My recollection of October, November and December 2008 are not very clear. I have vague memories of excruciating pain, not much sleep...and many appointments. For someone who rarely even saw a doctor, this wasn't easy for me. One, I am a firm believer in more natural alternatives. And two, with the van totaled and my pretty little Lumina needing a new engine-which wasn't exactly in the budget right then-I was dependent on my mom, the newly christened chauffeur.
But back to the appointments. Some were to see doctors. The others were for a CT scan, an EMG and, my personal favorite (not!), an MRI (the first of three, lucky me-again, not!). Let me say here and now, the CT scan was the best of the bunch. And while it wasn't the most pleasant thing in the world, the EMG was tolerable. The MRI... Well that's another story, as well as the subject of today's post.
As you might have guessed from the 'natural alternatives' mention, I wasn't really thrilled when the ordering doctor prescribed a Xanax for the MRI. After much deliberation, a conversation with the pharmacist, and being assured by the technician who set the appointment that the ordeal would only take about an hour, I opted to forgo the anti-anxiety tablet. I could handle almost anything for an hour, right?
I was feeling fairly confident when Mom picked me up. On the way she asked if 'it' had kicked in yet, then looked at me in disgust when I told her I'd decided not to take it. She wasn't convinced that I was brave enough to go through with it without being in a drug-induced stupor-and threatened to kick a certain part of my anatomy if I chickened out.
No problem, Mom. I could handle it.
I was still telling myself that as I walked down the hall with the technician. Not with as much conviction as I'd had before arriving at the hospital, but I was sure I'd do okay. At least until we arrived in radiology. The few shreds of confidence I'd managed to hold on to dissolved in a puddle at my feet as I came face-to-face with the tube.
Whoever invented MRI's is both a genius and a sadistic monster...
My panic level, as I lay down on the hard, tray-like table, was spiraling out of control and I wondered if anyone had ever died of a heart attack in that impossibly tiny space.
Appropriately enough, the technician handed me a panic button and said if I couldn't handle it, just push it and he'd get me right out. I clutched that thing to my chest like a lifeline. In fact, I'm sure my knuckles were white, only my eyes were closed so tight I couldn't say for sure.
The tray began to move and I started breathing, in much the same way I had during my experiences with labor. I thought that might help, until my elbows hit the sides of the tube. In that instant all spiraling stopped and I was in a full fledged panic.
Out! I need out NOW!!!
I'll admit that this is just my opinion, but MRI's really should come with an eject button.. At that point I wouldn't have cared if that sucker shot me across the room and through a wall. I needed to be out of it-and a whole lot faster than the tray was moving, too.
As I was trying to slow my breathing down,the tech assured me we could reschedule and I should take the Xanax this time. That sounded pretty good plan to me, but that would mean having to face my mother and admit I was a coward. Not that I was worried about her kicking anything. She's all of 4' 11" tall. Still, I didn't want the lecture. And I sure wasn't in the mood for a, "told you so."
So I declined the very tempting offer and said, let's try it again. This time I kept my arms glued to my sides and managed to tough it out long enough to complete the test.
Moral of this story? If you have to have an MRI and your doctor offers to write a prescription for something to help you relax, you might want to give some serious thought to how claustrophobic you may or may not be. Realize that if you're not, that is subject to change in a big hurry when you find yourself face-to-face with the tube.
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