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Imagine one of these in the back of a truck, and you’ve pretty much got it.
I went for an MRI scan on my knee this morning. The knee specialist I saw last month, who looked like Philip Seymour Hoffman and sounded like Pavel Chekov, told me that I probably have a torn meniscus and that I should “mentally prepare myself” for surgery. Quite how one mentally prepares for knee surgery, I’m not sure, but the fact that he leant forward, tipped his glasses down and looked very worried was certainly a huge help.
Anyway, so there I was at 8.00am today, bright-eyed, bushy-haired and back at the scanning unit, which comprises about seven trailers parked in a leisure centre car park. A long, pale man who slightly resembled a noodle asked me a list of questions from his Very Important Clipboard, including whether I’d got any shrapnel in my eyes (they’re not that bright), any history of epilepsy, any heart conditions or any history of epilepsy (tricksy guy asked me twice, but I still didn’t have epilepsy).
Once I’d answered to the negative on all counts, he helpfully trussed me up on a table with my knees locked down and a pair of particularly sexy ear protectors over my delicate shell-likes. It was quite something and I’m rather sorry I don’t have a picture to share*.
The scan was uneventful (as scans really should be) and felt rather like sliding into a very large, very noisy toilet roll tube. I can use this analogy, of course, because that’s actually happened to me, at least once**. There I lay, with my fabulous headphones and my twitching knees, while Noodle Man magnetised me in what’s sure to be the start of my own super-hero story. 15 minutes later and it was all over – I was free to hobble down the vertiginous metal steps at the back of the trailer, wondering why the musculoskeletal scanning unit had been designed like some kind of Ewok-kingdom/trailer park hybrid.
I should get the results within the next two weeks – I’m hoping for a sooner-rather-than-later hospital date so I can get the operation over and done with, but we’ll see. To be honest, it’ll be a relief to get the problem sorted once and for all, and I’m planning on using the recovery period (about 12 weeks) as an opportunity to lie around in a silk dressing gown and write my masterpiece, as though this blog post isn’t just that.
x
*total lie
** also a total lie
Oh, but it is — a masterpiece, that is! I have had a number of MRIs and you describe them (and the attendants) well. Let’s hope they only need to “scope” your knees. I am looking forward to replacing both of mine as a result of 50 years of playing competitive tennis on hard courts. So it goes…
Thank-Hugh ;)
I don’t really mind what they do with my knee once they get in there, as long as there’s some improvement in the way it feels. Sorry to hear you’ve had similar issues – at least you got some good tennis out of it!
oohh 12 weeks of silk dressing gowns sound brilliant can I come too even if my knee seems fine
Haha, you’re very welcome! We’ll slink/limp around together, write our masterpieces and become rich and famous. And increasingly silky.
How are you feeling now? Has your health improved since last week?
yes much better although i did snore while I was away with my friend and kept both her and me awake … but hey i did warn her i had a snotty nose :-)
I hope your knee gets fixed soon! I had an MRI done once. It was definitely a surreal experience, not at all helped by the nurses inability to find a vein to inject me with the dye, and then the dye making me feel as though I had been transported to fogland. Which is a place I made up, but everyone has been there, and some people live there. :)
Thank you, so do I!
It is a weird experience, isn’t it? And it’s left me feeling distinctly iffy today – I’ve finally given in and huddled up under a fleece on the sofa :)
I know *quite a few* people who live in Fogland. I’ve definitely been known to visit as well – I’d go as far as saying I’ve got a time-share there :D
Yah, I’ve a time-share in fogland for sure. I say huddling on the sofa is the best way to spend a day after an MRI! Good luck!
Thanks – I hope your MRI story ended happily too!
x
Well, I went to see why I can’t smell (which I haven’t been able to do for a decade now) and they never figured out why. But at least nothing was wrong. So that is a happy ending of its own, I guess. Best of luck!
How strange – I’m sorry they never worked it out, and glad that nothing seems to be wrong :)
Thanks for the luck – I’ll be sure to keep everyone posted with a few moany updates!
All the best, and now that you’re a super-hero, I think Noodle Man would be a great villan for you. Eeeyew, sounds slimy.
Bless him, he wasn’t so much slimy as long, wiggly, pale and bendy. Honestly, when he walked up the stairs in front of me, it reminded me a child playing with a bit of spaghetti – he sorted of wibble-wobbled up the steps!