MRI tells me to arrive 45 minutes early.
For what I ask? Paperwork?
You know they tell you this so that you, the patient, doesn't keep the medical staff waiting. So I arrive with Mom (who insisted on coming with me-turns out, I'm glad she did. Mom's are always right.I need to make sure my boys remember this) 45 minutes early. I fill out 4 pages of paperwork and barely get through 2 pages of my PEOPLE magazine before being called in.
Great. They are early!
I hand my Mom my pocketbook and leave her reading a book. Expecting to see her in 45 minutes or less.
Guy instructs me to follow him as he hands me a robe and scrub bottoms.
Change in here. Opening in the front.
That's it. No directions on where to go afterwards or even a "feel free to urinate prior to us making you sit in a machine for 40 minutes"
I follow my instructions, find my own way to the bathroom and take a seat.
Of course they weren't early. They just like you to sit there and wait. It's good for the anxiety and all.
"Okay Abby, we're ready for you"
Hmmm, I think. Okay, no IV this time? NICE! Decide I better question the dude though just in case.
"Don't I need an IV?"
"What? She didn't give it to you yet?" Yea, that would've bee nice since I've been waiting here in the lovely robe and bottoms for 20+ minutes.
Phlebotomist comes out-makes me move chairs and asks me which arm I want it in?
Oh, let's try the left. All the while I'm thinking I'm really not sure I'm allowed to have it in my left because that's my fake side and I kinda remember you cant do it there but I figure the woman knows what she is doing. I remain quiet.
Hmmph. After tugging at me she announces to me that I dont have great veins. Let's try the other side.
The, not overly confident, phlebotomist tells me that she THINKS it is in and let's give it a whirl.
I'm escorted into MRI by Jane. Lovely woman who I remember from the last time because her southern drawl is hard to forget.
"How are you today Amy?" She asks. I dont correct her. I'm called Amy so often I'm thinking of legally changing my name.
"Now you're a pro at this so you should be fine. Climb on up. Put your head down flat on the headrest like you're getting a nice massage. Put your boobs through the hole making sure no fabric from the robe is stuck in there. Here's your emergency ball in case you're feeling faint or you're in the mood for a Margarita and now let's check your IV"
I like Jane. I'm more relaxed then I was 10 minutes ago with two stick Andrea and am ready to get on with this.
Another hmmph.
"Yea Amy, this IV isn't in real good. We'll need to try again"
I'm getting annoyed so I choose to correct her this time.
"It's ABBY. and yea, I didn't think she got in so good. Do you want to try my left side"
"Oh no. We can't do the left side on account of your surgery and all. We'll call Andrea back in and check it again"
I have no confidence and Andrea who not only forgot to insert my IV but gave me free range to pick where I wanted it to go.
5 sticks.
I should've known better.
I'm lying on my stomach with my hands over my head like a torpedo. They dont want to move me because I'm already "in position", boobs in place, head resting oh so comfortably, why not just stick you like this. I'm sure it will only be a second.
"Amy. You have the smallest veins I've ever seen. How much do you weigh honey?" (Now that's a personal question here Jane. I dont think my husband even knows the real answer to that )
You just squeeze my hand while the inexperienced phlebotomist stick you one more time. Or we can call it a day and you can come back another time?
Another time? I dont think so. I look up from my hole and see them all staring at my veins. Breaths are being held in. And..an exhale!
WE ARE IN!
I lay in torpedo position for the next 35 minutes (seeming like it was closer to 350 minutes) and I try to distract myself from the banging of the MRI machine. The pillow I'm breathing into smells like an airplane. You know the smell as you walk in between the gate and onto the plane? I can't help every time I breathe it in that I'm on a doomed flight. This of course only makes me think back to last weekend when I was basking in the sun in Puerto Rico. Oh wait, I wasn't basking in any sun.
Okay lets think back to a time when I was relaxed and feeling care free.
1977 it is.
"Okay Abby" (yes, they finally got it right) "Last segment. 4 1/2 minutes long. The contrast is going in now"
The contrast feels like a rush of fluid going through your entire body. I think I just swallowed a lead pipe as the taste of metallic is going down my esophagus. I'm trying not to hyperventilate as I talk myself out of my second anxiety attack of the morning. 10, 9, 8..
"We're done Abby. You did great" Sorry for making you a human pin cushion and sorry that you have a bruise the size of Uranus on your hand. Lets hope your day gets better from here on out.
one can only hope..
For what I ask? Paperwork?
You know they tell you this so that you, the patient, doesn't keep the medical staff waiting. So I arrive with Mom (who insisted on coming with me-turns out, I'm glad she did. Mom's are always right.I need to make sure my boys remember this) 45 minutes early. I fill out 4 pages of paperwork and barely get through 2 pages of my PEOPLE magazine before being called in.
Great. They are early!
I hand my Mom my pocketbook and leave her reading a book. Expecting to see her in 45 minutes or less.
Guy instructs me to follow him as he hands me a robe and scrub bottoms.
Change in here. Opening in the front.
That's it. No directions on where to go afterwards or even a "feel free to urinate prior to us making you sit in a machine for 40 minutes"
I follow my instructions, find my own way to the bathroom and take a seat.
Of course they weren't early. They just like you to sit there and wait. It's good for the anxiety and all.
"Okay Abby, we're ready for you"
Hmmm, I think. Okay, no IV this time? NICE! Decide I better question the dude though just in case.
"Don't I need an IV?"
"What? She didn't give it to you yet?" Yea, that would've bee nice since I've been waiting here in the lovely robe and bottoms for 20+ minutes.
Phlebotomist comes out-makes me move chairs and asks me which arm I want it in?
Oh, let's try the left. All the while I'm thinking I'm really not sure I'm allowed to have it in my left because that's my fake side and I kinda remember you cant do it there but I figure the woman knows what she is doing. I remain quiet.
Hmmph. After tugging at me she announces to me that I dont have great veins. Let's try the other side.
The, not overly confident, phlebotomist tells me that she THINKS it is in and let's give it a whirl.
I'm escorted into MRI by Jane. Lovely woman who I remember from the last time because her southern drawl is hard to forget.
"How are you today Amy?" She asks. I dont correct her. I'm called Amy so often I'm thinking of legally changing my name.
"Now you're a pro at this so you should be fine. Climb on up. Put your head down flat on the headrest like you're getting a nice massage. Put your boobs through the hole making sure no fabric from the robe is stuck in there. Here's your emergency ball in case you're feeling faint or you're in the mood for a Margarita and now let's check your IV"
I like Jane. I'm more relaxed then I was 10 minutes ago with two stick Andrea and am ready to get on with this.
Another hmmph.
"Yea Amy, this IV isn't in real good. We'll need to try again"
I'm getting annoyed so I choose to correct her this time.
"It's ABBY. and yea, I didn't think she got in so good. Do you want to try my left side"
"Oh no. We can't do the left side on account of your surgery and all. We'll call Andrea back in and check it again"
I have no confidence and Andrea who not only forgot to insert my IV but gave me free range to pick where I wanted it to go.
5 sticks.
I should've known better.
I'm lying on my stomach with my hands over my head like a torpedo. They dont want to move me because I'm already "in position", boobs in place, head resting oh so comfortably, why not just stick you like this. I'm sure it will only be a second.
"Amy. You have the smallest veins I've ever seen. How much do you weigh honey?" (Now that's a personal question here Jane. I dont think my husband even knows the real answer to that )
You just squeeze my hand while the inexperienced phlebotomist stick you one more time. Or we can call it a day and you can come back another time?
Another time? I dont think so. I look up from my hole and see them all staring at my veins. Breaths are being held in. And..an exhale!
WE ARE IN!
I lay in torpedo position for the next 35 minutes (seeming like it was closer to 350 minutes) and I try to distract myself from the banging of the MRI machine. The pillow I'm breathing into smells like an airplane. You know the smell as you walk in between the gate and onto the plane? I can't help every time I breathe it in that I'm on a doomed flight. This of course only makes me think back to last weekend when I was basking in the sun in Puerto Rico. Oh wait, I wasn't basking in any sun.
Okay lets think back to a time when I was relaxed and feeling care free.
1977 it is.
"Okay Abby" (yes, they finally got it right) "Last segment. 4 1/2 minutes long. The contrast is going in now"
The contrast feels like a rush of fluid going through your entire body. I think I just swallowed a lead pipe as the taste of metallic is going down my esophagus. I'm trying not to hyperventilate as I talk myself out of my second anxiety attack of the morning. 10, 9, 8..
"We're done Abby. You did great" Sorry for making you a human pin cushion and sorry that you have a bruise the size of Uranus on your hand. Lets hope your day gets better from here on out.
one can only hope..
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