In which Alex has an MRI; mayhem ensues.
So today has not been an optimal day. Pat woke me up and we said goodbye, and then I went back to sleep and dreamed about my mother dying all over again. I was trying to collect things she treasured so I could keep them all together. My father was still alive in the dream, and he kept talking to my mother as if she was still alive and in the dream I could see her nodding at what he was saying, but I knew she wasn't really there. It was so bizarre, the way dreams can be. I ended up crying my head off in the dream and then felt vaguely sad and worried all morning.
Anyway, on to work. I have to work for an hour and then leave to go for a breast MRI, which makes me nervous, so I'm clumsy and forgetful. I forget to add an attachment to an email to a client and forgot to put a title in bold in a letter (similar to the other 8,000 letters I have done this year which *all* have bold titles). Ugh. I am out of it. Then comes the big guns - it's off to get the MRI to see what's going on and if everything's kosher in my frontal section (left boob, specifically). I'm already freaking out because I hate tests where they put a needle in your arm, and for this test, they put in a little IV, so the needle stays there the whole time. My arm is already black and blue because I had to have blood drawn the day before the test, so I look rather junkie-esque.
The technician leads me back to the room and tells me what we'll do. She seems nice enough. She starts doing her thing, and I look away. She puts the needle in, undoes the strap, and puts on the IV. She is laughing cheerily and wiping something off my arm, which I can only presume to be blood and says that she wasn't quick enough with the wrist to keep some from coming out. I remind myself not to look, the last time I did, I nearly passed out. She deposits me back in the mini-waiting room to look at magazines while I wait. I bolt for my bag to get some orange juice so I *don't* faint. I'm starting to think I am never going to get past this phobia of needles in the crook of my arm.
Anyway, they usher me into the MRI room, my heart still pounding, and lay me face down, hook up my IV, and start sliding me into this incredibly small tube. They gave me headphones so I could listen to music, which today, did not help at all. Anyway, that's when I started feeling so awful. I was already kind of riled up from the needle and all, but it got increasingly worse. I was having awful thoughts and feeling nauseous and scared and my heart was pounding and I wasn't supposed to move, but I thought if I didn't get out of that tube asap I was going to have a heart attack. I was shaking and sweating. This goes on, to greater and lesser degrees (including one greater degree where they put the contrast into my arm through the IV and I thought I really was going to pass out). I'm thinking, it's only a few steps to the door, I could get out if I really need too. On the other hand, I want them to finish the test because it's important to know how things are looking in my rogue boob. Finally, FINALLY, they are done.
The nurse comes in all cheery and is like "Hop up!" I stare at her quizzically for a minute. She takes out my IV (finally, thank God), and then leads me back to the mini waiting room and dressing room so I can get dressed. For once, my veins cooperate and I don't start bleeding like a stuck pig. They give me a bandaid and I throw on my clothes as fast as possible, then bolt out of the office, down the hall, and to the bathroom, where I sit in the bathroom for 20 minutes until I can get myself together. I text Molly that no, she can't live in my basement, it's dirty down there and she would hate it, and that distracts me enough that I start to breathe normally.
Finally I come out of the bathroom and go to my car. The parking attendant calls me pretty lady, even though because of the lying face-down and shaking and sweating through most of the procedure, my face looks like a giant triscuit, and my hair can only be described as having lost its mind. I go and buy an iced coffee.
By the time I got back to the office, I felt much more myself, albeit with still giant lines all over my face. I'm not sure what people are thinking about me, lol. I'm going to go with "She must have left the office early to go have a torrid affair with someone and ended up facedown for most of it at a hotel." That way, I'm just a trashy ho and not an invalid. :-)
I felt the need to write about this, just to get it out. I have had MRI's before and they went fine, so to have this whole chain of events happen was just so odd. My friend at work says next time, ask for the some Valium. I think I might.
Anyway, on to work. I have to work for an hour and then leave to go for a breast MRI, which makes me nervous, so I'm clumsy and forgetful. I forget to add an attachment to an email to a client and forgot to put a title in bold in a letter (similar to the other 8,000 letters I have done this year which *all* have bold titles). Ugh. I am out of it. Then comes the big guns - it's off to get the MRI to see what's going on and if everything's kosher in my frontal section (left boob, specifically). I'm already freaking out because I hate tests where they put a needle in your arm, and for this test, they put in a little IV, so the needle stays there the whole time. My arm is already black and blue because I had to have blood drawn the day before the test, so I look rather junkie-esque.
The technician leads me back to the room and tells me what we'll do. She seems nice enough. She starts doing her thing, and I look away. She puts the needle in, undoes the strap, and puts on the IV. She is laughing cheerily and wiping something off my arm, which I can only presume to be blood and says that she wasn't quick enough with the wrist to keep some from coming out. I remind myself not to look, the last time I did, I nearly passed out. She deposits me back in the mini-waiting room to look at magazines while I wait. I bolt for my bag to get some orange juice so I *don't* faint. I'm starting to think I am never going to get past this phobia of needles in the crook of my arm.
Anyway, they usher me into the MRI room, my heart still pounding, and lay me face down, hook up my IV, and start sliding me into this incredibly small tube. They gave me headphones so I could listen to music, which today, did not help at all. Anyway, that's when I started feeling so awful. I was already kind of riled up from the needle and all, but it got increasingly worse. I was having awful thoughts and feeling nauseous and scared and my heart was pounding and I wasn't supposed to move, but I thought if I didn't get out of that tube asap I was going to have a heart attack. I was shaking and sweating. This goes on, to greater and lesser degrees (including one greater degree where they put the contrast into my arm through the IV and I thought I really was going to pass out). I'm thinking, it's only a few steps to the door, I could get out if I really need too. On the other hand, I want them to finish the test because it's important to know how things are looking in my rogue boob. Finally, FINALLY, they are done.
The nurse comes in all cheery and is like "Hop up!" I stare at her quizzically for a minute. She takes out my IV (finally, thank God), and then leads me back to the mini waiting room and dressing room so I can get dressed. For once, my veins cooperate and I don't start bleeding like a stuck pig. They give me a bandaid and I throw on my clothes as fast as possible, then bolt out of the office, down the hall, and to the bathroom, where I sit in the bathroom for 20 minutes until I can get myself together. I text Molly that no, she can't live in my basement, it's dirty down there and she would hate it, and that distracts me enough that I start to breathe normally.
Finally I come out of the bathroom and go to my car. The parking attendant calls me pretty lady, even though because of the lying face-down and shaking and sweating through most of the procedure, my face looks like a giant triscuit, and my hair can only be described as having lost its mind. I go and buy an iced coffee.
By the time I got back to the office, I felt much more myself, albeit with still giant lines all over my face. I'm not sure what people are thinking about me, lol. I'm going to go with "She must have left the office early to go have a torrid affair with someone and ended up facedown for most of it at a hotel." That way, I'm just a trashy ho and not an invalid. :-)
I felt the need to write about this, just to get it out. I have had MRI's before and they went fine, so to have this whole chain of events happen was just so odd. My friend at work says next time, ask for the some Valium. I think I might.