I had another MRI the other day (click here if you missed my first one). Because it’s been 6 months since my meniscus surgery and I am still suffering from knee pain. The kind of pain that takes me twice the amount of time to climb a set of stairs. Last time I checked I am a person, not a sloth. Although I do have to admit to feeling like a sloth at times. But that’s a whole other problem. All I can say is I promise you I know what it feels like to be 96. And it sucks so bad.
Anyway, this was my second MRI ever and I am a total expert by now. Here is what I noticed this time around:
Why do they give you that questionnaire thingy when they don’t even look at it? How did I know they didn’t look at it? Because the guy re-asked me the questions. Like I was lying the first time. Yes, that’s what it was. I was lying. On second thought, I do have some shrapnel in my body. My bad.
It is confirmed to me that I have adult ADD when I do something like this: not listen to a thing the nice man is telling me when I have to get dressed for my procedure. “Put on these pants and then….” “Did I turn off the oven? Wait. What?” Ok, so do I put the gown opening in the front or the back? Did he even say I had to put it on? Hello? I’m having my knee x-rayed. Not my boobs. Pay attention, pay attention…ooh, a squirrel.
Thank you for the pretty picture of the beach you put on the ceiling. Too bad that by the time you roll me into the machine it is behind me. And because you said I couldn’t move, I had to roll my eyeballs all the way up practically into my head so I could enjoy it. Except I totally looked like I was either having a seizure or a bad drug experience.
How come when The Kid had her MRI on her foot, they let her choose the radio station? Is it because I look like an old hag and they just assumed that I wanted easy listening? Aren’t they breaking some kind of Equal Opportunity laws or something?
Apparently, Barry Manilow is the go-to guy for MRI’s. Except instead of singing to Mandy, he actually sang to me. I know this because he said, “this one’s for you.” Thanks Barry. You the man. Well, the MRI man, anyway.
Why do the most itches happen when you can’t move? I could go all day without noticing an itch. But when instructed not to move for 25 minutes? It’s like a spider had babies on my ankle and all her little spider babies made their way all the way up to my ear. What is that?
I suddenly remembered a time when someone I knew had to have a test and they couldn’t swallow. “Okay Mo, don’t swallow. You can do this.” Oh, wait. What am I doing? I’m here for an MRI. Right? Squirrel.
Oh God, I’m gonna sneeze. Ooh, remember a long time ago that trapeze family fell to their deaths while doing a circus act because one of the members sneezed? That was terrible. But that won’t happen to me. Honestly, the only thing I’m worried about is the keys flying off the wall and stabbing me in the brain. It could happen.
So my prognosis? Something about the cartilage not healing all the way so I need to have some gel injections until it does heal. Whatever. Just as long as they don’t have to cut me open again. I can’t take any more old lady knee. Not that there is anything wrong with old lady knee. But I’m not ol…oh, never mind.
It’s funny the crap that creeps into your brain while you are sitting about trying to recuperate from surgery. With too much time on my hands, my brain is literally having a conversation with itself. Honestly, I’m afraid of short circuiting it. There hasn’t been this much activity since The Kid tried to teach me how to do the new fangled way of figuring out division.
Gawd, I’m getting a little sick of a song always playing in my head. Actually, now that I think about it, there have been rare times when there was just empty vastness. But then as soon as my brain realizes that, “Copacabana” rushes up in there and fills that empty space. I would prefer something soothing. Like “California Dreamin’.” “All the leaves are brown/her name was Lola, she was a showgirl/the preacher likes the cold/She would merengue and do the cha-cha.” Darnit. Barry Manilow wins every time. No amount of inner brain song screaming makes Lola go away.
Am I supposed to still have that swelling? Is that normal swelling or could there be water in there? If I stick a pin in my skin, will I get a bath? Ohmygod. I feel nauseous. Ohmygod. Ewww. Think of something else. Think of something else. “Her name was Lola…”
What’s on TV? Dr. Phil. Nope. Don’t like him anymore. Dr. Oz. Nope. Boring. Program about murders. Nope. Depressing. The Brady Bunch. Now you’re talking. I wonder which episode it is? I really liked the one where they went to Hawaii. I remember Hawaii Five O. I never really watched that show but I did like Charlie’s Angels. Farrah Fawcett was the best. When she left I didn’t watch it anymore. I remember my brother had that poster in his room of her. You could spell SEX in her hair. Man, do I need my hair cut.
I wonder if I will injure myself if I walk up the stairs like a normal person. Or at least try to go up the stairs like a normal person. (insert sudden image of me falling backwards down steps) Ooh. Probably not a good idea.
That magazine on the coffee table is kinda hanging over the edge. It’s really bugging me. Bad. I should get up and push it over. (two hours later) That magazine is really bugging me. I should get up and push it over. (getting up to pee and sitting back down) I forgot to push that darn magazine over.
Now when I go to a new doctor and I have to fill out the paperwork, I have to add this to my list. I remember when all I had on my list was nothing. I was pretty proud of that nothing. No. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.
Does a tree make a sound if it falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it?
Some people suck poppycock. What is poppycock? Isn’t it candy or something? Hmmm, I wonder if we sell poppycock at My Retail Job? I wonder if they miss me at My Retail Job. I should go in there tomorrow and say hi. Nah, I need gas.
I really, really need to get my hair cut and colored. Hmm. When should I make the appointment? Definitely before I go to Rhode Island. Oh crap. That’s in two weeks. Can I sit in that chair for 2 hours? With my knee bent? I wonder if they have a hassock I can rest my leg on? My upper lip needs a good waxing. How am I going to shave my bad knee? Oh my God. I am going to Rhode Island in 2 weeks. I’m not going to be able to run around like I usually do. What if someone bumps into me? Maybe I should have waited to schedule my surgery. Think I’ll be able to go Christmas shopping?
Man, I’m getting sick of laying on my back. I wonder if I can get some pillows and put them between my knees so I can sleep on my side. Sleeping on your side adds wrinkles. And my arm gets numb. I wonder when I’ll be able to sleep on my stomach again? I really need to sleep on my stomach. I really need to. I think I’m going to have a panic attack.
Ooh, I love it when House Hunters is in Italy. I would love to retire to Italy. I really should start that Rosetta Stone DH got me for my birthday. But if I learn italian now, I know I’ll forget it. When are we retiring? Let’s see, I’m 46 now. DH is 52. He probably should be done working by the time he’s 65 so that’s in 52 to 62 plus 3 is 13 years. Right? Did I do that math right? I have plenty of time. Well maybe Italy could just be a vacation. A nice warm tropical place would be really nice to live. On the beach. Think there will be drink boys there?
Okay, that was exhausting. I don’t know about you but I need a nap. Honestly, I have been thinking way too much. I need to go back to work and cut this crap off. Wait, when am I going back to work? Will I be able to stand for a long time? What if my knee locks up? “The hottest spot north of Havana…”
I had an MRI the other day. I’ve never had an MRI before, so I didn’t know what to expect. But really? Why does it take 30 freaking minutes to scan ONE knee? My experience in 6 bullet points. In case you were wondering.
There is one thing they need to add to the “How to Prep for an MRI” list: “Don’t bother waking up early to spend extra time in the shower shaving your legs because we will be providing lovely pajama bottoms for your convenience.” And I totally would have loved my 3XXL pj bottoms if I were sitting around pigging out on pork rinds and Krispy Kremes watching back episodes of “The Big Bang Theory” on a Saturday afternoon. Totally.
Thank you so much for the headphones with the volume set on 1. I assumed they were meant to drown out the sound of the MRI, not Barry Manilow. My bad. “Oh Mand…bangbangbang…you came and you…boomboomboom.”
The nice technician lady told me that when it makes a “clicking” sound to be very, very still. Because I am a rule follower, I did as I was told. The only problem is I never quite heard a “clicking” sound. What I did hear was a jackhammer and a machine gun. There is nothing worse than lying in the same position for a half an hour scared shitless of what will happen to you if you so much as breathed too deeply. It took 15 minutes to get feeling back in my right foot.
I find it funny that when you can’t move, itches multiply. It’s an odd phenomenon, isn’t it?
It’s probably not a good idea to let your mind wander during one of these things. My mind happened to wander into a story I heard a long time ago about an MRI gone bad. All I could think about were the keys hanging by the door that unlocked my locker. It was possible that they could have come flying off the wall and stab me in the brain, right?
I kept wondering when it was going to be over because I really needed to move my foot. Then 27 minutes into it, I noticed there was a timer above my head. I just love how detail-oriented I am.
Whelp, the results are in. Not only is my left meniscus torn in one place, but in two. Apparently, it’s both a quick fix and a quick recovery. In fact, they do it while you are awake. Great. I can’t stand the thought of having a bloody nose. Imagining that they will be making two holes in my leg while I lie there awake will most likely freak me the freak out. I’m hoping they give me something other than a knee numbing drug. A brain numbing drug would be really nice. Yes, I would like that very much. Taking the chance I may say something inappropriate while under the influence is one I am willing to accept. Oh hell, let’s face it. I say something inappropriate even when not under the influence. Bring it on.
And as far as running is concerned…I am going to run my ass off for the next 7 days. Because after that, I can’t do much for a week. Ok, two weeks. Ok, after I ran into someone I know today at My Retail Job, it turns out I need to not run for 6 weeks. Shit. I’m now thinking I should have crammed a pair of those 3XXL pants into my bag. I may be needing them.