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MRI for sissies
Recently I found myself visiting the office of an orthopedic spine surgeon. While I was waiting my turn, at least three people came out of the exam rooms unhappy, having gotten the news they would need to undergo an MRI exam. These appeared to be pre-surgical patients who'd visited this doctor for pain relief. Every last one of them wailed that they "had claustrophobia" and would need an "open" MRI. When told that insurance may not cover the entire cost of this de luxe treatment, and that the only available open MRI facillity was ten or fifteen miles away, all complained about that.
Without eavesdropping too much (they were complaining out loud), I learned that at least one of these people had never undergone an MRI exam before, but had decided on her own (with the help of madical marketing people) that she "needed" the more expensive procedure.
Having just undergone critical surgery for a spinal cord injury, I wanted to smack every one of them. Do they want pain relief or not? If so, why not just man-up and have the exam. My recent MRI experience was my first, and I simply went into it without any preconception that it would be one way or another. I know people who've undergone the examination, but I also know everyone's reaction is different.
A soft-voiced technician helped me on to the bed of the machine, and positioned a couple of pillows so that I was lying in a very comfortable position. I got a set of headphones, along with a squeeze bulb I could use to let the tech know if I was starting to panic.
The worst part of the procedure was the insipid "soft jazz" piped in through the headphones. The technician's reassuring voice informed me of everything that was about to happen, and how long it would take. When my bed was slid into the MRI tube, my arms were against my chest, but I didn't feel trapped. How could someone feel trapped, knowing there was a responsible person in control, who'd yank me out of the tube on request? Cool air blowing through the tube kept me comfortable; I barely broke a sweat. Before I knew it, I was done and being helped to my feet.
"Why the big fuss?" I wondered. Hell, I'd sat through five and a half hours of root canal treatment a few years ago, and only a week prior to this MRI had found myself trapped upside down in my overturned truck. This was a walk in the park, except that I had skipped breakfast and was hungry.
People seem to have become such babies about a little discomfort and inconvenience that I find myself tempted to ask whether they'd perhaps rather suffer with their original injury or illness, rather than work toward being cured.