This will come as no surprise; the worst part of an MRI is sitting in that little machine.
The problem is that I’m claustrophobic. It started when I was in my 20’s. I’d been living in New Zealand for nine months, desperately avoiding the ‘real-job’ thing most of my friends got into after college. Finally I’d run out of farms to wwoof and patience for backpacker conversations (and money) so I boarded a plane in Auckland bound for California. Right before the door sealed, I had this crushing sensation that all the walls were going to collapse in on me. I took some ambien deep breaths and talked myself through it.
It hasn’t been a big deal in the intervening years. It gets pronouncedly worse for a short period of time when I am facing some type of big life change. Also, I discovered last week: it gets pronouncedly worse when I have to get inside an MRI machine.
The MRI Experience & How To Cope
To be fair, I can’t imagine ANYONE who would not get claustrophobic inside an MRI machine. I went in for an appointment for a head scan (spoiler alert: I’m fine) and tried my deep breathing strategy while the nurse happily blathered away in Spanish.
‘Estás nerviosa?’
‘Bueno, si. Un poco.’
She nodded knowingly and told me to relax and close my eyes. Two seconds later I felt a weight over my temples and my eyes flew open to discover she was strapping me into a CAGE! A little face cage that fit right around my neck. Basically a wire-mesh face coffin.
My hands flew up as I started my protest. (Note: I have a weird history with Spanish doctors anyway.)
‘Esta bien.’ She soothed me by showing me a weird little mirror on the outside of my face cage and explaining I could use it to look outside. But, she added thoughtfully, it would probably be better to just keep my eyes closed.
Great advice. I kept my eyes closed and spent the next twenty minutes trying to convince myself I was at the beach.
A narrow little beach, full of loud, unpleasant banging noises.
I survived. They told me to come back the next week for the results. I nodded, eager to get outside. I didn’t spend any time considering the results.
The results are: pictures of my brain!
It’s my new favorite thing I own. I can see my frontal lobe and my hypothalamus and all my gyri and sulci and fissures. I might frame them. I’ll call it: “Never doing that again.”
Banner Photo Credit: Austrian National Library