Fright of My Life

It's more than an hour after it happened, but my heart is still pounding in my chest, I'm shaking and my breathing is shallow and laboured. Goodness only knows what my blood pressure is right now. I'm still trying to recover from an anxiety attack, the proportions of which I've never experienced before. Why? Well, because they just tried to put me into one of these:

I went back to the doctor this morning about my shoulder as, for the past week, it seems to be getting worse again. He said based on that, and the fact the area of pain is spreading (down to my elbow and across my collar-bone) he believes now that there is a tear and not just inflammation. Four months later, we might just be getting to the real problem.

So, MRI time. I've been dreading this. He did tell me before that because of my size (yes, I'm a fat chick but I can still fit in coach class seats when I fly - and I'm talking Asian airlines!) it might be difficult but I did some research and if the table can easily take 350lbs, which I'm NOWHERE near, I figured it should be ok, that the bore must have some relativity to that weight allowance.

I'm also claustrophobic, so I wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to get in there, but I know I have to fix this shoulder once and for all. And it could mean surgery. Well, if it's a tear it most likely will mean surgery. I don't even want to think about how I'll get into my bra with an arm in a sling and an immobilised shoulder. And trust me, there's not going bra-less with these puppy dogs!

Anyway, I say "Book it Danno" (even though his name is Julian) and he confirms a slot is free at noon. Today? Yes, today. Ummm all right. He describes what is going to happen and so on, and then asks that critical question - are you claustrophobic. Yes, most definitely so. You know those coach class seats I mentioned? I've no problem with the seats, it's the fact they're stuffed into rows where my knees dig into the back of the seat in front, and I'm contained in this small metal tube which is wrapped around the rows of seats, and I'm enclosed in that tube, that is what bothers me. Big time.

So I arrive at the hospital, go into the basement where they keep all the heavy equipment and register. They look me up and down and start whispering. And I know what it is. Against Hong Kong standards I'm ginormous. Head and shoulders, hips and thighs above and beyond your average person here. They don't have a ladies' gown big enough. After much muttering and more than a few giggles, I'm shown to the changing room and the radiographer says to take everything off from the waist up. As he closed the door, he mumbled: "The gown might be a bit long." I look at the label and it's an MXL. Oh boy I already know this isn't going to work, men don't have breasts, so no matter how XL it is, it's not designed for someone with the boobage going on. I take a deep breath and put it on and of course it goes around my waist but it only just covers the boobs. The damn thing is secured only by a tie around the waist and yes, you've got it right, substantial gaping is occurring above the waist. Plus, when he said it might be a bit long, he didn't say it was sized for a seven-foot male! With breasts all but on display, I can't even hold it closed across them as I'm having to gather about three feet of ridiculously heavily-starched fabric from trailing across the floor. Hospital gowns aren't meant to have a train!

I hop up onto the table, more than aware that this poor young man will probably never want to see another breast ever again in his life, and lie down. Another briefing by him and his female assistant, I'm arranged and strapped and goodness knows what else, then an alarm button is thrust into my hand. All along I'm thinking, Fiona you can do this, you're stubborn enough to will it away. I'd read a bit about it, the close proximity of the bore and the clanging and so on. Mentally I thought I was ready. Until the sides of the bore started pressing into and sliding along my shoulders and arms and I felt I couldn't move and, and, and, and.....major anxiety attack starts. I couldn't breathe, my heart rate shot up, I asked them to stop and they pulled me out. I was in tears, I could hear my pulse in my ears and I was shaking like a leaf.

He said that this is a common thing and lots of people have this response. But that with the degree and speed it happened with me, he couldn't even give me a Valium to relax me, I'd have to be knocked out to be able to take 45 minutes in the machine. And they wouldn't knock me out as I was alone. I was kind of glad about that as I was already in a mess and I didn't fancy being totally unconscious for almost an hour.

So now I'm here, still shaking, my heart still pounding and I have to call my doctor to look at my options. Apparently there's an open MRI machine somewhere here, but the quality of the imaging isn't as clear as he likes to work from.

I think it's going to be the only solution. And next time, I'm taking a t-shirt to wear!

It turns out I'm a fight, not flight person, except when it comes to MRIs. Someone just came to see me and asked if I was alright, so goodness only knows what I must look like!

Update: I woke up in a cold sweat last night, gasping for breath. I had a nightmare that they'd sedated me but that I came round while I was still in the machine. Oh boy!

Update Thursday: I'm booked in tomorrow for an open MRI scan at a specialist scanning centre. When I spoke with the doctor he said that he'd not put me through trying to cope with the traditional MRI machine as the report he'd had back from the hospital was that due to my very severe claustrophobia, they would have to give me a general anaesthetic! I still feel like a wimp!