Where MRI

The rescheduled Open MRI was today.

The good news - they gave me drugs this time.

The bad news - unlike the closed MRI, which takes about 8 minutes to complete - the Open MRI takes up to 30 minutes to complete due to the different set up.

The technician, trying to be cutesy, first said something like, "and in 5 hours, we are done!" and even in the slight haze created by that second Ativan, I got upset. Then he said he was joking and it was really on 30 minutes. I told him to stop joking, that I knew it was 8 minutes, and that is when he told me that the 30 minutes was not a joke. I felt like I traded off 8 minutes of sober terror for 30 minutes of slightly drugged terror.

I ended up popping the third Ativan and asking for a few more minutes to compose myself. After that, he got me set up and slid me into the machine for about a minute, then brought me out and asked if I thought I could do it. Me, being the 12 year old that I am, asked for a glass of water. (and a story, and my teddy bear, and my blanklee). After the water, I was a little more dopey, so he put me in for real and told me that while I wasn't supposed to move at all, I could move my hand and that if I needed him to stop at any time to wave my right hand and he could see it from his station and would come in and get me out.

I found it was OK if I kept my eyes shut and let myself get hypnotised by the thumping noise the machine made. I was still having issues, but the drugs dulled them enough to help. The only times it was real bad was when the noise would stop and I would think, "Is it over? Why is he not coming to get me out of this contraption?" But then the noise would start back up, and I'd lose myself again. At one point near the end, I felt a little upset, and I tried to wave him down, but my hand and arm had gone numb from another attack, so I couldn't move that whole side of my body. Fortunately, it was over within a minute or two of that anyway.

I'm sort of glad that I had one of those attacks while having the MRI - maybe that will show them what they need to see in order to diagnose me. And hopefully, whatever it is, it won't be that bad. Either way, will keep you guys posted.

Once it was all over, Dad bought me a Chick-fil-a and took me home, where my Mom, God Bless Her Heart, had spent the time we were gone cleaning my house. And the even greater thing - she had done all the jobs that I really hate - like sweeping out the hot garage, vacuuming the stairs, cleaning out the microwave, and scrubbing the bathroom counters and sinks.

At least I don't need a brain scan to know that I have great parents.