.

Then it was over and I was extracted from the machine. My shoulder was killing me. It didn't like being shoved in a C-clamp and a Star Trek tube for forty minutes and let me know most insistently. 

I was helped into a sitting position, and my head spun. "Oh, that's normal," she said. "You'll be fine in a few minutes." Then she tried to rush me to stand and get out of the MRI room. I put a hand up and warned her to give me a minute- unless she wanted to try to pick my bulk off of the floor all by herself. She waited a minute until I was ready to stand. Smart lady.

I went into the changing room and slid off the robe, then spent the next ten minutes trying to get dressed with a shoulder that refused to cooperate. I did not want to go out into the real world without certain undergarments (at my age, gravity is not my friend), so after a struggle and a lot of awkward twisting, I finally managed to get dressed. Then I got the heck out of there.

I should be getting the results this week. I have to wonder what MRI really means. Personally, I think it means Majorly Rectal Irritant, which means a pain in the posterior- or in my case, shoulder. But you get the idea. Please keep me in prayer, Dear Readers- I need them!


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