As a medical writer, I've been writing about MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) technology for years. I know, though only very basically, how they work, how they are used, and their advantages and disadvantages compared to other imaging technologies. Well, today I had my first MRI experience. It was pretty much as expected, lying as still as possible in a big white machine that clanged and banged and rumbled.
My life has been clanging and banging and rumbling since this breast cancer diagnosis last Friday, or really since my doctor first felt a lump a month ago. Life has been a maelstrom of doctor appointments, mammograms, ultrasounds, and consultations on top of the usual parenting, work, and seasonal Christmas preparations. But the half hour lying still in this machine, unable and unallowed to do anything except lie still, gave me moments of peace in the center of the storm. So I got some good quality prayer time. And that's a blessing, since -- even though I know how critical prayer is -- it's hard to have a calm heart and take time from a frantically busy time. And prayer was also a blessing during the MRI because, when someone tells you to keep your breathing regular, the last thing you want to do is concentrate on keeping your breathing regular. Prayer was a perfect distraction.
Although the MRI was much as I expected, there were some surprises. First, the technician (who wasn't warm and friendly), sticks her hand into my 'dressing room' holding two little spongy doughnut-shaped stickers. "Here," she said gruffly. "These go on your nipples. I don't know why, but the radiologist said to." Ok! My first pasties! (No tassles though.) All the same, it was nice to have an unexpected laugh. The other surprise, far less pleasant, was that the experience required an iv. Less than a week ago, I fainted after my biopsy (yep, I'm a fainter), so the thought of more bleeding-related medical experiences made my heart drop. And I didn't dare even ask why I needed an iv -- too concerned that the explanation would make me queasy. Ms. Crankypants Technician wasn't crazy about having a fainter on her hands either. "Next time, you might want to go to the hospital for your MRI. We aren't nurses, you know." Apparently technician school doesn't have a required course called MRI-Side Manners 101. (And, really, if I had known the experience would involve an iv and a grumpy tech, I wouldn't have signed on for an MRI anywhere.) Anyway, after getting all settled on the "bed" (the tech was unhappy that I was too tall to fit as well as her normal-sized patients; I was turning out to be a very bad patient!) and lying in the machine listening to clanks for a good 20 minutes, I felt a faint coming on (when our friendly technician said she was putting something in the iv and this was the most important part so hold still) -- the racing heart, the pounding blood in my ears, clammy skin, loss of sensation in my extremities. [Technician, disgusted: "What do you mean, you feel like fainting?! If you do, we'll have to start completely over."] Usually, that's the end of it -- I've never stopped a faint before. But I prayed double-over-time, picturing God as my refuge and strength, my ever-present help in time of need. And I've got an incredible network of family and friends out there praying for me too. AND I was lying on my stomach with my heart level with my head and feet. Hooray! My heart rate calmed and I was flooded with relief. Thank you, Lord! I felt empowered.
And now more waiting for results, all of which are supposed to help me decide among my surgical options. Too bad 'no surgery' isn't an option. This is going to involve more blood, isn't it.
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