MRI scan
Today was the day of my MRI scan at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. My appointment was at 9.20am (twenty minutes earlier than I'd thought), so I set my alarm for 7.30am in order to give myself time to get dressed and have a couple of cups of coffee before I left the house. In the event, I woke up at about 7.15am (I knew I would wake up before the alarm went off), though I'd been awake for most of the night in any case. I got dressed and gulped down my coffee, left the house at half-past-eight and arrived at the bus stop on South Bridge at twenty-to-nine. Where I stood... And stood... By 9am, with the chances of me getting to the hospital on time becoming more remote by the second, I headed back along South Bridge and round to the taxi rank in the High Street, only to discover there were no taxis there at all. In their place were two touring coaches, loading passengers from the adjacent Radisson Blu Hotel. So back to the bus stop I went, arriving just in time to catch a No. 49 to the hospital. Maybe it just seemed this way because I was in a desperate hurry by now, but the bus seemed to crawl at a snail's pace all the way to the hospital. It sat at every set of traffic lights on the way, and was stuck behind another stationary bus at every bus stop. It had only got as far as Cameron Toll by the time I should have been at the hospital, so I had to phone ahead and tell the receptionist I was going to be late, but that I was on my way. I was nearly fifteen minutes late when I arrived, and they clearly weren't happy. I could only apologise and say that I'd had to wait ages for a bus, but I'm sure they hear the same excuse from everyone who arrives late for their appointment. I felt guilty for even saying it.
As for the MRI scan itself, it was a long process (I was in the machine for the best part of an hour), but I didn't find it as scary and unpleasant as I'd been led to believe it would be. It wasn't a lot of fun, all the same. Headphones were placed on my ears through which pre-recorded instructions to inhale, exhale and hold my breath were conveyed, but the announcer had a foreign accent and when the announcements began, I couldn't make out what she was saying. The first instruction was, "Breathe in", but it was unclear to me. Also, the 'breathe in' and 'breathe out' instructions were too close together and didn't give sufficient time to breathe in and out deeply and calmly; then I had to hold my breath after exhaling, sometimes for (I'd guess) ten or fifteen seconds, which is not something the body naturally wants to do. I didn't enjoy that much, but it seems I did manage to follow the instructions to the radiographers' satisfaction as they greeted me with, "Good man. Well done", at the end of the process. I suppose they probably have to deal with patients who are somewhat more prone to panic than I am, despite my chronic anxiety.
My journey home was a right carry-on too. A No. 49 was just pulling away from the bus stop at the hospital as I got to it. However, a No. 7 was just about to depart from another bus stop on the other side of the road. I knew it would take me back to South Bridge. What I didn't know was that it would do so via some ridiculously convoluted route all around the southern suburbs of Edinburgh, and it was nearly an hour later by the time it reached the city centre. Fortunately, I didn't have an appointment to keep this time and I wasn't in a particular hurry (too bad for anyone who was), but sitting on slow-moving buses following maze-like routes around sprawling city suburbs is a stressful experience nonetheless.
What I had today was called an 'MRI Cardiac Myocardial Viability' scan. That doesn't sound particularly positive, does it? They're going to send me a letter with the results in ten days or so. I'm pretty anxious as to the outcome and I won't be keen to look at it, but what will be, will be, I suppose.
As for the MRI scan itself, it was a long process (I was in the machine for the best part of an hour), but I didn't find it as scary and unpleasant as I'd been led to believe it would be. It wasn't a lot of fun, all the same. Headphones were placed on my ears through which pre-recorded instructions to inhale, exhale and hold my breath were conveyed, but the announcer had a foreign accent and when the announcements began, I couldn't make out what she was saying. The first instruction was, "Breathe in", but it was unclear to me. Also, the 'breathe in' and 'breathe out' instructions were too close together and didn't give sufficient time to breathe in and out deeply and calmly; then I had to hold my breath after exhaling, sometimes for (I'd guess) ten or fifteen seconds, which is not something the body naturally wants to do. I didn't enjoy that much, but it seems I did manage to follow the instructions to the radiographers' satisfaction as they greeted me with, "Good man. Well done", at the end of the process. I suppose they probably have to deal with patients who are somewhat more prone to panic than I am, despite my chronic anxiety.
My journey home was a right carry-on too. A No. 49 was just pulling away from the bus stop at the hospital as I got to it. However, a No. 7 was just about to depart from another bus stop on the other side of the road. I knew it would take me back to South Bridge. What I didn't know was that it would do so via some ridiculously convoluted route all around the southern suburbs of Edinburgh, and it was nearly an hour later by the time it reached the city centre. Fortunately, I didn't have an appointment to keep this time and I wasn't in a particular hurry (too bad for anyone who was), but sitting on slow-moving buses following maze-like routes around sprawling city suburbs is a stressful experience nonetheless.
What I had today was called an 'MRI Cardiac Myocardial Viability' scan. That doesn't sound particularly positive, does it? They're going to send me a letter with the results in ten days or so. I'm pretty anxious as to the outcome and I won't be keen to look at it, but what will be, will be, I suppose.