Keep Talking: #91 MRI: What's Inside There?

Keep Talking: #91 MRI: What's Inside There?: It is time for my annual MRI . West Side Radiology at Columbus Circle. This is my second year at this location. I used to go to Park Aven...

#91 MRI: What's Inside There?

It is time for my annual MRI . West Side Radiology at Columbus Circle.

This is my second year at this location. I used to go to Park Avenue Radiology.

I used to be afraid of them and I'm not anymore.

I will not get into the whole medical thing. I will get into the minutia of the process itself. For example, there is a tiny dressing room and they use a DVD as a key chain. You leave everything in the little room which is like a personal locker. 

"Take everything off except your underpants."

"Can I wear my socks?"

"Yes."

I leave everything in the closet/ locker and sit wrapped in a paper towel robe in an open area. A woman who obviously just finished her MRI looks at me as she opens her closet locker.

"No wedding rings. Nothing."

Why does she have to use that tone. 

I start to pull off my rings and the technician comes back and tells me I can keep them on. I follow her to the MRI room which is freezing. She gives me a blanket and sets me up so they can put the contrast in. She gives me earplugs and then inserts the needle into my arm and then tells me to lie down on my stomach. She places the blanket over me so I can stay warm. Evidently, MRI machines get very hot so they keep the room temperature very cool. There is a place for my breasts to droop down- like two special little boob compartments. Arms straight ahead like Super Man. I rest my forehead on a little soft spongy thing which has a mirror in it so I can see what is going on in part of the room. This nice invention is so we don't fee claustrophobic. It's a really neat addition.

I am prone and relaxed. I feel the tray that I am resting on move into the tube. They speak through a microphone, "first will be 3 minutes."  Clank clank clank. Click click click. Clank. Pause. Clank clank click. My mind wanders to a therapist I had years ago who told me that she loved the sounds of the MRI machine because they remind her of avant garde music. I think of her face smiling with a gap between her front teeth. I remember that she died of cancer three months ago. I imagined her in this machine. Relaxing and smiling as she is absorbed by the music. I envy her freedom to enjoy this. I start to think about why she needed the MRI and if it had anything to do with the cancer that eventually killed her. Then I decide not to think about her.

The machine is like being in the bathtub. Nobody bothers you. You can't do anything except be still and breath. Relax. Time will pass.

Clink clink clink. "Now 2 minutes." I look into the mirror and see some part of my arm reflected. I am tempted to wiggle my fingers. I don't. I see the top of someone's head in the other room and wonder what they are looking at on their computer screen. My boobs? What do they see? Maybe they are talking about what they should order for lunch. That's pretty much what I think. They'll probably do a Seamless delivery. Maybe Mexican today.

"Now we will start the drip." I remember that there is a cool sensation that will start to enter my arm. I get scared for a moment that the line might have a bubble in it and I could die. How long would that take? Will I feel woozy first and then black out? Nobody would even know until the procedure was over and how embarrassing that would be for the technician who inserted the line into my arm. Then I decide that is really ridiculous and that will not be the way I will die. The fact that I have been able to push the neurotic thoughts aside indicates that my years of therapy have been productive. I'm happy about that and then I start to think about my therapist. A good soul. 

Then I push that aside and the procedure is over. The technician comes in and helps me up. I don't care if the guy sees my breasts or not, but I act modest and cover myself up. I go back to my closet/locker with my DVD keychain and pass a woman wrapped in a paper towel robe and socks. I think about her breasts for a moment and hope she is okay.   I know I am. So many breast out there. So many which aren't okay. I silently wish her luck.