My First MRI
I injured myself doing squats with weights: they are great for the butt, inner thighs, and calves. As it turns out, not so good for the knees.
I went to the orthopedic doc because my knee still hurt in spite of ice, elevation, and rest. The male nurse asked what brought me there. When I told him, he said simply, “Don’t do squats. We don’t like them around here.”
So I’ve heard. Won’t anymore. But…what about my butt?
After examining my knee, the doctor decided to send me for an MRI. “I’ll see you again next week when I get the results. Rest. Ice. Elevation.” He patted my knee as he stood to leave the room, “No squats in the meantime, okay?” Funny guy.
When I was checking out, the young woman filling out the order for the MRI looked up at me, smiled, and said, “Squats, huh? Yeah, I don’t do them anymore since I started working here.”
Alright, I’m convinced. But what about my….oh, hell. I just smiled back.
The next day at Texas Orthopedics I was led to a delightful man who explained the procedure, led me to a changing room, and when I emerged dressed in scrubs he handed me a list of music to pick from.
I have heard that an MRI is LOUD, so I asked if I would even be able to hear the music. His response, “It’s a nice distraction.”
“And, how long is the procedure?”
“Twenty five minutes, probably.”
Twenty five minutes of lying there, completely still. “Sure, I’ll take….Santana.”
His eyes lit up, “That’s my favorite!”
In the imaging room I came face-to-face with a massive white machine with a donut hole in it’s middle. MAGNETOM.
I started humming “Ground control to Major Tom,” from David Bowie’s song, Space Oddity (speaking of oddities, Iman is the stunning model/business woman married to Bowie, and Iman is also the Spanish word for magnet).
I was arranged comfortably, reminded to hold perfectly still, given a set of oversized, squishy BOSE headphones, and covered with a fresh, soft blanket. The tech excused himself, and left.
Reminiscent of a blast of reverb at a concert, and just as jarring, the initial sound startled me.
His voice through my headphones, “Are you okay, Miss Donna?”
I assured him I was, then the music began, and the MRI commenced knocking, whirring, and vibrating.
I lay there, Carlos Santana’s soulful guitar wailing, the machine rocking along, and thought; if it weren’t for the cold, and the sterility of the place, I could have been flat on my back, head in a speaker, at a 70’s rock concert all over again.
It was over much quicker than I thought it would be.
“You were so still,” the tech told me.
I thought that was the whole objective…to lie perfectly still.
Do some people just not do that?
Rather than getting a lollipop for being a good patient, afterwards I went to Nordstrom and treated myself to a glass of wine and a bowl of French Onion soup for lunch.
The perks of growing older!