Penny for an MRI Mickey

Thanks for the MRI!

Never a dull moment around here: today, Sunday, I had an MRI of my head. Always a nice way to spend an hour on a rainy Sunday, having someone microtome your head into sections (fortunately, just virtual sections.)

The actual MRI was kind of interesting. You have to put on a gown and remove all metal from your body. They ask a lot of questions: have you ever been shot in the head? Do you have any artificial parts? 

Then they take you into the room with the tunnel of love. There is a gurney to lie on, with padding formed around the head. They had me lie down, and I put ear plugs in my ears. Then they packed the padding tight around my head, immobilizing me and making it very difficult to hear. 

Next they put a plastic face guard on my face. I thought that would be the tough part, but in fact, the mask isn't solid (I could see through part of it) and it just felt like I was suiting up for football (oh yeah, Dmitri, that is an experience you have had!). Once I was all tucked in and ready, they slide the gurney - shelf into the machine, much like biscuits into an oven. So far, so good.

They told me there was two way communication, so if I called to them, they would hear, and they would talk to me. They also handed me what felt like one of those bug-eyed squeeze toys to ho,d, and said that, if I were to squeeze it, they would end the test and get me out. I couldn't imagine needing it, but it was nice to have.

Finally, we were ready to roll, and the two technicians left the room. 

The MRI itself was not as loud as I had been lead to believe - what kind of concerts did these people go to when they were teens? It was loud but not deafening. Friends had described it as "Like lying in a trash can while someone beat on it with a baseball bat" but that didn't describe it at all.

What it sounded like to me was a trip under the streets of London in a tin can while the streets were being repaired. Lots of drilling and scrapping, lots of banging, lots of digging. The sounds weren't rough at all - they all had an almost musical tonality to them. 

The worst part was the restriction on moving. They told me I absolutely could not move a muscle. Five minutes in, and my back started spasming. It was intense and overwhelming, but I focused on other things. First, I listed all the US States in alphabetical order. Then I went through all the capitals, and started going through each state and listing every state they shared a border with. 

Not exactly before I knew it, but the tech had made some kind of announcement (which I couldn't hear) and slid me out. But they told me: don't move. She gave me a shot of some contrast dye, and back in I went for round two. Fortunately, round two was significantly shorter (10 minutes as opposed to 45) and soon I was back among the living. 

My back has been killing me today, but I'm done. And the best news? No more medical tests until my next chemo on March 1st, so I get a two week break. 

In other news: as my brain has adjusted to chemo, I have found my perceptions of the world have been shifting too. Some of this has been very bizarre and entertaining, particularly for someone who has no energy at all.

For example: I have been shifting through time a lot, and weird memories from the past have floated up where I thought they had long ago been erased. This morning, for example, I awoke to find myself saying the names of every boy in my 8th grade PE class, just the way Mr. Benedetti used to call them out at role. I could hear his voice, and I knew it was accurate. I have seen weird items from the past in dreams and in semi-lucid moments, things I haven't thought of for years.

And my perception of smells has changed. I am hyper sensitive to smells, and tonight was identifying the Sunday Chronicle sections based only on the scent. Last week I found, for a brief time, that I could smell some of the colors of items. The Fiestaware cups that we have appear to each have a unique scent based on their color, and I could pick them up.  

None of this particularly worries me, any more than the total exhaustion and the spaciness. I keep reminding myself that this is a journey, and I just have to continue riding it. 

And the chemo does appear to be working. My symptoms are less, and I am finding myself again thinking about eating. I have to continue to retrain my body how to eat, but it feels doable now. I'm hoping in the next two weeks, before Chemo Round Two, to put back on a chunk of weight. At present, I weigh significantly less than Tom. Nothing could scare me more than that!