Knock, Knock...Who's There?...MRI...

Knock, Knock...Who's There?...MRI

MRI stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging and it is truly a wonder.  Some very smart people figured out that if you clang a bunch of giant magnets together inside a giant tube you can look inside people without cutting them open.  That is the extent of my understanding of the process, having carefully avoided taking physics classes at any stage of my education. If you really need to know more, Google it...I'm not going to be much help. I have had three encounters with the giant magnetic tube in my life. The first time was a brain scan after a seizure in 1991. Besides the horrendous banging noise and the sense of being trapped in a tiny tunnel, my overriding memory of that experience was the doctor looking at me in the followup appointment and saying with a straight face, "There's nothing there."  *crickets*  A few moments later he realized by the panicked look on our faces that he had misdelivered the diagnosis and quickly corrected himself by adding the word "abnormal" to the sentence.  My husband and I changed doctors immediately after that. His interpersonal communication skills left a lot to be desired.

My second experience was a few years ago when I injured my left knee severely.  Again, there was the noise but since only my legs had be swallowed up in that gaping tunnel, I didn't experience the claustrophobia. I had to remain perfectly still for almost an hour so I just pictured myself relaxing at a spa and even managed to doze off.  Fortunately the MRI noise masked my snoring.

Today I had an MRI of my breasts, part of the pre-surgery workup to give my surgeon a complete 3D picture of the two tumors and a scan of my other breast to be sure it wasn't feeling neglected and growing its own problem areas.  Instead of comfortably lying on my back I was positioned as the picture above shows: on my stomach, breasts through two openings in the platform, hands straight ahead (Cathy, the technician called it the Superman position...I almost corrected her to Superwoman but thought better of it...she was holding the IV syringe and thus in the position of power).  I had an IV  port in my arm with a contrast dye waiting to be injected mid-way through the procedure to light up my innards.  She promised me music so I requested some Mozart and Beethoven symphonies since they would be soothing and I could gauge my time in the tube by which movement was playing.  That's when things started to go a little wonky.  She fitted me with ear plugs and a pair of headphones which struck me as a little odd and the next thing I heard was a few distant notes from a violin and then nothing.  Apparently the intercom went dead which also meant I couldn't hear her.  The procedure began and the clanging, banging, thumping, humming, screeching and high frequency shrilling drowned out everything else.  At points I could hear a voice but could not make out what she was saying...I just prayed it wasn't instructions to do anything I wasn't already doing.  I felt the coolness of the contrast dye traveling up my arm and held rigidly still for what seemed liked an eternity, probably about 45 minutes.  

A few minutes into the procedure the tickle in my nose started.  I desperately wanted to scratch the itch but knew that would set us back to square one.   I also remember Cathy telling me that if I lifted my head I would bang it on the interior of the tube and I envisioned myself damaging a piece of equipment that probably cost more than I had earned in my entire lifetime.  So I stifled the urge.  I could feel my eyes tearing up but I was afraid to do so much as wrinkle my nose.  Finally the noise stopped, Cathy was at my side and I was out of the tube.  A sublimely delicious nose scratch followed.  As she helped me to a sitting position I realized that my left leg had gone completely numb due to the angle I had been positioned.  I was mortified that I would stand up and fall flat on my ass so I asked if I could sit for a moment.  Cathy was wonderful.  She said she need to remove the IV anyway so I could sit for as long as I wanted.  Fortunately, a few seconds later I felt the feeling return to my leg and could stand up.  She showed me to the dressing room where I quickly changed and went out to assure Brendan that I was still alive. He had been waiting patiently in the outer waiting area for two hours .  He looked very relieved and told me later that he had seen patients go in after me and come out before me and was mildly concerned that I had exploded in the MRI. (He has even less of a grasp of the science of the process than I do!) I told him that the little girl ahead of me had apparently experienced some issue during her procedure so it ran long.  She was brought into the inner waiting room as I was waiting for my MRI and was given some juice, a little candy and a stuffed unicorn by one of the technicians.  I was hopeful but, alas, I did not get a stuffed ANYthing. Bummer!  (Just kidding...the candy would have been enough)

So now we await results, hopefully within the next day or early next week at the latest.  I would love to celebrate Christmas with Brendan, Meredith, Kevin and Liam with a plan on the books for our next step. Fingers crossed!

I continue to be humbled and so grateful to the innumerable people who have kept me in your prayers, sent words of encouragement, checked up on me, made me laugh, told me of your success stories and, in general, been there for me through this.  The fight has just begun and already I am feeling completely confident that I will have cancer in a retreat mode with its tail between its legs (now, there's a visual for you!).  And remember, Ladies, GET THAT MAMMOGRAM!!! And Guys, hound the women in your life to get theirs and don't take no for an answer!!