I M R finished with my MRI. I M R relieved. I M R chicken.
When it's comes to mere words and letters, few invoke such fear as MRI: Magnetic Resonance Imaging.
It may as well mean Major Raging Insanity. Or My Real Impediment. It's simply big trouble to me.
For the past two months I've had hanging over my head the prospect of taking an MRI to find out why I've lost half the hearing in my left ear. I'd love to say that's the ear my wife usually addresses when counseling me, but I won't. I wouldn't want her to know my suspicions.
MRI and I have met in a dark alley before and I came out the loser. Long ago, when I was a man of much younger years, I was given an MRI to learn why I was experiencing sciatica. It didn't work because I couldn't lie still in the machine for 20 minutes. If you've ever had sciatica, you know what I mean.
But the die was cast. Little did I know that shortly after that, and hearing others bemoan MRI's, I opted for the 'open' version. That worked, I guess, although the doctor said the quality of the pictures was inferior to the real McCoy. No matter. My back ailments were under control so that was the last of the MRI's for this fellow.
Or so I thought.
Last Spring my allergies acted up and my ear starting bugging me. It didn't go away. A buzzing started and hasn't stopped yet. Doc says he's stumped. Go to a Specialist, says he. Specialist says M...R...I. Oh, no! Anything but that.
Get yourself under control, I told myself. Didn't work. Go to Plan B.
"Hey, Doc," I said, "how about an open MRI?"
"Open MRI's are for sissies," he retorted. No he didn't, but he did note that the open ones still just wouldn't cut it. Poor picture resolution, don't you know.
For two months I tried to get that MRI done. Of course, by now I knew that I would have to be knocked out to do this. So I went to Flagler Hospital eight weeks ago to put myself out of this overhanging misery. But my wife noticed a large bruise on my calf and when the nurse saw it, that was the end of attempt #1.
Re-scheduling medical exams, as many of you know, is a bigger pain that the big pain you're trying to diagnose. Between this and that and this and that, it didn't get done. But it had to do it.
Lucky me. I saw an ad for Palm Coast Imaging. They had this enlarged MRI. It looked on TV like you could drive a Expedition through it from Flagler Ford. That's the ticket, I thought. My troubles were ended. Tried it. It was bad news. Couldn't do it. The MRI may be bigger than normal ones, but that blasted cage they put around my head to do Kodak shots of the brain was too confining.
This was now becoming the albatross of all birds. I was at my wits end. I simply had to get this test done and knowing that I was the cause for all this hullabaloo was too much to bear.
Back to the hospital and knock-out city. It wasn't knock-out city as they promised -- oops! - but I was doped up enough that I finally did it. Victory at last, if you could call this sickening saga successful.
That large sigh you heard wafting over Palm Coast from the North the other day near lunchtime was me after I emerged from the tube of torture.
But it's over -- for now. Will there be a next time? I shudder at the thought.
But for now. I M R done!
++++
Fred W. Apelquist, III, M. Ed.
Approximately 630 words.
(c) 2000