Yesterday was different.
It wasn't like I hadn't had an MRI before. I don't remember whyI needed to have one, but it was right after Maddy was born. I did have meds to help me relax, and I was on my back - eyes closed, headphones on, listening to music. It wasn't horrible.
Yesterday was different.
I didn't have any time to really mentally prepare. I didn't have any meds to help me relax. I didn't think I needed them to have a scan of my elbow! And I wasn't on my back. I was as Superman - on my belly, right arm in a coil tube in front of me, head on a pillow to the left. Ok, it doesn't sound that bad, except my right arm doesn't easily extend out in front of me, the space inside the MRI machine was TINY TINY TINY and it was all I could do to find fresh air that was pumped inside the chamber. AND I couldn't have headphones on cuz they didn't fit inside the tube. So I had earplugs in, slightly dampening the noise of the monster machine.
I was told it was going to be about 40 minutes for the MRI to take the requisite scans. Ok. I told myself to start breathing slowly as I was inched into the space. I've studied yoga, practiced meditation, did lamaze, so I knew it was all mind over matter. I knew I could do it.
The machine started up the series of scans. Dear Barbara, the radiologist, let me know when each series started and for how long they were going to be. It was easy at first - one minute, 3 minutes, 2 1/2 minutes. Ok, I thought, not easy, in a bit of pain from the upper back to my finger tips, my head is not comfortable, and I'm face down into a pillow, trying to find a space to breath, but I'm ok. I was actually starting to enjoy myself, listening to the hums, the clicks, the whistles of the machine, finding the rhythm, enjoying the harmonics as they ascended and descended strange machine-made scales.
And then I freaked out. It happened during the longest of the series, a mere 6 minute scan. The wonderful rhythms and clicks changed drastically into a blanket of sound. I knew I was starting to lose it. I started to breath slowly, thinking to myself that it everything was alright, this set was about to end. Except it didn't end and I slowly found myself go crazy. I started crying silently, hoping for some miracle. And then it ended. Barbara asked if I was ok, and this time I said no. She and the nurse Dawn pulled me out for a breather. I was so amazed that I freaked out so, but Barbara and Dawn calmed me down, gave me some water and tissue or 3.
Dawn stayed in the room with me, at my side, touching my leg lightly. The power of touch grounded me and I finished with the next four scans.
So I freaked out. As I was laying in bed, trying to go to sleep, I had to push away that awful feeling in my head. It haunted me. I never want to do that again.
Now is the waiting game to hear from my doc to see about next steps. *sigh* I really don't want to go back to square one, but this pain is horrible. If they can do something about it now when I'm (relatively) young, then do it.
3 comments:
It's really hard when you know what to do, you know how to do it right, you know how to cope, and your mind just says "HELL NO". It's a helpless feeling that's really no fun at all.
I'm glad it's over!
I think you did really well -- 40 minutes lying in a white tunnel while a machine clicks and clatters around you? Who thought this up, Woody Allen?
No, his machine would've made you laugh...
I hope the pain goes away soon, whatever it takes.
:^) H
I haven't had a chance to talk to you recently, altho I have often thought of you and all that you are dealing with. I hope this traumatic experience has allowed you to move fw with a plan of permanently fixing that beautiful elbow, so I can hear you play again soon!! XO Lisa
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