Forgive me for not posting about my last brain MRI from November, which thankfully shows things sittin' just fine! This is what I wrote on November 6, 2012 but neglected to post until now:
I had an MRI yesterday and while things seem to be going excellently with the noggin and my resuming work and regular life, my emotions started up when I had to fill out a run-of-the-mill doctor's office form. When it asked for my height (which hasn’t changed since I was 13), I thought about it and wrote 5’10" (which is actually my sister's height). Then while sitting in the waiting room after I had already turned in the electronic clipboard, a surge of panicked realization surged through me. Oh, Dawn! You’re 5’8 ¾”! I'm unfortunately very critical of myself...especially when I make what feels like "silly" mistakes. People constantly remind me that they make similar mistakes to the ones I make "all the time," but it's altogether too easy for me to quickly associate errors with my brain surgery bout.
Enter hot, burning oozing behind the eyes as I tried to suppress determined, leaking, salty tears. By the time I was in the MRI room with the familiar machinery blooping and beeping, whirring and putt-putting, I couldn’t hold them in any longer.
“What kind of music would you like to listen to?” the friendly MRI tech asked me (who either didn't see my sour-puss face or chose to ignore it).
“Anything non-emotional, please,” I requested at least one octave too high.
I chose what I thought was a safe local Tucson radio station: 92.9 FM. Still, I warned her that I felt like I was going to cry and apologized. She reassured me that I can go ahead and cry and she urged me to not be too hard on myself. “Crying is a good release.” I agree with her, but I just didn’t expect or intend on it at all yesterday morning. Besides my silly height error from earlier and the flood of memories from the reasoning for having to be in the loud coffin-like machine at all, of course the soundtrack inside my head had to be so beautiful: “Home” by Phillip Phillips. Let the floodgates open.
Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home
Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home
See what I mean? Much deeper of a song than I needed to hear while having a brain MRI. One that reminds me of my family and not being alone on a curvy, unpredictable pathway.Whew! I remember those feelings from November (and now it's already nearly April) and I'm happy to report that it appeared my ventricles even shrank a wee bit!
The challenge of staying still and stifling tears at the same time is so difficult and, in retrospect, comical. It was like having a deep hiccup every 30 seconds or so. I wondered if the image of my brain would be slightly blurry from my little intermittent jumps. Deep breaths in and out, but not because I was claustrophobic—no, I find comfort in that machine in many ways—like he’s an old friend, who has been there with me throughout this journey. It was a hodgepodge of emotions—too much to explain to the friendly administrator or even here now. In the end, she said she got good images and I’ll find out if there are any changes next Tuesday when I meet with Dr. Scully.
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| Tumor still in there, but I think my ventricles shrank! |
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| My MRI scan once injected with intravenous contrast. |
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| My "noodle." |
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| I can't help but see faces in my brain scans. |
I enjoy the reflection process and realizing the reminder that life is oh-so-quick, to focus on what is good and lovely—you know, the real important stuff—and to enjoy this life with which God has graced and entrusted to me. Go on, let's all live it up...and enjoy the soundtrack to accompany your story!
Sounds good,
Dawn
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