MRI and Me
Bang, bang, band whrrrrrr, bang,. “Breathe in…..hold your breath” bang, bang, bang, bang, whrrrrrr. ….bang, bang, bang, bang…..
coda: repeat thirty-five times.
That’s me, inside the MRI tube. My last test before the treatment begins. Testing to see if there are more cells spreading and growing where they shouldn’t be. Have they spread from the contained area where we have found them? Is this whole thing more insidious? Will I have months of ingesting toxic chemicals to attack those cells? Or will I get away a bit easier with pills and then surgery?
I don’t know yet. I’ll find out next week when we sit with the doctors and look at all the results. Right now we’re just checking. The early tests seem to be in my favor, but..gotta “check it out.”
It’s a big, noisy, strange, confining machine, the MRI. Magnets pull out images of the organs and soft tissues of my body. Not a good place to be if you’re claustrophobic. Not really a fun place to be even if your not. My nose was about an inch from the top of the tube. By arms were stretched over my head, which isn’t easy for my left one, due to the shoulder I broke many years ago trying to be more of an athlete than I was. But I just lay there, breathing according to instructions. No place to go. Let the machine take the pictures. Find out what’s going on.
My wife was in the waiting room. She said the man who was next up was sweating bullets, pacing. looking terrible. They had to sedate him. They said his wife and daughter could go in with him and talk him through it if necessary.
For years, I dealt with people with those feelings: panic, anxiety, overwhelming fear. Fear of being trapped. Fear of losing control. Fear of death and dying. Part of that is genetic. Part comes from the environment in which you were raised. Part comes from the way you’ve lived your life. You can’t just say “chill-out, man.” That only intensifies the feeling of being lost, confused, panicked and then looking stupid and crazy.
That’s not me. I’m a second born. I can float along on the tide. In fact, that’s one of my favorite things to do, floating on the waves of the ocean. So in here, I just float with it. Just let this fabulous high-tech machine do its thing. It will show what’s going on, and that will lead to a reasoned decision about what will come next.
Will it kill me? Actually, it might, but not right away. I don’t have any of those symptoms yet. None at all. Without any treatment i could have anywhere from six months to ten years, maybe. I didn’t ask, and no one told me.
With treatment i could have anywhere from two bad weeks to six horrible months, and then maybe five to twenty-five more years. Who knows. Maybe Watson, but we haven’t asked it yet.
In four days I should know a lot more. Until then. I’ll have a shot of bourbon, watch basketball, and bother my wife. If we make it to next August it will be 50 years. But now we have no guarantees. I’ll do the best I can. I’ll do what i’m told. All the doctors seem as if this is pretty routine. Except it’s me this time. That’s special — for me.
As for the MRI, It’s a loud, magical machine.
Still, to quote Elvis Costello:
“I would rather be anywhere else but here today.”
I’m out of the tube now. It’s over.
