The Tunnel of Terror

Yes, I know, it's been a month since my last blog (wow, that sounds like the beginning of Confession doesn't it?) Anyway, lots going on here in the hinterlands of northwestern NJ. It is that time of year again for me (MRI) and that always makes me test the upper limits of blood pressure.

I am a claustrophobe. I mean, I have it REALLY bad - even reading about someone being in a small space makes me hyperventilate. Years ago, I had to get an MRI for my back. Not knowing the extent of my own terror, I sashayed into the imaging center and presented myself to the technician. She wheeled me into the machine ... and within 30 seconds, I was unable to breath. Whoosh. Out I came. Turns out that being able to tilt my head back and see out the top of the tunnel didn't actually help. I remember thinking at the time that I couldn't imagine how anyone could survive having their brain scanned in the Tunnel of Terror. I think I even felt some condescending pity.

So, you can imagine my distress 3 years ago when my ENT told me I needed an MRI ... of my head!!! Crap. My head in the Tunnel of Terror ... what could be worse? I demanded a sedative and then spent the next two weeks stressing about getting the MRI. Mind you, I wasn't the least bit worried about what might turn up on the MRI - after all, who the hell gets brain tumors, anyway? Well, you all know how that turned out. I survived the MRI and got "the call" the next day. Yep, brain tumor. Holy crap.

And, by the way, did you know that there is a special category of claustrophia just for MRI machines. Don't believe me? Go ahead and Google "MRI Claustrophia." Hah!

I am now a veteran of the brain MRI (I know, isn't it ironic that someone who is terrified to be enclosed in a small space has to get MRIs every year?) and I am here to tell you that it still scares the crap out of me. Yep, I still need to be sedated, and Willie still sits at the end of the MRI Table of Terror and holds my ankle. This is important because I need to know that I can be snatched from the jaws of certain death if necessary.

A few years ago, some well-intentioned person/s decided that developing an MRI machine that has a wider openeing and a shorter "bore" would be an excellent idea. And, it certainly is...for someone else. For me, there is no "bore" short enough, nor any tunnel wide enough to make me feel any less likely to die on the spot. Nope, I'm not falling for that "wide bore" crap again. That sucker is still terrifying.

So why am I writing about this now? Well, I just had my 3-year brain MRI last Monday (no scary white blobs - yay!!!!) And, now, lucky me, I have to get ANOTHER MRI this upcoming Monday - yes, on Valentine's Day. Happy freaking Valentine's Day to me. So while all of you are enjoying a nice romantic dinner I will be passed out on the sofa, spit dribbling down my chin, sleeping off the after effects of valium. Is it any wonder Willie loves me?

So would you please have a glass of something red for me? I'll be the one passed out in the corner.