Friday, February 4, 2011

Closed spaces

I'm scared.

Terrified.

If you're a regular reader, you know how smashed up my shoulder is.

If you're a friend in real life, you know how painful some of my day-to-day activities are.

There's only one way out of this situation, my chiropractor says.

Surgery.

Dr. H suspects I'll be going under the knife fairly quickly. Of course, he can't tell how bad it is on the inside but he knows how bad my range of motion has been and he's heard the very audible clicks, the sound of the torn cartilage catching between the ball and socket of the joint.

The only way we'll know how bad it is? Take a look inside.

So after a long four-month wait, it's time for my MRI on Tuesday.

And that's what has me petrified.

Not surgery.

Been there, done that ... a couple of times.

See, I made a huge mistake earlier this week. I did some reading on MRIs and the material left me shaking, horrified at what I was getting myself into.

It isn't even my first MRI. I had one on my knee a few years ago. But for knees, you get pushed into the chamber feet first and I went only hips deep.

This one will be a little different.

First, there's this needle thing. The doctor has to inject ink into my arm to create contrast in the image. Some people posted their own thoughts on the needle and said it was quite painful.

For up to 24 hours later!

I'm a wuss when it comes to needles.

But I'm a bigger wuss when it comes to closed spaces.

I have been since I was 17 and he put a pillow over my face to keep the partiers in the other room from hearing me say no.

I lose my breath. I get dizzy.

I panic.

The material I read told me I would be going into the chamber head first. OK, that makes sense.

But it said I'm in there for possibly up to 45 minutes.

I felt that familiar catch in my throat, the tears start to well up and the feeling of terror.

Fear of not being able to escape if I need to.

With luck, the Xanax my doctor prescribed for me this morning will allay my fears.

With my history with prescription drugs, it will likely knock me on my ass for eight hours and my friend Dana will have to carry me out of the hospital.

You can imagine what I think my best-case scenario is.

I just hope Dana is feeling strong on Tuesday.

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