45 Minutes in an MRI Machine

My body is breaking down far too soon for only being in my early 30s. So when I had to have yet another MRI on Friday for some serious back pain (spoiler alert: I’ll live, but painfully), I could only try to see the humor in the situation. It’s funny, don’t cry, I told myself repeatedly while I lied on my back in serious pain while my nerve endings freaked out and sent tingling burning sensations down my back into my legs and feet.

I laid there for 45 minutes.

Welcome to my brain.

It’s too cold. I’m nipping out. Good thing they put a blanket over me.

Can they see my face on some monitor? Oh my word, that is so loud.

It sounds like someone is saying, Talk, talk, talk. Or dark, dark, dark. Or bark, bark, bark.
Shit, my face itches. When he told me I couldn’t move, I can’t move anything right? Shit, shit, shit. Itchy! Itchy! Itchy! Now my foot itches. Are you kidding me?
Talk, talk, talk. Dark, dark, dark. Bark, bark, bark.

My face is itchy. Don’t move. Don’t move.

Oh thank God, that scan is over. Quick, itch everything that’s itchy and that might itch. Itch your foot. Itch your foot with your sock and make it worse. Here we go again!

This scan will take four minutes.

Oh, that loud rocking motion is almost pleasant. Kind of like a violent massage.

The ceiling of this MRI machine is really dirty. Who should I report this to? The male tech that told me to take off my bra? Not happening. At least I knew how to put the ear plugs in on my own. Law school was good for something.

This scan will take two minutes.

Itchy again. On my lip. Under my nose. And I have to cough and pee. Does it cost more if I have to stop the whole thing to relieve my bladder? I should have made them sedate me. Just close your eyes. But really, can they see my face? Because I’m pretty sure I’m making some weird faces.

This is actually really perfect, not awful. Forty five minutes of nothing to do. You can’t even check Twitter in this brightly lit coffin. The ceiling of this thing isn’t that close to your face. A brain scan is worse, remember? You’ve had a few of those in your day.

Um, sir, you forgot to tell me how long each scan would take, so now I am lying here with an itch on my foot and my leg is falling asleep and I have to cough and really have to itch my face.

Another scan.

My hands are falling asleep because I have them clasped so tightly over my abdomen so I won’t move them to itch EVERYTHING that is suddenly itchy.

Stop opening your eyes. It’s just making it worse. You aren’t claustrophobic. You practically grew up in an elevator. Otis the elevator. It will be over soon.

Two more scans. This one will be four minutes. Screech! Screech! Did I sign anything saying I wouldn’t sue for loss of hearing even though I have these ear plugs in? Sweet mother this thing is loud. My legs are numb. The itch is gone. The screeching stops and the violent massage begins again. Eyes closed, I am almost asleep when he removes me from the tomb.

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