If you’ve already listened to my story then you can just move on to the comment section – say something nice – and I won’t think any less of you.
After all of the frustration with my regular doctor, I took a chance and went to my Allergist. I figured maybe it was a sinus thing going on.
He asked lots of wonderful questions, listened carefully, checked his handy, dandy prescription drug booklet. It was fantastic, I tell you! I was being heard!
Then he did something so horrible that I can hardly tell you without tears springing to my eyes.
He wrote out a prescription for an MRI…and an MRA…and I started to shake, just a bit, inside.
I’m one of those folks that starts to panic if I can’t take off a tight shirt. You know? When it gets stuck half-way up? And you can’t go up and you can’t go down?
Twenty years ago I had to go for an MRI, after a car accident. I may have lasted about 2 minutes in that tube. That small, confining, suffocating, banging tube. Then they couldn’t get me out of there fast enough. I had to drive myself back home – a 90 minute drive – and was still shaking and crying when I got there.
Since that day I have always dreaded the possibility of someone uttering those horrible 3 letters. Last year I had to go for an MRI of my knee. MY KNEE! And I freaked out when I went into the tube, up to my armpits. Somehow I made it thru. But now…
I’m not sure I can do it. I don’t know if there’s enough drugs to get me back in there.
I went to the MRI place, on Monday, for them to show me the “new” machine. I felt all brave and confident. I had just been to the gym and was feeling good.
No, it’s not an open MRI. I can’t use one of those because of the MRA. “It’s not strong enough”, said the smiling lady. I wanted to cling to her like a baby money clings to it’s mother.
The nice, young man let me lay on on the table. He said I’d need a “collar” for the test and proceeded to put that on me. (Suffocating feeling…8 out of 10) Then he put on the face cage. (Bells and whistles started in my head.) Then he raised the table into position…
let me take a moment…
and was about to press the button, to slide me into the tube of hell and I said to him (WARNING, WILL ROBINSON! WARNING!!)
“You don’t have to put me in there. And you can take this off,”
(swirling motion with hand, over my head)
“because this isn’t going to happen. This isn’t working for me.”
I don’t know how I kept my sh*t together but I know that when I got to my car, I texted Tom and all it said was
OH. MY. GOD. MOMMY.