MRIs

I had my first MRI exam during the diagnosis phase of my tumor’s reoccurance. I’ve completely lost count of how many I’ve had since then. I had to have regular MRI scans for several years after radiation. I don’t remember very much about that first MRI, it didn’t have the psychic resonance that medical procedures acquired after radiation. All the MRIs which took place after radiation therapy were extremely emotional and unpleasant because they forced me to re-confront all the emotions and feelings that I was trying desparately to put behind me.

MRI appointments always began with a call from the radiation oncologists office. They’d conference with the MRI office and give me 2-3 choices of dates and times. I’d try to pick the least inconvenient one. Then I’d have to scramble for babysitting and do some anticipatory nail biting. At the appointment I’d arrive early and sign in. Then a tech would come out and give me a valium pill to take. The valium is recommended for anyone even slightly claustrophobic. I’d take the little pill and about the time the world starts to spin, the tech comes to walk me to changing area where they hand me clothes and expect me to change with zero sense of balance. No metal is allowed in the MRI machine so I emerge from the changing area without my watch, wedding ring, or glasses. Then, feeling wobbly and blind, I get to walk down a hall and lay down on a little table.

In the natural size range for human beings, I’m definitely on the small end. I do not have any idea how they fit large people into those machines because even laying flat my arms brushed the sides. The top of the tube is only 6 inches or so from my face. Once I’m slid into the tube I’m fairly effectively pinned. There are speakers inside the tube so that the techs can talk to me. They also play music for me. These are very good things because once I’m inside the tube I’ll be there for about 45 minutes. Individual scans run from 3-10 minutes long and will be very noice in odd buzzing, clunking ways. In between scans will be a few minutes of blessed silence during which the techs set up for the next test. Or at least I presume that’s what they’re doing. I certainly can’t see them. Each scan begins with the speaker blurting “Okay this scan will take about 10 minutes. Try not to move and don’t swallow.” Just reading that I’ll bet you swallowed. Concentrating on not swallowing is like trying not to think of a pink elephant.

Did I mention that I’m in the tube for 45 minutes? Oh, I see that I did. Forty-five minutes with nothing to do but think about things. And being in a hospital undergoing medical proceedures pretty much rules out the happy thoughts. During MRI scans valium was my friend. Valium made me all floaty. I’d drift past unpleasant thoughts and they wouldn’t bug me much. Sometimes I’d even drift out of consciousness which was just fine with me. After the scans were over I could go home and sleep it off. Then I could wake up and pretend it was a day without an MRI scan in it.

I was told that I’d have MRI scans done every six months until three in a row showed no tumor reoccurance. Then I’d have them once a year for 5 years. Then they’d go to once every 5 years. Radiation oncologists regularly deal with cancer, they don’t mess around with follow up. I was displeased to discover that my first post-radiation scan didn’t count as one of the three since it only provided a base for comparison. This meant two years of every-six-months scans instead of 18 months. In hindsight that seems a small shift, but it felt huge at the time.

My third post-radiation MRI scan was particularly unpleasant. I went in for the scan on a Monday and was scheduled to discuss it with my radiation oncologist on Friday. (They NEVER tell you what is happening on the day of the scan even though the techs are pretty good at reading scans. Very frustrating). On Tuesday morning we recieved a call requesting that I come back in on Wednesday morning to re-do the scan. No one would give us a clear answer as to why the scan needed to be re-done. I rearranged my life and went back in. Happy thoughts during that scan were even harder than usual because part of me was afraid that they’d found a re-occurance. The scan was accomplished and I went home to sleep it off. Howard was at home with me because valiumed Sandra is not fit to care for children. After I’d been sleeping awhile Howard came in and told me that they needed us back AGAIN. Since I was still valiumed if we would come down right away they’d do the scan and I wouldn’t have yet another drugged up day. We scrambled to hand the children off and returned to the MRI center. By this time I was convinced that they were trying to get good pictures of a re-occurance. I wept for almost the entire time I was inside the tube. The tech was kind and sympathetic and wouldn’t even drop a hint about what they were seeing.

Friday came and Howard accompanied me to my appointment with the Radation Oncologist. Only I wasn’t actually seeing my doctor, I was seeing his assistant. Howard was extremely pissed at all the stress our family had been put through. He was extremely agressive with the poor assistant who eventually fled in search of my real doctor. The real doctor told us at once that there was no re-occurance. Apparently my first post-radiation MRI had been done in a different way than my second post-radiation MRI. The techs were trying to match the techniques so that comparisons were easy. This information was both relieving and infuriating. I was so glad to have Howard along. He made sure that everyone knew exactly how unpleasant the situation had been. He also made sure that it would never ever happen again. I certainly never saw the assistant again, I think a note may have gone into my file because ever afterwards I was scheduled with the real doctor. I was and am incredibly grateful to Howard for running interference for me. I was able to curl up inside myself and keep from crying in public. I needed all my emotions in a tight little ball because my anger was tangled up with my fear and my sadness and a whole host of other things that I really didn’t want strangers to witness.

When we reached the point where MRIs were yearly rather than every six months, I got pregnant with Gleek. This meant that I had an MRI when Gleek was only a couple of months old. Howard came along with me and so did Gleek. I called in advance to check and was told that the valium would not be a problem and I could nurse her as soon as the MRI was done. So we arrived, I nursed her, and took the valium. Then after I’d changed and was walking to the exam room I mentioned to the tech the fact that I was a nursing mother. She alarmedly informed me that while the valium would not be a problem, the radioactive die they inject halfway through would definitely be one. I should not nurse Gleek for at least 24 hours afterwards. Gleek would not take bottles. Nursing was her only source of sustinence. I was furious. I’d called and checked, but they’d waited until I had arranged my day, been drugged, and changed before imparting this important piece of information. I had just enough coherence of thought to demand to see Howard and discuss it with him.

Howard was not drugged. He could think clearly and realized very quickly that this test needed to be done and there would not be a convenient, non-nursing time for 6 months or more. His advice was to go ahead and have the test. Gleek would not like taking bottles, but neither would she starve in 24 hours. Because I was drugged I don’t really remember much else. I know that Gleek did eventually take bottles, but she was really cranky until I was able to re-establish nursing the next day. I had to do the same thing to Patches when he was small, but at least that time I was prepared.

My last MRI was at the 5 year mark. Theoretically I’m still supposed to have one every 5 years, but I’m pretty sure we’ve killed it. If it was coming back it already would have. Also we’re no longer covered by such an extensive insurance plan. Right now the cost of an MRI would be crushing to our finances. Part of me is very glad to never again have to sit in a small tube for 45 minutes. On the other hand walking out of the doctor’s office after being told that every medical test available showed no signs of reoccurance, was incredibly reassuring. Ongoing fears of reoccurance are a subject for yet another post.