Entering Another Portal

I'm all for a good sci-fi movie. But it's a little different when you experience something other-wordly yourself, namely Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI).

In a last ditch effort to figure out why I still have remaining pelvic pain (since my baby will be ONE next week), my doctor ordered an MRI. Let me start off by saying that I had no idea what an MRI meant except that you lay flat and get scanned somehow in a huge, circular machine. I've only seen it on TV.

After wearing sweats all day, I decided to "dress up" to go to my appointment so I put on a pair of jeans...the first thing the MRI tech said to me was "it's a shame you are wearing jeans...they have metal in them." Duh. So I had to change into huge clown-size pants. Then I am left staring for twenty minutes at a poster on the wall, outlining the danger and strength of the MRI magnet. This picture was actually on the poster. Note the legs.



I find myself starting to panic - am I sure I don't have any metal implants (it's embarassing to think of how many times I asked myself this question). No pacemaker? Are the hooks on the back of my bra made of metal or plastic? Did I remove my wedding ring? AAAhhhhhh!

The tech (a tiny, balding man) came back and told me to follow him - IN my clown pants - to the surgery pavillion, which includes a jaunt outside past the emergency room in 40 degree weather. He proceeded to walked about four times faster than me, all the time calling out over his shoulder questions like, "does your pelvis hurt on both sides equally?" and "how long have you been having pain in your pelvis?" The irony didn't escape me as I limped along behind. By the time we reached the MRI machine, he was at least twelve feet ahead.

He didn't explain one thing to me - just had me lay on a table, fired up the machine, gave me headphones to "protect" my ears, and told me how to press the emergency button ("push it hard and long so I know you really need help"). By this time I managed to squeak "Should I be nervous?" to which he replied "Sure. Most people are." That was helpful.

He tied my shoes together in a pigeon toed position, wrapped some coil around my pelvis and into the machine I went. Luckily, I went with my Spirit 105.3 radio station blasting (to which the tech actually asked "the Christian radio station?" when I requested it).



The MRI itself wasn't scary after all. The only odd part was the variety of noises that would accompany each scan. Through the headphones the tech would interrupt my music by saying "this will be a four minute scan" or "this scan will be 30 seconds and you might feel the coil heat up a bit." The first scan had a high pitched steady noise. The second scan had a low rumble. The third had a loud banging noise and so on. But by the time the scan was over, I was more relaxed than I'd been all day. What mother of three young children gets to lay perfectly still in a warm machine listening to the radio (accompanied by loud bangs) for thirty minutes uninterrupted? Too bad it's not cheaper.

The funniest part came when I was being rolled out of the machine. I was trying to convince myself that I was still human, when I looked up to see a huge, bearded man with a (plastic?) prosthetic leg there to help me up. What happened to my small, balding tech? I felt like I was Star Trekking.

They said they'd get back to me with my results, but it kind-of bothers me that they got to see more of me than I've ever seen. Have you ever seen an MRI image? It's the same feeling when I had my ultrasound with Jacob and the ultrasound tech knew the gender of the baby, but I didn't.

I don't know whether to hope they find anything wrong or not. In the words of my step-mom, I hope they "find something, but something that is easily fixable."

*UPDATE: They didn't find anything wrong with the muscle or bone...I meet with an orthpoedic doctor next week. After reading your comments, I want to add that I did not write this post for sympathy!! But thanks for the well wishes. ;)