M R I don't like that sound!

Tuesday is my much anticiapted MRI to see what's up in my shoulder. A couple days before I called to make sure I didn't have to be prepared to give any samples, starve myself the night before, or any other pre-reqs for the test. Much to my relief none of these are necessary. She begins on the phone to ask all the standard questions about age, the injury, etc, then some pertaining specifically to the MRI. Have you ever had metal shavings in your eye? Do you have tattoos? Are you claustraphobic? Any previous surgeries? Then gives me instructions for the day. Do not wear any metal. You may want to take some tylenol as it may help relax you.

Wait, what? I doubt tylenol would have much of any effect on me were I to grind it up and snort it. And why do I so need to be relaxed? hmm, claustraphobic? "Wait!", I finally put this together with my TV watching experience through my vicodin haze, "This is one of those tomb things, right?"
"Well, ours isn't like that." Nurse Helpful assures me. "But you do need to lay still for up to 45 minutes and some people find it helpful to have something to relax them. Ma'am, are you claustraphobic?" she repeats.

"No, not really, although I do have a thing about weight on top of me."
I don't like getting under cars for instance, wether they're on four tires or up above my head at the mechanics, the fear of being crushed is an odd thing for me, but tight spaces isn't that big a deal. "And sitting still for long periods is no problem for me, I've modeled for art classes--and my mom herself had me do it since I was a kid as she was an artist."

So tuesday arrives, and I'm not even close to being concerned, but just in case I play it safe and take a whole one of my vicodins, since I'm a bit concerned they may put my shoulder/arm in an uncomfortable position for that 45 minutes.

Firstly, Nurse Helpful is a liar. It is exactly one of those tombs. In her defense I will say I saw a brochure there later that explained their MRI machine is what is called an 'open bore' meaning it is much wider a tomb than the older models, but although my nose wasn't in danger of bashing on the top of the bore, it was no more than a good handspan and a half away. But I'm ok with the space, there's lots of cushions around me so its not that uncomfortable, I've done art classes and I've taken a vicodin--we're a-ok. They even give you headphones and let you pick the radio station.

I gave thought to this radio station choice and went with NPR. I listen to it a great deal and it will save me from sitting in there for forty-five minutes hearing DJ banter and used car commercials. I'm scooted into the machine and the nurse leaves the room and I hear the tic-tic-static of the radio changing. Damn--its my most hated NPR program: Diane Rhiems. Her voice is annoying and her questions do not follow one another or often seem to have any actual bearing on her guest's topic. I do NOT want to listen to this for the next 45 minutes. I decide to be the irritating patient and squeeze my little call for her to choose another station, but just before that--

Eek! What the hell was that noise? It's four incredibly loud tones followed by omnious silence filled mostly with me anticipating more of that noise. Nothing. I figure the machine must be calibrated for the person or something and guess we must be underway now. I've just about got my heart rate down from the suprise noise when

eer eeng aaark ooorr

It happens again. I now have figured that this noise will just happen occasionally and I just need to get a grip. I close my eyes, ignore the headphones, and try to meditate a bit. I've just about slipped away into my happy place when a head pokes in the machine just above mine and says, "are you sure your not wearing any metal?"

"Gah!" I squeek out. He scared the vicodin out of me for a minute, and I damn near flight or fighted us to the pain. Then I begin getting paranoid. Could someone have left a staple in me or something at one time? Will it be sucked through my guts to stick like a comic book magnet weapon inside this not really very "open" bore? Could I be wearing my gold trimmed panties?

In answer to his question I put my hand down my pants to feel only the very soft cotton of my boring panties. He either doesn't see it from his position or ignores it and asks, "Do you have an underwire bra on or anything?"

Oddly, perhaps because of the vicodin on my none too full tummy, I reach my hand up and cup my breast and answer, "I'm not wearing a bra."

Ok, so now the loud noises would be welcome.

He wheels me out, we never find any metal, and I'm wheeled back in. I totally forget to ask about the radio as I'm so embarrassed from feeling myself up. Well, it doesn't matter. These headphones are obviously not intended for you to listen to anything that hour, they are intended for you to listen to anything ever again as the machine is very noisy. The four tones are replaced with constant sound as the machine scans. And here I'd always thought of magnets as peaceful little oddities. They are in fact very angry things more in common with dwarven blacksmiths.

There are basically 4 or 5 scans, each lasting about 4 minutes, and each with a different sort of rythm or tone. One was like being in a metal barrel resting on the top of a diesel engine humming outside a rest stop, others were more like having the chain saw massacre carving fresh meat against the same metal barrel.

Once it got going it wasn't a big deal. I kept my eyes closed and hovered around in my vicodin thoughts. When it was over and I was scooted out I told the nurse, "if anyone ever asks me why I studied eastern meditation, I now know my answer."

The real bummer is the doc wasn't allowed to tell me anything at all about the scans, so I felt no closer to solving the mystery of whether or not I was on the road to surgery.