MRI hell

(credit: Tower Radiology Centre)

I've had an MRI before the one last night, but now I realise that all MRI's are not created alike. The last one was in October, for my swollen disk, before I found out about my breast pirates. I was still, on my back, for at the most 15 minutes of jackhammer noises. I made rock beats in my head as I sort of relaxed. Last night was nothing like that. First of all, there was an IV involved. An unexpected IV. I thought I was getting a simple injection like the one I got for the bone scan on Wednesday. IVs hurt me since my skin in thin and my nerves raw --good for massage, bad for needles. So I cried when the discomfort turned into sudden pain. Then I had to lie on my stomack, my breasts in holes, my arms over my head while a cold drug was injected in me. This time, I wasn't still for 15 minutes, but for 45. And forget rock beats, these were alarm noises. Loud and alarming. All I could think of was getting the hell out of there:"please technician, tell me this is the last one"...and I cried. I cried both from the discomfort and the situation. It's one thing to have a test, it's another to have a test when you know it's the first of a series of terrifying medical experiences. I felt like a lab rat even though I knew it was for my own good. Then, I went for an x-ray.