MRI results are CLEAR! Doctor did not have the full report yet, but she said initial report looks good. I am so very grateful. I really was not expecting such great news this time, so it is a HUGE relief.
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Below are thoughts during the appointment of my MRI. Some are deep, some are random, many are negative, some are inappropriate, all are real.
~I don’t want to be here, I don’t like this place today. I wonder if Jay already went home?
~ Amy, change your thought patterns. If it were not for this place, you never would have met the amazing people you have, they would not be in your life. This place and those people have helped bring the healing.
~ 6:00 p.m. appointment. Yep. I’m the last of the day, it is deserted up in here!
~ Check in lady makes a funny about having my information memorized. It is not funny, but I feel like I should smile at her anyway.
~ Oh look, another bracelet letting me know what my name is, I’ll add it to my collection.
~ I don’t want to sit alone in this waiting room, this place I met my L girl. Stupid lump in my throat. Her laugh, her smile. I remember.
~So many forms to fill, so much history. Write fast, get it done.
~Tech is familiar, she has scanned me before.
~Strip, change into hospital gown & pants. The image in the mirror is kinda cute, I look like a little girl. Vulnerable. These pants swallow me. I roll them at the waist.
~Crap, I forgot about the I.V. part. I am used to the pokes, but not.
~O.K.– that was not so bad, thank you lucky vein.
~She comments on my thin, healthy blood. They always do. Cancer patients usually have thick sticky blood. I would tell her it is from my juicing and green smoothies, but I don’t feel like talking, and she might think I am strange.
~ Hello, machine you are large and loud, and where you live is drafty and cold!
~ A sticker where the lump is, it looks like a cheerio. I’m hungry.
~Time to lay face down, should I turn my neck to the side or go face first? I will try face first this time, last time killed my neck.
~Arms above my head, get comfortable, Amy. No moving for 20-30 minutes.
~She wraps the I.V. cord around my fingers to keep it out of the way, not too comfortable.
~A button in my other hand, in case I need them. I hope I don’t accidentally push it. Relax your hand, Amy. Relax.
~I am exposed, I wonder who is behind that one way glass wall? I did see a young guy, arrgh.
~Tech helps me line up my chest. There are two holes I need to fit into. They must make these for large people. Tech affirms my thoughts.
~ I wonder what my new breasts look like, hanging through holes, to the people behind the glass.
~ Tech reaches to adjust, to line them up perfect. How awkward.
~ I feel bad for large women, they must feel even more exposed hanging in such a way.
~ I wonder about the people who laid here today, who will tomorrow. I will pray for them as I am scanned.
~ Brrrr…she is so kind to cover my cold arms and hands with towels.
~ She leaves, I am alone, but not.
~ She comes back, to stuff earplugs into my ears. I then remember this is the loud machine.
~ Its noise at times sounds like an automatic machine gun, other times it just clicks. Just as I am going to my happy place, it beeps and sounds like my alarm clock. When it is at rest, it makes a big air-y, rhythmic breathing sound. It reminds me of hearing my baby’s heartbeats during ultrasounds, but much more intimidating and not so cute. It breathes like it is alive. I don’t like it.
~I ask God to protect my body from the radiation exposure this machine gives.
~ I start to worry about the accumulating affects of radiation. I often worry about this. Time to change my thought patterns again.
~ Only about 10 minutes in, and I am regretting my face first decision. All the weight of my head is balanced on my brow bone. Are we done yet?
~Tech comes in and says we have to start over. They must make sure they are getting the area of the sticker. She feels me up again, adjusting. But says to not move my upper body or head. Crap.
~Within 10 more minutes, my head feels like a bowling ball. I pretend I am in a competition on Survivor. The challenges where they have to stick it out in very uncomfortable positions are my favorites. I am a Survivor.
~I wait for the finale, when they inject my I.V. with contrast. I can’t wait for that part, it will mean the test is over.
~Trying to go to my happy place, but can’t find it when it is so LOUD up in here!
~I start to think of the results of the test. The What-if’s. I think I should write a post called “Living in the What-If’s”
~So. Much. Pressure. On. My. Brow. Bone. Trying to pretend I am at the masseuse, they use these kind of headrests..why are theirs so much more comfortable? For the price of this test, this headpiece should be pillow soft and covered in velvet.
~Can’t wait to look in the mirror when this is over and see the dent in my brow bone.
~I finally, FINALLY feel cold moving through the I.V. tubing entwined in my fingers. Up to my arm, into my lucky vein. Cold. I taste metal. I was warned. I envision lighting up neon. Can’t wait to detox.
~Tech comes in and apologises for the length of the test. 40 minutes. I ask her if I have a dent in my head. She laughs.
~ She takes out the I.V. It drips blood all over my pants. I think it is such a pretty color and looks like art, but I don’t tell her, for she might think I’m strange.
~I go to change. I feel lighter. My face looks like I have been wearing a wrestling helmet. All red and splotchy, a bit dented. SO happy it is over.
~I feel more stable emotionally, so I take a minute to sit where we sat, my L girl and I. At that moment, my phone beeps, alerting me of a text. I look, 3 pictures to make me smile, from my L girls family. Her brother, trying on her wig, made me laugh which echoed in empty hospital. Moments of fun between a brother and sister, smiles in the midst of tragedy. The last pic is just her, and her amazing smile.
~I find mine through tears. Time to head home.
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THANK YOU all so much for your notes of encouragement and especially for your prayers while I waited for this test.
