Different tones and cantering horses

 

Different tones and cantering horses

                                        Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

‘Arrive twenty minutes before your appointment’ was the instruction, so we duly set off a good ninety minutes before on our forty-minute journey. We always leave plenty of time because we never know which road out of the village will be the next one to be blocked with road works and traffic lights.

We were fortunate and arrived at our destination with a good half hour to spare, so continued listening to the audio book ‘Six Weeks’ by John Lewis-Stempel. I recommend it if you’re interested in WWI history. I read it a few years ago but it’s interesting to hear it read aloud.

Twenty minutes before my scan was scheduled, I presented myself and was asked to wait. Barry went off to get some excellent free hot chocolate from the drinks machine, and we settled for what we hoped would be a short interval. By four o’clock, thirty minutes after my appointment was due, Barry went to enquire what was happening. It seemed there were technical problems. The radiologist appeared, full of apologies, as if it were his fault, and eventually I was invited into the room with the big cylinder.

                                        Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Paul, the radiologist, asked if I would like some music to be played through the headphones, but I declined. I don’t like being completely shut off from the outside world. So, I was slid feet first into the tube and soon Paul’s cheerful voice told me we were about to begin. Clankings and hammerings started and then I was slid out again. Just as I was thinking, ‘That was jolly quick,’ Letitia told me I had to be repositioned, and back into the metal tomb I went.

It was fascinating. There was such a variety of tones, notes, rhythms, melodies. At times it sounded as if someone was trying to hammer their way in. There was a series of rapid beats, which I counted until I lost count around 130. The most interesting one to me was the sound of cantering hooves accompanied by a counterpoint lower tone and beat.

All the while, Barry was sitting watching the images. He can truthfully say he knows me inside out, now.

All the staff were charming and extremely apologetic, but machines can malfunction, and people have to be patient. That’s why they’re called ‘patients.’

I have a CD with my images on, as a back-up, ‘just in case’ device should the machine to machine, hospital to hospital communication fail, if it’s ever needed. In a few days, I will discover what steps need to be taken next. I think it will be more physiotherapy. When I look at other people and hear what they have to bear, I feel most fortunate.

I compared notes with my son, who’s had a few scans. He took the option of hearing classical music through the headphones, but had to press the emergency button, because the music was so dreadful he didn’t think he could stand if for 45 minutes.

There was one last thing we were told, which amused us, but isn’t funny if you are unfortunate enough to have to experience it; if a patient is too large to fit into a standard MRI machine in this country, they are sent to the zoo to be scanned there. Other options for larger patients are available at the Royal Veterinary College or one of the centres which have Upright MRI machines.

                                                Upright scanner

                                        Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I can quite understand people who suffer from claustrophobia having a panic attack in an MRI scanner. For them, an upright open MRI could be the answer.   

                                                Open scanner
                                    Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons