[Note, this is transcribed from a Blog in my past (August 3, 2012)...before I was on Facebook].
I remember a girl telling me about running away during her MRI because she was claustrophobic. It was hysterically funny to me at the time, but when I was faced with having to experience the same, I started to worry. What would I do? I talked to many people, hoping technology had improved. "Oh, yes," they said. "It's different, now." And so it was that I walked into the imaging center with relative calmness...and filled out paper after paper giving up my right to sue for any adverse effects.
I'm really starting to feel calm now.(Sarcastic remark) Then I filled out a paper about them injecting me with some dye or something. No one said word one about that! I started to sweat. My left shoulder tensed up to a knot. "Breathe. Breathe," I kept telling myself while I massaged my shoulder. "Do you need some water?" the nurse at the desk asked.
"No," I answered and looked at the clock. (I guess my face was too telling.)
Finally, it was my turn. I locked up my belongings and glasses, walked into the room, and lo and behold there was that same ancient tube the claustrophobic girl had described. I didn't even think I could fit in that thing, but since I was only MRI-ing my head, I was sure I wouldn't have to go all the way in. I lay down according to her instructions and listened to the spiel about not moving...(as in, "if you move your arm or hand, [they] "would have to start the pictures over."
Oh, I was sure that would NOT happen. I could certainly stay still for five to 10 minutes. But I couldn't relax my arms--there was no room for them on that narrow conveyer belt thingy. They kept falling straight down to the floor, so I clasp them on my stomach...but the nurse assured me that I could set them on the side when I got in.
Got in? They were going to make me go in? Breathe in. Breathe out.
She gave me ear plugs. Ear plugs! What would I need them for? Apparently, it was to be very loud. Next this helmet/cage thing was snapped around my head....like they really thought I would move my head. Really? Was I going to retake a picture? I think not. But oh, yes, they did it. They started packing that cage mask thing with foam pillows around my head. I felt like a newborn baby being prepped for a ride in a baby carrier.
Right before it started, she handed me an air bulb and said, "Squeeze this if you need to stop." Stop? I was not about to stop and have to do this over. Then the machine ride began...and the table moved into the tube a little way as I previously suspected, and a piercing red light shown in my eyes (mind you, I had had them dilated at the eye doctor this morning, so I wisely decided I would keep my eyes closed during this MRI).
As soon as I closed them the machine pulled me in...and kept pulling me in...and kept pulling me...all the way in. Where was the arm room she said there would be to relax on the sides? The sides were so tight on my arms they had no place to go but be on top of me and I squinched them in so as not to get a scraped arm. Obviously the red light was not the MRI.
My hands were laying on my stomach as I breathed deep breaths to relax. Up and down. Up and down went my diaphragm. Yikes! That meant my arms were moving. I couldn't have them move...so I held my hands up about a half inch above my stomach. The machine started clunking, rattling, and vibrating with loud, jarring sounds that were akin to a jackhammer. It didn't seem to end. I continued to hold my hands above my stomach, eyes closed, and slowly tried to relax. I could do this.
Finally, the noise stopped. Whew, it was over. I had done it! The machine started to pull me out. About ONE INCH! It stopped, and the process started all over again. What? Had the machine malfunctioned? I continued to try to relax and kept my hands poised above my stomach. Finally, it ended.
Yes! I could come out. But the machine pushed me back in another inch and started some different funky grinding sound. This was not going to do. I decided that if the noise started again, I was going to have to rest my hand on my stomach, but what if that moved me? Each break between the bouts of rumbling, I would move one finger down on my stomach, so my hands were eventually resting on my stomach. I took shallower breaths so they would not move up and down. (Now, I was worried about hyperventilation.)
Then I felt it. An itch on the back of my left leg. I could do nothing about it. It got worse. I couldn't even jiggle my leg. What if it were a bug? What if it crawled up farther?Should I squeeze the bulb?
Then the vibration stopped. The conveyer table moved another inch, and the horrible noise began again, but this time my elbow was hurting from the side of the tube. I wondered if I had bruised it going back and forth. I certainly couldn't pull it in any farther to stop it. Yikes. (I moved my arm). Hopefully it was OK. This was not fun. How long had I been in there? Had the technician walked out of the room? I mean, the noise was so loud it was making my ears ring even with ear plugs. If someone wasn't hard of hearing going into this machine, they sure would be coming out. Was it too loud for the nurse? Was she out of the room till the noise was over and the 'broken' machine was just going back and forth because I was stuck and she didn't know it?
I started really praying. Please bless the nurse to come back. Please bless me to get out of this machine. It just kept going.
Finally, when I thought I couldn't take any more, the machine started pulling me out. Yes! It was over. Uh oh. It stopped. The technician took hold of my arm and said, "Now I have to inject you with this liquid and then we only have four more pictures". I imagined what she was doing as I felt each part of the familiar process: the elastic tightly tied around my upper arm, the alcohol swipe, the stick of the needle, the press of the cotton ball, and the tape. The only thing I couldn't feel was if the needle was still in me because she bent my arm back over my stomach the way it used to be and the machine immediately pulled me in again.
I felt the familiar squeeze on my right elbow as the table moved back into the machine and wondered again if my elbow was bruised. Oh, no. What if my bent, squeezed arm would prevent whatever was injected from flowing through my body? Would I have to do this over again? Uh-oh, I just thinking about it and it moved again. Ever so slightly. Hopefully that did not mess the picture up.
By now, I figured out that one picture was not just a flash in time, but an eternity of deafening noise. I started counting seconds to see how long each picture was, but soon quit as I was worried that my mental calculations would mess up the MRI since I was not doing that in the previous pictures, but I estimated each picture about 5 minutes, so I just tried to relax for the last 20 minutes.
That is when I felt something pushing the back of my head. The more I thought about it, the more it hurt. I wanted to rip whatever pressure I felt from under my hair. Twenty minutes of feeling that? It felt like I was getting a dent in my head. I held that bulb tighter and prayed. To counter the hurt on the back of my head, I decided to see if I could figure out why it was taking so long to take the pictures, so I tried to feel...(imagined feel) what shred, or slice of my head was being imaged. (Not a good idea for a hypochondriac.) I imagined pain in my eyes, forehead, ears. Oh, I didn't know how long this could go on.
Finally, it was done. I couldn't get off that table fast enough, but I was a little wobbly getting my balance. I felt the back of my head (in case there was a dent). I examined where my head had been resting. Nothing. Smooth as a baby's bottom. I looked at my right elbow (in case there was a bruise). Nothing. Then, I glanced at the clock. I HAD BEEN SUBJECTED TO THAT INSIDIOUS TORTURE FOR AN ENTIRE HOUR! Was it too much to inform me of the length of time I would be in there? I think not!
Be warned. Should you have to have an MRI, it WILL be long. It WILL be in a tube...and if you don't want to literally feel like the stuffing in a Polish sausage, you should not be over weight.
