It's Just My Hand!
Earlier this week, I had an MRI on my hand and actually didn’t get stressed for a single minute leading up to it. Sounds so simple doesn’t it? Why would I worry. It’s just my hand.
I was so cool until the intake and then…what?!?!
I was informed you have to either lie on your stomach with your arm completely outstretched or your side with your arm in the same position.
For 30 minutes! And naturally, you cannot move.
“Don’t you have a machine where I just place my hand inside?”
“No.”
I tell her I have neck and shoulder issues and she nods in understanding. She then tells me that if I feel I cannot hold this position for the full 30 minutes, then I shouldn’t do it since the minute they start the actual MRI, my insurance will be charged whether completed or not.
Okay, can I do this? I know I sleep on my side for longer than 30 minutes, but I usually wake up with something hurting somewhere.
She hands me scrubs that are one size fits all. The pants are so large, they’re sliding down my legs as I try to cinch the waist. And why do I have to wear these when it’s JUST MY HAND!
I go into a waiting room where I lock away my personal belongings and have plenty of time to wonder whether I should just go home and come back another day on anxiety meds (which she suggested) or bite the bullet, which I did.
Getting into position was challenging since you lay on this narrow table and you have to ensure your hand is placed in the mini-MRI tunnel that’s stretched out arm distance above your head. We played around for a bit with pillows until I felt somewhat comfortable and then they shoved an earplug in my exposed ear and large headphones over my head. They then made sure my hand was strategically placed and dumped a weighted bag on my hand to ensure I wouldn’t move it.
I closed my eyes expecting to be moved completely into the full tunnel, but I wasn’t. I heard the familiar sounds of being buried alive at a construction site, but I actually found it somewhat helpful. The different rhythms of the banging and clanging shifted my focus off the fact my underarm and shoulder were hurting, my right nostril was crushed into the pillow, my jaw hurt where it was laying on top of the headphone, and my throat was dry causing me to desperately suppress the need to cough.
I kept telling myself how strong I am and I can do this. It’s your hand, asshole, I repeated as a mantra. If I want to feel better, I have to know what’s wrong, so woman up and stop your whining. Every now and then, I thought I might scream, but I’d rein it in and focus instead on the unique MRI drumbeats. I guess my Zumba classes paid off in a way I never expected. I actually had to fight the urge to move to the beat.
When it was over, the techs told me this was one of the top worst MRIs patients had to endure. Interesting.
I’d love to hear about your fun MRI experiences. Please share.