Out of the dark

I just got home from my MRI at the Stanford Imaging Center in Redwood City; the 7pm appointment was the only available time so I had to take it. I went by myself because JM had to stay at home and watch the girls. I was only one of four cars parked in the dimly lit parking lot. I parked and walked up to the building and was greeted by a guest services staff who pointed me in the right direction. 

The lobby was filled with the sounds from the self-playing piano and low-lights that left the lobby feeling eerie. The one advantage to geting the imaging done so late in the day is that there's no wait. I checked in and before I had a chance to open my book and read, I was ushered into the dressing room. I undressed and put on my two hospital gowns as instructed and looked in the mirror and giggled. I looked silly; my riding boots, leggings and my oversized flower-printed hospital gown with my purple scarf...not that I was going to a party, but could they make these hospital gowns any less attractive? 

I got an IV (for contrast injection) and followed the Tech to the room. Laid down face down with my breasts hanging down in the MRI contraption, got some ear plugs and headphones and waited. I was given some instructions about the injection then the machine slid me in. As I laid there, I closed my eyes and my mind started spinning. The last couple of days of imaging brought me back to the very beginning of this whole ordeal.  The anticipation and nervousness all came rushing back and my body felt unbalanced and unstable. What if they find something. What if the chemo did not accomplish all that we thought it had.  I tried to ignore it, but it kept getting worse. I opened my eyes and the spinning stopped. I tried to remember the positive results of the mammogram and ultrasound from the day prior to calm my nerves, but every time I closed my eyes my mind wandered to places I did not want to be and thoughts I didn't want to think. 

All the unknowns and what-ifs that have been creeping into my mind for the last six months exploded over me like an avalanche as I laid on the table in the dark in what felt like a coffin. The edges of the machine were pressing up against my arms and making me feel claustrophobic. The loud foreign noises were making me feel anxious and uneasy. My body got more and more tense as the scan went on and on.  My body involuntarily jumped at each noise and vibration during what felt like hours. When I felt like I couldn't take it anymore, the tech finally came back in and I was done. I was rolled back out of the machine, got off the table and remembered that I am not the same person I was 6 months ago. I have been through what felt like hell sometimes and am now back recovering and trying to slowly regain composure of myself.