My soul is tired.
As life would have it, I’ve had some pop up ‘symptoms’ going on within the past year. Starting last summer with occasional and mild, now still present and little more intense. From tiny spurts of leg numbness to blurry/double vision occasionally when reading or late at night, it was obviously time for another MRI to be done.
Today (June 25th) as I sat in the taxi for the 40 minute ride to the hospital for my MRI, I went through my usual mental checklist of MRI expectations/preparations:
- Get taxi drivers number for when I’m ready to be picked up from the hospital. It will be about an hour. Check.
- Keep drinking the water you brought to keep hydrated as this keeps the veins nice and big for the contrast injection. Check.
- Take an Advil to dry up phlegm in throat from a cold I’m almost over, so I don’t cough while keeping head still during the 30 minute MRI. Check.
I know the drill inside out and backwards.
I arrived to the hospital, and registered at the MRI desk as per usual. Filled out the screening form as per usual, every policy and procedure was done and the staff were all friendly, as per usual. Being a “Vet” from 5 years of MRIs, it was as if I knew each step without hesitation,
Little did I know, it was going to be by far the worst MRI experience yet. The combination of my emotional “grumpy cat” status of knowing something is ‘brewing’ within me, and repetitive screening questions had me feeling already annoyed. It’s standard, I know.
No I’ve never worked with metal. Yes I’ve had surgery before. On my head, yes. No pace maker. No implants. No allergies.
My last MRI was a few months ago, but, I know; the staff still have to ask. Unfortunately between my honest eyes and not-too-impressed RBF- there’s no hiding how I really felt. A simple “No changes” is not accepted.
No I’ve never worked with metal. Yes that is my birthday, yes that’s where I live. No phone right now. Yes that is my birthday. My last name is Nichols. N-I-C-H-O-L-S. Yes, same number…
ThIs Is tHe SoNg ThAt DoEsN’t EnD
I guess in case some crazy a**hole wants to steal my identity and do my MRI for me. It’s 30 min for my head, and 45 min for my spine. Go for it.
After changed into the hospital gown, I had my ear plugs in and laying down cozy with a pillow under my knees. I was given a warm blanket draped over me and head cradled in holder, with the standard hockey-like mask clipped over my face (which was my cue to close my eyes to avoid any feelings of claustrophobia). Emotionless. Piece of cake. Almost ready to go into the machine and start the test, an injection of contrast must be done as per my usual ‘menu’ item. Needles? Pftt, please! No problem… right?
After having a hard time finding a ‘good’ vein, Eyes still closed, I felt some sharp pinches and yelped in pain as it felt like the nurse was digging for gold. Out popped the needle out of my arm. Although I didn’t look, I knew blood was squirting out like a pin prick in a water balloon. I could hear the nurse quickly sprint to the other side of the room as she said she was hurriedly getting sanitary wipes to clean my up what I pictured to look like a CSI murder scene. Remember, I’m wearing ear plugs, my head is in it’s cradle with a mask over top. And my eyes are closed. Note: the nurse was very sweet about it- not her fault. But damn it. Hurry up. Another try was made by a different staff member in my other arm. Didn’t work. A smaller needle needed to be used. I could feel my tear ducts flooding. Without moving my hands, I grasped the blanket on either side of me for comfort.
There I was, laying down in a hospital gown with my eyes closed, ear plugs in and head in a holder with no movement allowed. The staff were professional and described everything they were doing perfectly, yet still didn’t stop the tears from flowing and my frustration and anger to show.
“HURRY UP!” I barked
After try #3, finally a vein was found in my hand. The 3 staff left the room and then MRI started.
I cried the entire time.
It was 30 minutes of a constant stream going down the sides of my cheeks- I couldn’t help but motionlessly and silently weep. I couldn’t move because of the temperamental MRI scans, and with tears accompanied a stuffy nose making it hard to breathe. It felt like torture, being poked and prodded, having to stay still and take it. Torture.
Once the MRI was completed, I was removed from the MRI tube and the mask was lifted, I slowly sat up and practically melted into myself blubbering
This is bullshit! I’m so tired of this
I shouted. Sobbing.
My soul is so tired! I’m tired of this. I’m tired of suffering!
It was about 15 seconds of me lamenting, blubbering while the staff stood beside me looking bewildered and very uncomfortable. I assured them its not their fault what had happened- that I understand I guess I have bad veins today. It just seemed as though I prepared as best as I could for the MRI which is usually a breeze, yet some force of life’s bully just kept knocking me down.
After a silent taxi ride home, I came home and went straight to bed for a time out.
My soul is tired.
Day By Day. I know.