Hug your Cushie: What is getting an MRI like?
I patiently watched that video. It all sounds pretty doable. Pleasant even! Well, why do I associate this machine with a torture chamber?
I have been getting MRIs every six months for seven years now. I used to convince myself that it was no big deal. It was, after all, just what had to happen as a patient with pituitary tumors.
Stoic. I'm always trying to be stoic.
The last time I went for my pituitary MRI with dynamic protocol, I asked my dear friend Melony to tag along as "moms play date." I promised her dinner afterwards, but one condition: she could not make me laugh in there. Melony held on to my leg the whole time. At the end, she asked, in tears, how I can stay so strong every time? I told her that I really am not! I hate that machine! I hate the noises! I hate the head contraption that keeps my neck from moving. I hate lying in a tube where my whole body is touching the bottom and sides of the tube, with only four inches of space between my chest and the top of the MRI tube. I hate MRIs. There. I said it.