h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

MRI

The last time I had an MRI session was in the Spring of 2009; from the photographs it generated, the radiologist was able to diagnose that I had syringomyelia. According to online literature, a paient with SM ought to have an MRI at least once a year, but out here in the Wild West we apparently can't do that sort of thing. I finally prevailed on my PA that it was high time, and permission was granted for me to be taken, by ambulance, to the radiology department at UNM.

{Lil dozes off}
{Lil twitches awake}

MRI stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging, a diagnostic technique developed during the 1950's and 1960's. I invite you to read up on the technical details in Wiki or one of the friendly ask-a-medic sites, for I am still too groggy from the single tablet of Ativan I was given before we set out last night to give a friendly, easy-to-read summary. Of Ativan, later.

One does not wear metal to an MRI session, nor does one allow metal objects to infiltrate the area around the machine. I know there are three main things involved in running an MRI scanner: radio waves, extremely strong magnets, and liquid helium {Lil dozes off again, then twitches awake}

OK, at that point I had to stop writing and find an activity that wouldn't cause the computer to be dropped on the floor from insensible fingers. Since then I have experienced a psychological "crash" that took the form of a spate of irritability and all-around glum. I am going to try to avoid psychotropic drugs in future. There's a rumor that Ativan is going to be made unavailable by the FDA because it's addictive, and that Ladera will dispense Haldol instead.

There's not all that much to tell about having an MRI. It's loud. THUMPITA-THUMPITA-THUMPITA, THWOCK THWOCK THWOCK THWOCK BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ BANGA BANGA and so forth. The noise can exceed 120 dB, so I was fitted with headphones through which the technician could talk to me, and offered a choice of satellite radio stations. I asked for classical and got easy classical, which didn't matter anyway since I couldn't hear it once the machine went to work.

I think the Ativan mixed with my sleepless condition to make me as limp as a cat in a sunny window, because I was startled when the bench moved to pull me out of the tube. Somehow, two and a half hours had gone by. Maybe it's because there was no laugh track!

When the ambulance people took me to UNM Hospital's radiology department, it was almost dinner time, 4:30 p.m. Quite naturally, I was concerned about eating on my return to Ladera, and whether I was going to score something better than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on a Saturday night. But it's a hospital -- there is a Subway open 24/7 near radiology. So the ambulance attendant bought me a roast bif sandwich, I carried it proudly back to Ladera, enjoyed my meal, lay down, and went to sleep for 10 hours straight. Which may be the longest I've slept without interruption since January 2012.

I have a CD of all the images, but will await the radiologist's report before sharing. No prognosis without diagnosis.

Filed at 10:50 p.m. Mountain Time.

[Amy P]

A friend of mine likened the noise of an MRI to a bad Kraftwerk album.

I have only ever experienced a CT scan, which is fairly quiet.

The thought of 2½ hours in a tube scares the heck out of me. I'm not claustrophobic but I hate the thought of being trapped.

It sounds like the experience was worthwhile to get a good night's sleep

Deb

My father navigated B-24 Liberators during World War II: flew thirty missions and received the Distinguished Flying Cross, but couldn't stand more than fifteen minutes inside the MRI scanner. He hit the button and asked to be let out. Which tells us something about what anti-aircraft fire (ak-ak) must have sounded like.

My father in law navigated Lancasters, RAF. He NEVER spoke about it.

I've been thinking of having the metal plate fastened with four screws from when I broke my ankle removed, just in case I'd need a MRI.