Down in Boobland
I would just to take a moment to say that boob MRIs are not the most comfortable thing on the planet.
First of all, there's the SURPRISE IV that they spring on you. Shots are one thing, but IVs are pretty much ICKY in my opinion. Actually, if you want to know the truth, just thinking about them makes me turn green, so you can imagine my surprise when the very chipper lady said, "I just want to give you a SHUNT for the IV they are going to stick into you." I was like, WHAAAAAA ---? I immediately started to laugh in that hysterical, oh my body feels like a wet noodle all of sudden, and I might pass out kind of way. The lady said, "Yep, I bet they didn't tell you. They never tell anybody."
So let me be the one to tell you gals: YOU WILL GET AN IV!
After I had my ICKY creepy SHUNT jabbed into my arm I was led to the MRI room where I had to change into one of those fabulous seersucker robes without knocking out my SHUNT or PASSING OUT at the feeling of my shirt being pulled over my SHUNT. All this and it turns out that the guys who run the MRI are like young frat boys, who joke around and listen to Guns N' Roses. Actually, the guy who helped me was nice. His name was Paul. Paul was there for me. Paul stuck the IV into my shunt and handed me a showercap and told me not to bend my arm because I might knock out the IV. Paul gave me a blanket. When I discovered that I had to lie on my stomach in a position that should be reserved for flying superheroes, with my girls in a copper lined cup, I said to Paul, "Oh, the DIGNITY continues, Paul." Paul didn't even crack a smile.
I thought the problem would be claustrophobia, and while it was a problem, it was just a piece of the picture. Imaginebeing in this position, with your forehead propped on a forhead pillow and being told not to move for 20 minutes and then imagine the loudest and WORST fusion concert you could ever hear in your life. About halfway through Paul's voice came over the speaker and he said, "Okay, now the dye is going to be put into your IV." and a weird, cold pallor leaked into my arm. It creeped the hell out of me. That's when the panic attack started to set in. There was something about the new, cold physical sensation of something leaking into me, and without the ability to move in reaction that made me panic. I kept thinking it would be the physical space of the MRI that would freak me out, but it was the physical strangeness of it all and the sound that radiated through me. I felt like I was in a bad, black space, like in some dream where you can't move. Afterwards Paul said, "You did great." Like usual, I wished that I could have seen whatever images were collecting while I was in superhero mode, but I was quickly ferried out.
Like I suspected, my doctor told me today that they didn't find anything--ANYTHING. So I needed to find a surgeon to get a biopsy. I hate being 36 and feeling like I am a BABE in the WOODS and saying to myself, "You're a big girl, now go and find yourself a surgeon." Yeah, whatever. I guess if I can handle the SHUNT, I can handle finding a surgeon. Still, this REAL LIFE stuff is hard. It's much harder than all the EXISTENTIAL crap I usually worry about. Somehow the worry of my PURPOSE and DREAMS seem like a funny thing to worry about, and yet, like a true neurotic I STILL worry about it. Ah well, maybe it's the one thing I have to make me feel like I am still me as I am wandering a very un-me sort of landscape. Maybe it's my brain's way of saying, business as usual. Thanks, brain. I knew I could count on you.
First of all, there's the SURPRISE IV that they spring on you. Shots are one thing, but IVs are pretty much ICKY in my opinion. Actually, if you want to know the truth, just thinking about them makes me turn green, so you can imagine my surprise when the very chipper lady said, "I just want to give you a SHUNT for the IV they are going to stick into you." I was like, WHAAAAAA ---? I immediately started to laugh in that hysterical, oh my body feels like a wet noodle all of sudden, and I might pass out kind of way. The lady said, "Yep, I bet they didn't tell you. They never tell anybody."
So let me be the one to tell you gals: YOU WILL GET AN IV!
After I had my ICKY creepy SHUNT jabbed into my arm I was led to the MRI room where I had to change into one of those fabulous seersucker robes without knocking out my SHUNT or PASSING OUT at the feeling of my shirt being pulled over my SHUNT. All this and it turns out that the guys who run the MRI are like young frat boys, who joke around and listen to Guns N' Roses. Actually, the guy who helped me was nice. His name was Paul. Paul was there for me. Paul stuck the IV into my shunt and handed me a showercap and told me not to bend my arm because I might knock out the IV. Paul gave me a blanket. When I discovered that I had to lie on my stomach in a position that should be reserved for flying superheroes, with my girls in a copper lined cup, I said to Paul, "Oh, the DIGNITY continues, Paul." Paul didn't even crack a smile.
I thought the problem would be claustrophobia, and while it was a problem, it was just a piece of the picture. Imaginebeing in this position, with your forehead propped on a forhead pillow and being told not to move for 20 minutes and then imagine the loudest and WORST fusion concert you could ever hear in your life. About halfway through Paul's voice came over the speaker and he said, "Okay, now the dye is going to be put into your IV." and a weird, cold pallor leaked into my arm. It creeped the hell out of me. That's when the panic attack started to set in. There was something about the new, cold physical sensation of something leaking into me, and without the ability to move in reaction that made me panic. I kept thinking it would be the physical space of the MRI that would freak me out, but it was the physical strangeness of it all and the sound that radiated through me. I felt like I was in a bad, black space, like in some dream where you can't move. Afterwards Paul said, "You did great." Like usual, I wished that I could have seen whatever images were collecting while I was in superhero mode, but I was quickly ferried out.
Like I suspected, my doctor told me today that they didn't find anything--ANYTHING. So I needed to find a surgeon to get a biopsy. I hate being 36 and feeling like I am a BABE in the WOODS and saying to myself, "You're a big girl, now go and find yourself a surgeon." Yeah, whatever. I guess if I can handle the SHUNT, I can handle finding a surgeon. Still, this REAL LIFE stuff is hard. It's much harder than all the EXISTENTIAL crap I usually worry about. Somehow the worry of my PURPOSE and DREAMS seem like a funny thing to worry about, and yet, like a true neurotic I STILL worry about it. Ah well, maybe it's the one thing I have to make me feel like I am still me as I am wandering a very un-me sort of landscape. Maybe it's my brain's way of saying, business as usual. Thanks, brain. I knew I could count on you.
posted by Summer Pierre at
3:55 PM
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