I am not claustrophobic, but I have had one or two panic attacks. When I scheduled my MRI, and, again, on the day of the imaging, I was asked: are you claustrophobic? "No," I confidently replied, "I'm not." As I kid I used to seek out small spaces to feel cuddled. (At one point I slept in my closet for a few days...with all the clothes still inside!) It wasn't until I was older and saw that Frontline special about the fire in the London tube that I ever second guessed going into an enclosed space. Still, I never had an MRI of my head before and hadn't given much conscious thought to the experience. Unfortunately, it turns out, since everyone made such a big deal about being claustrophobic, what was lurking in my subconscious was an impression of the procedure as akin to getting buried alive.
As the technician walked me down the hall, he casually mentioned that I was going to get an injection. "They told you about that, right?" he asked.
"No," I answered, "no, they did not."
I believe I've made allusion here before about how my blood pressure plummets at the sight of blood or suggestion of anything that could possibly bring blood forth from its happy place within the human body. Combine my mental images of getting buried alive + cue up the "Juliane fainting, episode #219" tape and I was primed to successfully fulfill their worst fears as a claustrophobe-denier. As the carriage started to slide into the tunnel, I closed my eyes and tried to breath normally. I kept my eyes closed, thinking if I didn't know how tightly I was entombed, I would feel freer. Yet, I could feel the trapped animal straining in my chest and my breathing starting to stutter. "Do I press the 'get me out of here!' button? Can I talk myself down from this?"
My sister loves to tell stories (she's a brilliant writer). She makes them up and encourages her kids to create tales, too. To distract her kids from injury or dullness, she makes them tell her a story. She'll prime the telling with a character, setting, or event, and then they'll run with it. As I struggled with my inner dialog ("You are not really claustrophobic, Juliane! "Oh, yeah? Then why am I hyperventilating?!"), I thought of her.
And I was stopped panicking. For the 18 minute procedure, I thought about my sister and her family and how we'll all be together again, soon. Even through the injection, I kept it together. While I won't say it was bliss, there certainly is a power in holding on to a happy thought.
(I can't wait to see my niece and nephew and tell them this story!)
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