I received the letter inviting me for a MRI. The thought of this tied my stomach in knots. Let’s just say I am not fond of enclosed spaces. But I pulled myself together and prepared myself just in case this would reveal my secret adamantium bones. Better to be safe than be sorry.
I told Mother Dearest I was quite content attending this appointment alone, I’d just need to get a train and it was walking distance from there. It’s really not in my nature to be a burden, especially when it is something I can manage by myself. But she insisted on taking me. I declined. She insisted again. I declined again, She then laughed in my face and said “That’s fine, but just imagine how stupid you will feel when you arrive and I’m already there.” I was weak and in in unbelievable levels of pain following the hysteroscopy, not that this made any difference at all, my mother is a force of nature and nobody on this Earth could prevent her from being close to her children if she felt they needed her. So, as you can imagine, she accompanied me and there wasn’t an awful lot I could have done about that. I appreciated it immensely though.
Now! One thing I need to make clear – I am not a fan of needles. I understand that most people are not but I seem to have real issues with people finding my veins. So it’s not the needle per se, more the constant multiple attempts and the stress that induces. This is often something medical professionals find hilarious due to my piercings and tattoos, that is until they have to find a vein.
My MRI appointment was no exception. It took three professionals seven attempts to get my cannula in. By this point I felt awful. As they took me into the special little room I could feel the anxiety growing. The medication was no longer working for my bleeding so I was very concerned about how long I would be in for. I was told it would take as long as it takes so to just lie down. Once I was laid down, I was given a sedative. This made me throw up immediately. As I was being sucked into this horrific metal doughnut the tube for my cannula became caught in the mechanism and ripped out so I had to push the panic alarm. The whole experience was drawn out and awful. I bled everywhere, I was laying in my own sick, I was an anxious mess.
One thing I did not consider is my synaesthesia. This is a neurological phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway. Sounds pretty fancy, right? Simply put I can see and feel noises, words and voices in colour. To say this resulted in a pretty trippy experience is a huge understatement. But that is another tale for another time.
The MRI was over after what felt like a thousand years. But I managed it which was a definite personal victory. Mother Dearest was waiting with open arms when I came through to the waiting room and I can’t even begin to describe how delighted I was to see her.
And then I went back to waiting for a letter.