Wide-open MRI? I was not given such a choice. I was utterly pathetic. Inside that sterile white coffin they call an imaging machine, I went into panic breakdown mode and had to squeeze the little "holy-jesus-i'm-freaking-out-in-here" sensor they gave me. The claustrophobia was only compounded by the fact that they had locked some weird cage-looking thing around my head and shoulders so I was incapable of moving. The whole experience amounted to 45 minutes of lying there, eyes squeezed tight, trying to think of anything besides the flaming realization that I was incapacitated inside a small, scary, loud cavity, and the radiologist was obviously going to wander off in search of coffee and forget all about me -- or worse -- armed men were going to storm the medical center and systematically whack every employee, and the cops wouldn't find me until days later, by which time I would have died from thirst or a massive fear-induced brain aneurism.
Turns out it's genetic. My mother informed me yesterday that the first time she had an MRI, she started screaming, "LET ME OUT OF HERE!" and the radiology people had to summon the ER attending because her blood pressure shot higher than Peter B. Lewis with a pound of Maui Wowie.
I'm telling you right now: If I ever in my life have to have another MRI, I will not set foot in any facility that has a machine smaller than Shea Stadium. No chance in hell.
posted by Kate at 12:09 PM link/comments
