Last week was it. The actual knee pain finally exceeded the perceived pain of scheduling the MRI, the subsequent doctor’s appointments, the surgery and the physical therapy.
It was time to schedule the MRI. My practice in all things medical is to take the first available appointment on any given day. There is less impact on my work day and there are less people in the office, making it almost impossible for them to be behind schedule. The first appointment available was a 6:15 a.m. time slot. Bingo.
Walking into the office, I was met (not greeted, mind you) by Mr. Personality who presented me with the obligatory clipboard, complete with waiver and extensive questionnaire. Do you have this disease? That disease? Oozing wounds? Difficulty using a snorkel? I’m paraphrasing but you get the idea. Only one question had to be answered in the affirmative: Are you claustrophobic? Yes, but only in confined spaces. The last page stressed the importance of not having ANY METAL on my person. Please remove earrings, nose rings, alternative piercings, they all must come out. Be sure to let your technician know if you have bullet fragments or shrapnel anywhere in your body. Wish I was that tough.
The prize for completing the written exam is a pair of paper shorts. Mr. Personality led me to the changing room, pointed out the stack of paper clothing, the lockers (“Be sure to leave your keys!”) and promised he’d wait right outside. Reassuring.
I emerged all papered up to find my amigo, waiting true to his word. “Now, before I lead you in, have you removed all your piercings? Not just your nose and ears?” Though sorely tempted to be a wise ass, I calmly answered, “Yes, good to go.”
“Are you sure?”
I can only be pushed so far. Keeping my eyes trained on him, I answered evenly, “Let me noodle that a second… Yep, I’m sure.” It’s probably a good thing that certain people are totally impervious to sarcasm. First off, I don’t have nose or ear piercings. Secondly, how many men that begin an appointment in slacks and button down shirts exclaim, “Oh, wow, almost forgot that belly ring!” Not being judgmental here, pierce away if you wish, it’s just not my speed.
Perhaps water soluble clothing makes me look stupid. Could be that the penitentiary issue, suicide watch apparel has been proven to temporarily lower the IQ of medical patients. In any case, a couple of questions arose from this experience. Don’t MRI technicians have to pass tests to get this job? They must be reasonably intelligent folks, correct? I mean, c’mon, they get to wear scrubs just like real doctors. Assuming these questions are answered in the affirmative, how many people lie about piercings? Lastly, and most interesting to me, how many people stick so doggedly to their lie that they get microwaved in the MRI machine instead of just removing the stud from their belly or, possibly, points south?
The bottom line from my MRI is a torn meniscus. The news was delivered in an email with mucho mumbo jumbo that I don’t understand, except the part with a phone number to call to schedule step two. Should be a grin. As an aside, it was fun borrowing a line from one of my favorite comedians, Steven Wright. I mentioned in conversation (several times) that I had an upcoming MRI and waited for the inevitable question, “Why are you having an MRI?”
“To see if I’m claustrophobic.”
Leave a Reply