Let Me Out of This Thing!

A good friend reminded me of this movie from the early 1960s.   One of those cheap horror films that traded on the diminishing star power of some oldtime Hollywood actor.  In this one, a claustrophobic Ray Milland fears being trapped in a coffin.  Of course, he is.

I never saw the movie.   But, indeed, I recently lived it.

Has anybody out there had to undergo a medical test in a closed MRI machine?

Yep, the sensation is very much akin to what Milland went through in this film.  If you want to know what it's like to be entombed in the hereafter, definitely have your internist schedule one of these exams.   Or, better yet, don't.

This all came about as a result of the extensive diagnostic tests I had to undergo when the arthritis drug Celebrex started to screw with my body.  Ultrasounds and CAT scans were clean, but my on-top-of-things doctor wanted to be sure with a MRI, which is apparently the gold standard for photographs of your innards.

My previous tests were done at the same imaging place across the street from my doctor's office and they were all very pleasant to deal with.  I thought nothing of them scheduling the MRI at the same facility.

Yeah, wrong.

My own lack of knowledge comes into play here.  I know I've frequently seen signs at other medical imaging spots.

"OPEN MRI."

Okay, I knew there were more modern ways to do MRIs.  But, I had undergone them in the past on my knee and my ankle.  How complicated can this be?   In retrospect, I should have asked more questions.   Because I would have learned that this particular imaging place had perhaps one of the first MRI machines ever built.  

And it was one of those CLOSED contraptions.

Trust me, I was well down the road of this journey before I knew that.

What made matters worse was the technician that ran this test.   While all the other folks I had dealt with previously were top-notch and personable to boot, this guy had a major attitude.  I should have known when I saw him lingering around the reception desk looking for some sugar from the clerk.  Earring studs in both ears.  Smart and cocky because he was decked out in scrubs.  Acting like he was an important doctor when, in reality, any asshole can be taught to run a MRI machine.

Lucky me when he was the one who called my name next.  

He grunted some instructions to me as another nurse took blood and inserted the necessary IV.  He then led me into the room where the machine was housed.  I asked him how long this would take.  

"Thirty, maybe forty minutes."

This guy had the bedside manner of a Nazi commandant.  

Because the machine can be noisy, he popped some headphones on me.   Okay, this was nothing new to me.  In the past, I knew that the technician uses them also to talk you through the procedure.

And then it happened.  With arms up over my head, the gurney slid into this steel casket.   This was going to be way beyond my knee and my ankle.  Suddenly, I am in a tube with the top being no more than five inches from my face.

What the everlovin' fuck.

As a rule, I'm not claustrophobic, but this was one scary and unsettling experience.  I called out to the technician.   No response.

And he didn't answer any of my questions or pleas for the next thirty minutes.  I felt like I was shut off from the rest of the world.   And my only connection to civilization was a rabid pitbull.

Finally, I was inched out of the machine.  I guess my oppressor had grown tired of my complaints.   He yanked the headphones off me in one jolt.

"SIR, WE ARE AT THE TAIL END OF THE PROCEDURE."

He threw the headphones back on my head and I was injected back into the time capsule of death.

It seemed like an eternity, but it really was only ten more minutes.   When I came out of the MRI and the technician/fascist removed the IV from my arm, I apologized for my behavior.  I generally am a good patient.

"SIR, PLEASE BE STILL SO I CAN GET THE NEEDLE OUT."

Here's somebody who clearly hates his job.  Or some people.  Or maybe there was something more deeply engrained in his own body chemistry.  Because this was clearly a belligerent human being in a position that requires just a little bit of TLC.

My time in the coffin was over.   And I can imagine the sensations perhaps extolled in this Ray Milland movie.  If ever I need to have another MRI in my life, I will try to remember those places which advertised "OPEN MRIs."   

And I will try to make sure that the technician at the facility is not taking out his aggressions on the first patient that walks through the front door.

Oh, and by the way...MRI results were normal.

Dinner last night:  Leftover pasta.