Headshots

Well, I had it done.

Barbara calls an MRI “the most sci-fi medical test I’ve ever done.” Now that I’ve had one, I have to agree. There’s all this chugging and buzzing and clicking while it’s going on. Very weird.

And they did run me into a tube for it. But I kept my eyes closed the entire time, so I never felt claustrophobic at all. Thank God for small blessings.

It took a LONG time. The first technician said they were going to shoot me for 25 minutes, then pull me out and shoot dye into my arm, and then shoot me for another 20 minutes. The second technician told me it was one of the longer ones they’ve done. That gave me the opportunity to worry myself about it. Why are they doing such an extensive MRI, one that’s longer than most?

OK, I'm worried about tumors or whatever may show up. I'm doing my best to turn my mind and stay positive, and the worry keeps creeping back in. So, I turn again. And again, and again.

There was one interesting bit of serendipity. They gave me earphones to help drown out some of the sci-fi noises. The tech gave me several options of music, and I chose classical guitar. It would be soothing, I thought. I don’t know if he forgot to change the music, or if he put on the “wrong” music, but that wasn’t what I got. Instead I got what I call “hippie music.” They were all songs I listened to and liked during the late ‘60s – things like “Joy to the World,” “Turn, Turn, Turn,” “Are You Going to San Francisco,” and “Let’s Get Together.” I loved it. It really did distract me. I just let my attention go into the music. It was a music meditation.

When it was all over, I felt really tired for some reason. I don’t know; maybe I would have felt tired anyway. I did end up going to bed about 10:30 (early for me) and got about 8 hours of sleep. That’s the most sleep I’ve had in one night (or 24-hour period) in several months.

Now I wait. On Wednesday I have my first appointment with my new neurologist. I'm supposed to pick up the MRI films to give to him earlier that day. We shall see what they show.

“My” neurologist. That’s a term I never imagined until recently.

Namaste,
Michael

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