MRI = Tunnel of Doom!

mri tunnelThis is your comic relief for the day. Brace your­self and try not to laugh at my dis­com­fort. It may be hard, but at least make an effort.

So I go to the doc­tor and I’m told I have to get an MRI of my neck. Yah me! I take myself over to the local radi­ol­o­gist shop and get reg­is­tered. Then I wait patient­ly to hear my named called. Tick tick tick.

Ange­la? Yes, that’s me!

I fol­low the nice lady into anoth­er room and I’m instruct­ed to take every­thing off and put on this cloth gown that is def­i­nite­ly a fash­ion state­ment! Then I step out into anoth­er wait­ing room. Tick, tick, tick. Then two very sweet look­ing old­er ladies sit on either side of me. As they start pleas­ant con­ver­sa­tion they both dis­cov­er that I’m hav­ing an MRI.  The con­ver­sa­tion is a bit down­hill from there as they glad­ly share with me how hor­ri­fic an MRI is. After hear­ing sev­er­al hor­ror sto­ries of the sup­posed tun­nel of doom I can feel my heart beat pick­ing up just a bit.

Ange­la? Yes, that’s me!

They lead me into anoth­er wait­ing room and begin explain­ing to me what’s about to hap­pen. After the cur­so­ry, “Have you ever been claus­tro­pho­bic?” and my quick, “Def­i­nite­ly not!” They take me into the room with the tun­nel of doom!

I laid down on this spe­cial lit­tle table and after they secured my head between foam cubes and gave me the pan­ic but­ton… “The pan­ic but­ton???” That just doesn’t sound good! That feel­ing is con­firmed when the table slow­ly enters the tube! I look up and I’m remind­ed of those emp­ty wrap­ping paper tubes that we whacked each oth­er with as chil­dren. The sen­sa­tion­al feel­ing of the walls clos­ing in on me was over­whelm­ing!

Now I’m not a claus­tro­pho­bic per­son. So this was a total­ly new sen­sa­tion. I told myself to close my eyes and go to my hap­py place! Then the nois­es start! Eek! Don’t move! Don’t move! And did I tell you, I can’t swal­low because after all they are tak­ing pic­tures of my neck. Have you ever laid on your back and been told not to swal­low? I can tell you the urge to swal­low the mam­moth amount of sali­va that is pool­ing in your mouth is unbe­liev­able. I’ve nev­er want­ed to swal­low so bad in my life. Where in the world did all that liq­uid come from any­way? Help! I’m drown­ing on my own spit!!

Breath! Remem­ber to breath and enjoy that hap­py place! What’s that in my hand? Oh right. The pan­ic but­ton! No, I will not pan­ic! Hap­py place. Hap­py place. It was more than 20 min­utes of enclosed and con­tained claus­tro­pho­bic con­di­tions, pools of sali­va, shal­low breathes and hap­py places!

Don’t think I want to repeat that joy­ous expe­ri­ence any­time soon! My hat is off to any­one that gets an MRI of the upper part of the body! That is brav­ery at its best!!

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