Dateline Boston — My left knee has been bothering me all summer. It hurts most when going up or down stairs. Anything can set it off — getting up from sitting, turning over when sleeping, or simply turning a certain way. I saw an orthopedic nurse who recommended physical therapy. That made it worse, so I asked for an MRI. Request accepted.
When I got to the hospital where the test was to be performed, I felt like a rat in a maze. I kept following MRI signs. Eventually I got to what seemed like a forgotten corner of the hospital. It looked as if someone had erected a wall by mistake and the staff said, “There’s enough room for four chairs. We can pass this off as a waiting area.” My appointment was at 5 o’clock. I hoped the technician wouldn’t be tired from performing tests all day.
I squeezed in between two other people waiting for MRIs, and filled out four pages of paperwork. Pregnant? No. Shrapnel in your body? Thankfully, no. Tattoos? Um, yes, but not with any metal in them. (Did you know that permanent eyeliner has metal in it?) Claustrophobic? Well, yes, but not if it’s going to prevent me from taking this test.
After a few minutes, the technician called my name and brought me to the changing room. I was told to remove all clothing except for socks and underwear, and put on one gown open in the back, another one over that open in the front, pants, and socks over my socks. Every article of clothing was size XXL. I put on the getup, locked my belongings in the locker provided, and went back out to the waiting area. Talk about claustrophobic. It got to be so late that the receptionist turned off the lights of her office, locked the door, and went home.
Welcome to Inner Space
Finally, it was my turn. I shuffled behind the technician into an area that was bizarre. It looked like a space station. There was a lot of metal in the room. There were a few chairs to wait in, and a short set of stairs to the right. Next to the chairs was a flimsy door, sort of like a screen door that went directly outside. A lift in front of the chairs took you up to a messy office area, and the MRI machine was to the left. I thought I was being punked. Was this place legit?
The guy before me came out of the machine area and joked with the tech. As they rode the lift down, he said, “My doctor said I’m gonna live till I die.” He was a character, that one. I got on the lift next, and I remarked on the appearance of the room. “Does that door go right outside?” The tech said it was a mobile unit, and it had been there for seven or eight years. She then told me that since they had been running late, she would do my test as fast as possible. I said nervously, “Well, don’t do it too fast. No mistakes, heh, heh.” I gulped.
I laid down on a table with a pillow under my head. I was given ear plugs, which I stuck into my ears. The tech wrapped my knee foam and told me that we could talk to each other. She gave me a pump with a bulb at the end and told me it was my panic bubble. Great. She instructed me to be absolutely still. The test would be done in 20 minutes.
The table slid into a rounded tube, but since I was having my knee magnetized, I didn’t go all the way in. Thank goodness, because I might have really been claustrophobic. Since I have multiple tattoos, I’m good at relaxing. I took a few deep breaths, and daydreamed the next 20 minutes away.
I felt like I was back in my mom’s belly. There was a constant whooshing sound, the kind you hear on a noise machine labled “womb.” WHICK, WHICK, WHICK, WHICK. Then the magnets started. That sounded like someone gave a three-year-old a toy ray gun and told him to press the button as much as he wanted. EHN, EHN, EHN, EHN. EHN. The noises blended together, and suddenly stopped. The kid was given a drum. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. Then a different ray gun. DADADADADADADA. These sounds repeated, stopped for 20 minutes, then my magical MRI ride was over. I was very relaxed. My knee pinched when I got off the table. I told the technician I hoped they would find out what was wrong with my knee. She wished me good luck and sent me on my way. When I got back to the waiting area, Husband was waiting for me. Together, we exited the rat maze and headed off into the sunset.
Ms. Vaillancourt may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
