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I went in for my MRI. And because I forgot to triple check with my doctor's nurse and Rex hospital, I had to do it unsedated. That was tricky at first. I started to freak out a bit. I'm like trying to lead a horse out of a burning barn without a blindfold when I get in tight places sometimes. Hence, why I hate elevators so much and refuse to be in one unless I have to or unless someone I know is with me (like my goat or mini pony barn buddy? How lame am I?!)
But luckily, I had the same tech who helped with my MRI last year to the month, and he said, "What's the plan?" and after a moment of defeat, embarrassment and frustration with myself, I said, "Screw claustrophobia. I gotta get it done." So he said, "Shut your eyes tight. I'll run you in really fast, and don't open your eyes until you get to the end, okay?"
It worked. I went through the test with no trouble.
I said, "I know you! John Wayne!" and he laughed and laughed, and said, "You're the diesel mechanic!" His name is the same as a character John Wayne played in one of his finest Westerns. Last year, I saw his name tag and blurted that out (because I'm a Blurty McBlurter who Blurts Stuff) before I could stop myself. But hey, at least he remembered me because of it. As he and a co-worker prepped me, we chattered away about music (I remembered from my last chat session with him that we were both retro culture and music geeks) and movies, and I was annoyed that I forgot the bluegrass band he recommended as soon as I got home. I told him I'd rather talk to him while I was in the machine than listen to Waylon Jennings (he was quite flattered :)...) but he had too much to do (I had droopy bunny ears about that :(...)
Anyway, I managed to go to my Happy Place (complete with Shooter McGavin kissing Grandma) and just counted my way through it. I was there to see what was up with my spleen. The MRI from last year showed the oddest tiniest scattering of immune cells all over my spleen, and no one could make sense of it. The Mayo Clinic decided after some head scratching and probing that it didn't seem like cancer, but just to be safe, another look was warranted, so I was trying to be a big brave girl, fight my fear of being in the hospital and just DO IT. (Lollipops should fall out of the sky now.)
When we got home, Dad and I said hello to SassyCat who was rubbies-whoring herself to anyone with fingers. She wasn't sure about Dad at first, but when I picked her up and presented her to him, she was thrilled to discover that he was, in fact, a cat rubbies god-like person that she THREW herself in front of shamelessly at least three times to prevent his departure. He was laughing and patting her and trying to say good-bye, but she had an aggressive blitzkrieg plan of attack and had our father stymied for a good 10 minutes with her hostage-taking fluffy charm/assault.

3 comments:
When will you find out the results?
Good question. I'm not sure. The last time I had it done I never got to see the images, so I'm curious as to whether I need to ask my GP's office or call the hospital.
Please keep us advised how things are going, I pray and think about you daily, in a friend not dressed as a french maid sort of way :")
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