A Sunday is a day of rest. Or a Sunday is a day when one can pretend to broaden their cultural mind. If the gods are feeling kind, a Sunday should also be a day free of the hangover. I was able to experience such a Sunday on Sunday, well, apart from the MRI scan smack bang in the middle of it all. Apparently UCLH is open for non-urgent scans on a Sunday. I got the impression the staff wanted to be there as much as I did.
Prior to Sunday, I had had two MRI scans in My Myeloma life. The first scan, in the happy days of August 2012, remains, without a doubt the most painful hour of my life. My spine does not like metal slabs, in case you were wondering what to get me for Christmas. The second scan, understandably was met with irrational fear of me unable to sit up at the end of it. I do not need to be reminded of my fear, because it permanently squats in my head, but if you want to be reminded of it, go for it (https://ejbones.wordpress.com/2013/01/13/oramorph/). After all the thought and panic, that scan turned out to be fine, if I recall, I was elated after because I could do it and I became another. I could lie flat again!Going in to Sunday, I assumed my experience would be as it was before. I just assumed the wrong before.
In the last few days, I have been asked to explain why the expensive machine me feel like I was being tortured in a Tiger Tiger, and the the answer is simple; because I was lying down flat in a white metal tube half scored by poor sound quality modern ‘dance’ music and mania. I was not exactly flat, I was on a metal slab, with my arms crossed on my chest whilst my legs were raised on a foam cushion with my feet left dangling, with my neck was clamped down in a collar attached to said slab. In that position I stayed for 45 minutes, perfectly still, apart from some involuntary movement. I looked like The Monster and not The Bride. After ten minutes, I wanted to escape, but it was your tax money paying for the scan, so I persisted. The pain permeating from my lower spine, was worsened by my neuropathy. Here is a tip; velcade plus unsupported feet plus stillness does an excruciating dead right had side of your body make. Unfortunately, I was shoved into the big old tube with headphones on before I could tell the radiographers that I, being the special person I am, would need my feet supported.
My pain was such that I had no sense of time. It was such that I had to be assisted up at the end of it, and I really hate that . The pain was such that a dulled version of it remains. Hell, I even had to postpone a cinema outing because I would not have been able to sit still. Given the evidence to hand, it is probably wise for me to have had the scan. Let us hope that it only reveals lesions.
I find the fact that I can and do experience such levels of pain, that I am reduced to tears, embarrassing. I also find it shameful. Every time it happens, I blame myself for it. I blame my body and I get angry. I am hard. I have a high pain threshold. I should be able to deal with it, especially by now, it’s that simple. I’m sick of being a broken record. Now, my counsellor said I do manage it, but my irrational side sees any pain, as a defeat.
Back to Sunday, however. To make the experience even worse, prior to the big metal tube, as I slowly stripped in Cubicle 6, I realised two things. First, I was wearing tiny knickers. Secondly, I had forgotten to do something that if I was a lady who was unexpectedly getting on with a handsome man, one would be in dire straits. I discovered that those legs, my legs, were quite hairy. Visibly hairy. As it dawned on me that I was braless, prickly, still wearing my socks in a hospital gown I could not do up properly, wearing a tiny knicker, I felt self conscious. I am not at my physical peak, by a long shot, so I panicked. So, what do you imagine I did? I took a selfie. A selfie in a hospital gown.
And then, I walked into the corridor and exposed my buttocks.
I suppose that is a nicer story to remember than the pain.
In case you are wondering, today I am wearing a big knicker. Two pairs. Nobody is going to see them.