I had an MRI to rule out brain lesions as an explanation for the progressive cognitive decline. The good news is they didn't find anything (badum bum! come on, Dad, I totally set you up for that one!). Laying in the extremely loud, extremely claustrophobic space, I tried to fall in love with the sound of the machine. The technician only said 1000x to hold still, but the thing was so loud and would start and stop that I startled every time it got going again.
"Ma'am, it's important that you hold still."
"Ma'am, please, try not to move your head."
I'm so weird sometimes. When checking into the reception for the procedure, I had to fill out three pages of questionnaire: do you have a pacemaker? have you had an MRI before? what are your allergies? I absolutely bristle at these things. I panic, literally, that these bits of paper covered with such personal information will get lost in the shuffle (which has happened) or that my records will not be kept confidential (has also happened). I am so overwrought by this questionnaire that I won't even answer the first question: why are you having this procedure today? "It's none of their GD business!" my internal voice shouts, "They should already know this! It's in the d*mn chart!" These nosy people, who are only trying to help, are the enemy. And, yet, I'll thankfully pour all my fears and last health detail into a woman with whom I've worked for only 6 mos.
At the grocery, I am that woman who patiently waits behind the frazzled parent and screaming child in the checkout line. I try to engage the young child and keep her distracted so her parent can just, please, have one quiet moment to find the coupons and clubsaver card. Yet, when I call my benefits company, I am already spitting and screaming if I have to repeat my user ID more than once.
Schizophrenia is detectable by MRI. I'm just not sure they were looking for it.
Hi -- Been thinking about this one -- I think that at the store, you feel better because you can help someone else, also you see that someone else is having a worse time than you. Also ---- one of the really nice things about being a parent of little kids is that the kids express your frustration for you! When they vent it's a little like you're venting, too. But then you get to be all high-handed and say oh, it's no big deal... A lot like being the older sister comforting the younger one : )
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