I don’t know about you, but I am more than ready to get this over with. I just want to move on with my life. So without further ado, I give you…
The day after Mother’s Day/Race for the Cure day I had my first routine breast MRI. My first MRI of any body part for that matter. Not only was it a Monday – my least favorite day of the week – but I also started out with a very slight, nauseous headache. Even the thought of a White Chocolate Mocha (with whip, of course) did nothing for me. You KNOW I wasn’t feeling myself!
As I said, I’d never had an MRI before, but I’d heard plenty about them. The tight quarters and the loud clanking sounds. Didn’t sound like something someone with the beginnings of a migraine would enjoy, but I’m made of pretty stern stuff. I mean, come on. I’ve been through way worse.
So I changed into the pretty little gown (insert heavy sarcasm here), took off my jewelry and followed the nurse down to the interrogation room or whatever they call it. She asked me all kinds of questions about my mastectomy and reconstruction and then I had to flash her my chest so she could draw pictures of all my scars on a piece of paper. That might sound weird to some, but after you’ve had a plastic surgeon draw on your girls with a felt tip marker, it’s not that strange.
After that it was time for the MRI. The table had one of those cushioned face rests like they have on a massage table. In fact the technician told me it was just like a massage, only much more noisy and I wouldn’t feel relaxed when it was all over. (I appreciate honesty in my medical staff.) A few inches down from the face rest were two holes. I am not lying. There were two holes for, you know.
This reminds me of when I was pregnant with Taylor. I had always been a tummy sleeper, but when you’re hugely pregnant you can’t exactly sleep on your belly. Some friends of ours had a “pregnant air mattress”, an air mattress with a hole for the impregnated belly. They loaned it to us and Todd took a video of me, 8 months pregnant, demonstrating how to use it. The laying down and getting comfortable parts were fine. The getting up part? Not so much. I couldn’t get off the mattress and then I’d start to laugh and my very impregnated rear end (it looked like it was pregnant with twins) would start to jiggle which would make Todd laugh, which would make me laugh and the cycle never seemed to end.
I had to reach up above my head and hold onto some handles and then the technician manipulated my udders (because really, that’s what I kept thinking of) into their designated slots. After that I closed my eyes and tried to go to my happy place while they slid me into the big tube and the clanking and humming began. Can I just tell you it’s hard to go to one’s happy place when: a) one’s head feels as though it’s being jackhammered; and b) it actually sounds like a jackhammer right next to one’s head. I tried going to some tropical paradise, but the next thing I knew the natives were chanting loudly and trying to shrink my head. Then I tried going to a peaceful meadow with a gently rippling brook, but a huge grizzly bear showed up. He had a deafening roar and very sharp claws.
They had told me the test would last about 25 minutes. With my head in a hole I had no way of knowing how much time was passing, but after a while I figured it had to have been more than 25 minutes. Finally the test was over and the technician came to help me off the
torture device table. She apologized and told me that they had to take more views than she originally thought so I was on the table close to 45 minutes instead. The longest 45 minutes of my entire life.
The migraine became more intense as the test went on and the drive home was miserable. But I drugged up on Excedrin Migraine, took a nap in my chair and felt much better when I woke up.
Bottom line – clear baseline. I’ll go through all that stuff every week if it means I get to hear the words No Evidence of Disease. I would prefer to go through it all with a venti White Chocolate Mocha, though. With whip, of course.