Blog #2: My First MRI

My neurologist reminds me of Einstein.  He has crazy curly hair.  He makes geeky attempts to calm me with magic tricks and his eyes light up when he starts talking about the diseases that have to be ruled out in order to get to a diagnosis.  He looks at me like I’m a puzzle to be solved.

The first MRI he ordered took place at a clinic.  Subsequent MRIs would be at the hospital, but this first test was in the clinic nearby, kind of like a warm-up.  The tech who greeted me ran through a list of questions I could tell he’d asked a thousand times before.

Tech: “Are you on any medication?”

Me: “I took a Valium about an hour ago.”
Tech: “How are you feeling?”
Me: “Pretty relaxed.” I slurred.
Tech: “Any metal?”
Me: “No.”
Tech: “No underwire in your bra? No zippers, no snaps, no metal jewelry?”
Me: “No metal.”

He led me into the MRI room.  The machine didn’t look as scary as I’d imagined. It was just a big white tube with a platform in the center for the patient to lie on.  I’ve never liked small spaces and I could feel the sweat running down my sides.  I took off my shoes.  The floor was freezing.  I gave the tech my glasses and lay down on the platform.  The tech slid the pillow under my knees and covered me with a blanket.  Lying still for so long would be difficult, he warned, but without my knees up, it would be painful. 

“The machine can get pretty warm, so let me know if you want the blanket off.”  He said as he guided my head into the right spot on the head rest.  A cage-like structure was lowered over my face and strapped down.  Once the straps were in place, I couldn’t move my head at all.  The cage-like structure over my face included an angled mirror. The tech explained that the mirror was angled in such a way that I would be able to see out the end of the machine.  Without my glasses I could barely see two inches in front of my face much less out the machine.  I planned to keep my eyes closed.

He handed me headphones to block out the noise of the machine and to allow him to communicate with me.  He asked which radio station I’d like to listen to. “Just something soothing.” I said.  In the future my answer would be NPR which forces me to really listen and generally allows me to keep my mind from racing. 

He pressed the button to slide me in to the machine.  I squeezed my eyes closed and took a deep breath.  The tube is big enough that I fit inside, but my shoulders were squeezed together and I felt the sides of the tube hugging my whole body.  The patient must hold completely still and the tube is small enough to make moving pretty impossible. 

It is loud inside the MRI and it shakes in a way that reminds me of a washing machine spin cycle.  I listened to the music in the headphones.  The tech’s voice would break in every few minutes to give me instructions.  His constant interruptions included things like “Don’t move your head at all; don’t even swallow, for the next two minutes.”  As soon as he said that of course ALL I wanted was to swallow.  There were even a few minutes when I wasn’t supposed to blink.   

I wanted to know how tight the tube really was.  I opened my eyes once for about two seconds.  The smooth white tube was only inches from my face.  I didn’t open my eyes again.  I didn’t want to think about how little space I had.

I can’t remember if that first MRI lasted 45 minutes or an hour.  Subsequent MRIs, and there would be many, would last an hour and a half or so.  Halfway through I was slid out of the machine and I got to stand up for a moment while the tech adjusted the machine.  I didn’t have my glasses, so I really don’t know what he did to the machine, but soon enough I was back on the platform.  I felt lightheaded and dizzy after twenty or thirty minutes of not moving. 

It was time for the contrast dye.  In an MRI the pictures are taken and then the patient is given contrast dye and the pictures are all taken again.  My veins are always hard to find and it took the tech three tries to get the needle in. Once he found a vein, he pushed the plunger in slowly while watching my face for a reaction.  I tasted metal which apparently is a normal reaction.  As long as I didn’t get nauseated the tech seemed satisfied.  Then I was moved back into the machine for what felt like another eternity.

 

 

The internal conflict for me was the experience of being just another patient to the tech.  What was routine for him was terrifying for me.  My doctor had prescribed the Valium to help me deal with any claustrophobia, but really I think it just helped me be compliant.  You want to give me a shot that could cause kidney cancer later on?  Sure, knock yourself out.  I’ll even lie really still and not make a sound as you stab me three times.  Ultimately my neurologist did come up with a diagnosis, but it took months and lots of tests.  The first MRI was the moment I began to understand how it was going to be to navigate the machine of modern medicine as I learned to deal with chronic illness.