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Call me Magneato
This morning I had an MRI taken of my head. It's been that kind of year. It was much less complicated than the CT of my liver, less messy than the abdomen ultrasound, much much louder than the echocardiogram, and infinitely preferable to the week or so of colonoscopy fun.
Much to everyone's disappointment (I am sure) I have no navigational or parking anecdotes to start the day; I knew exactly where to go, so we pick up the story at the SKG waiting room. I picked cat fur out of my jumper while waiting and was then led to the usual cubicle. Ho hum. Stripped and donned the 3-armed hospital gown, and remembered to be grateful for my underwear. I got to keep my socks.
Gads, this was feeling normal. I don't want it to feel normal.
A short wait and into the MRI anteroom where I answered the do-you-have-anything-metallic-on-or-in-your-person questions once more. No pacemaker, dentures, shunts, or eye surgery. No watch. Lots of questions about eye surgery actually, which makes me wonder if eye surgeons are prone to leaving bits behind. Not a single question about piercings or implants; really very disappointing. And "Are you a cyborg?" would have saved a bit of time all round.
Onto the plank, thing under my knees, head in a vice, headphones on. The headphones were for communication purposes and to protect my ears from the sound of the machine. "Like a jackhammer" they said. "Protect" they said. Despite all my practice I am not very comfortable lying on my back, but I've also had plenty of practice at being uncomfortable, so it was no biggie. The nurse/technician/operator/chick was very nice, but she wasn't sticking needles into me so first impressions were favourable.
The only thing in my line of sight was one of those attention-grabbing laser warning stickers that warn you not to look at the sticker. When I was fed into the machine all I could see were the edges of the vice and a flat plastic surface a few inches from my nose. Not a hint of claustrophobia. I was instructed to close my eyes and try to keep them still. I said that would be difficult; they said they knew. Fair enough.
I've had a CT scan of my sinuses before and that sounded a bit like hell's own tumble drier: lots of whomp whomp whomp swish noises. The MRI sounded like industrial techno. Very very loud industrial techno. For variety it made alarming DIVE DIVE DIVE! noises, followed by loud knocking.
Frankly it sounded like a disaster. The aftermath of a bombing raid, perhaps, and the rescuers were searching for me in the rubble. But not a lot like a jackhammer; there weren't enough overtones for natural sound. Squarish waveforms. Big ones.
I could feel my face vibrating, and it got quite warm. Occasionally I'd hear train station announcements over the headphones, and--deducing their content from context--I'd say "I'm fine" or some such. I'm told it took about 15 minutes, which passed much as you'd expect time to pass while strapped stiffly to a board whilst being hammered by angry goth roadworkers with overhyped iPods. Got up stiffly but otherwise without fuss, got back in the gear and was pleasantly surprised to discover that I'd been bulk-billed for the experience so no money needed to change hands.
The headache hit shortly after I got home. To be fair to the MRI machine I'm sure that between some poor food choices and recent Microsoft-wrangling I'm to blame for at least part of that. It got worse during the day, with thumping, nausea, eyeball-popping, and some of the most spectacular ear-ringing it's been my displeasure to experience. Rather like I'd come from a spiffing evening in a discoteque, minus the killer heels, expensive alcohol, dancing, regrets, horrible loo, and taxi queue. I tried to take the day quietly.
Results on Tuesday or Wednesday and really, nothing expected but it's another case of rule-out-the-nasties.
Tomorrow I have a massage*.
(*) I was about to conclude this post with "...and isn't it nice to finish with a happy ending" but caught myself just in time.
Much to everyone's disappointment (I am sure) I have no navigational or parking anecdotes to start the day; I knew exactly where to go, so we pick up the story at the SKG waiting room. I picked cat fur out of my jumper while waiting and was then led to the usual cubicle. Ho hum. Stripped and donned the 3-armed hospital gown, and remembered to be grateful for my underwear. I got to keep my socks.
Gads, this was feeling normal. I don't want it to feel normal.
A short wait and into the MRI anteroom where I answered the do-you-have-anything-metallic-on-or-in-your-person questions once more. No pacemaker, dentures, shunts, or eye surgery. No watch. Lots of questions about eye surgery actually, which makes me wonder if eye surgeons are prone to leaving bits behind. Not a single question about piercings or implants; really very disappointing. And "Are you a cyborg?" would have saved a bit of time all round.
Onto the plank, thing under my knees, head in a vice, headphones on. The headphones were for communication purposes and to protect my ears from the sound of the machine. "Like a jackhammer" they said. "Protect" they said. Despite all my practice I am not very comfortable lying on my back, but I've also had plenty of practice at being uncomfortable, so it was no biggie. The nurse/technician/operator/chick was very nice, but she wasn't sticking needles into me so first impressions were favourable.
The only thing in my line of sight was one of those attention-grabbing laser warning stickers that warn you not to look at the sticker. When I was fed into the machine all I could see were the edges of the vice and a flat plastic surface a few inches from my nose. Not a hint of claustrophobia. I was instructed to close my eyes and try to keep them still. I said that would be difficult; they said they knew. Fair enough.
I've had a CT scan of my sinuses before and that sounded a bit like hell's own tumble drier: lots of whomp whomp whomp swish noises. The MRI sounded like industrial techno. Very very loud industrial techno. For variety it made alarming DIVE DIVE DIVE! noises, followed by loud knocking.
Frankly it sounded like a disaster. The aftermath of a bombing raid, perhaps, and the rescuers were searching for me in the rubble. But not a lot like a jackhammer; there weren't enough overtones for natural sound. Squarish waveforms. Big ones.
I could feel my face vibrating, and it got quite warm. Occasionally I'd hear train station announcements over the headphones, and--deducing their content from context--I'd say "I'm fine" or some such. I'm told it took about 15 minutes, which passed much as you'd expect time to pass while strapped stiffly to a board whilst being hammered by angry goth roadworkers with overhyped iPods. Got up stiffly but otherwise without fuss, got back in the gear and was pleasantly surprised to discover that I'd been bulk-billed for the experience so no money needed to change hands.
The headache hit shortly after I got home. To be fair to the MRI machine I'm sure that between some poor food choices and recent Microsoft-wrangling I'm to blame for at least part of that. It got worse during the day, with thumping, nausea, eyeball-popping, and some of the most spectacular ear-ringing it's been my displeasure to experience. Rather like I'd come from a spiffing evening in a discoteque, minus the killer heels, expensive alcohol, dancing, regrets, horrible loo, and taxi queue. I tried to take the day quietly.
Results on Tuesday or Wednesday and really, nothing expected but it's another case of rule-out-the-nasties.
Tomorrow I have a massage*.
(*) I was about to conclude this post with "...and isn't it nice to finish with a happy ending" but caught myself just in time.