MRI

First off, if you’re new to the cancer story, and you’re going “What?! Cancer?!” then start here. If you just want the latest news without my entertaining and informative story (😉), skip down to the last paragraph of this post. (I would insert a same-page jump link, but I can’t remember how at the moment.)

As of yesterday, we had been waiting for 3 days to see if we could get an appointment with the new doctor this week, before he left on vacation. We knew we needed an MRI done before the consultation. We had been told that his office would call to schedule on Monday, but by Wednesday late afternoon, I had pretty much given up hope that we were going to manage to schedule first an MRI and then a consultation before the doctor went on vacation.

A few minutes before 5:00 PM, as I had just settled down to get ready for my coaching client to call for their session at 5:00, I got a call from the doctor’s office. She wanted me to come into downtown Boston for the MRI that same evening. Initially she was hoping I could be there by 5:15 for a 5:45 appointment. Uh, no, not possible. It’s 4:55, it’s rush hour and we’re in the suburbs. There’s no way I could be there in 20 minutes. So we agreed on 6:15.

As important as this all is, it was really hard for me to cancel on my client with no warning. I take my job very seriously and it’s very unprofessional to simply fail to take a call that’s been scheduled and paid for. My clients pay a lot for each of these calls, and they carve precious time out of their day to make sure they are on time. Imagine if you took time off of work to go to the dentist, you show up, and then you find out the dentist isn’t there and you’ll have to come back another time! You’d likely find a new dentist!

Luckily I’m currently working with only a few clients, and I had already taken some time to warn each of them. I had explained that I was undergoing some medical treatment and I might need to reschedule without a lot of warning. So my client understood what was going on, and took it well.

It was a miserable drive into downtown in the dark and rainy sleet in rush hour. I am extremely grateful for John’s help with all this.

As soon as we got there, the technician had me change into gowns and she inserted an IV (for contrasting solution). She laid me down on the table, gave me a panic button, secured the imaging belt around my pelvis, and with only a brief bit of instructions, slid me into the machine.

This is what the machines look like (from google):

I’d had an MRI years ago, so I thought I was fine with it. But as soon as she got me into that machine I got a terrible case of claustrophobia! She hadn’t even started the test yet. I knew I needed to regroup before we started the imaging, so I squeezed the panic button and she rolled me back out again.

She explained that feeling claustrophobic inside the MRI machine was very common, but I felt like a total failure. I was crying and apologizing. And I was also quite worried. I was going to have to get through this test somehow, because they needed the MRI results to decide whether I needed to have radiation and chemo prior to the surgery or whether they could just go straight to surgery.

I realize now that the reason I didn’t have claustrophobia years ago for my first MRI was because it was migraine-related and they only had to put me in as far as my neck, in order to image my head. This time they had to roll me fully in there in order to image my pelvis. So we brainstormed – what was going to reduce the claustrophobia?

I think the thing that made the biggest difference is that the second time around I took a moment to turn and really look at the machine. I don’t think I even realized it was open at both ends! I think the technician should routinely point that out. Because when you’re laying on your back, you can’t see behind you. Before being inserted the second time, I took a second to familiarize myself with the size and shape of the machine, look in and see that yes, it was open at the other end.

They also removed one of the two pillows my head was propped up on, which lowered my head and allowed for more space between my face and the machine. We also agreed that I would keep my eyes closed, so I couldn’t see how closely the machine was surrounding me.

They also played music (which I had initially declined, because I didn’t think I needed it, and I didn’t want to have to listen to pop for half an hour). But they offered quite a range of music, so I got my MRI done to the tune of Spanish guitar.

They also let John rub the back of my head during the procedure. In addition to being soothing, this helped me remember that the machine was open behind me and I wasn’t in a tiny cave.

With these accommodations in place, I actually did fine. It took about half an hour, but it seemed to go faster than that. The half hour was broken up into several 3 and 4 minute segments, where the technician would tell me though my headphones if she wanted me to hold my breath for a moment or two, or if I could breath normally through the segment. The machine makes a lot of funny pulsing noises; different noises for each segment of the test.

We now have a definitive diagnosis: rectosigmoid cancer. That basically means the lesion is on the edge between the rectum and the sigmoid colon, which we already pretty much knew. The MRI also collaborated with the CT scan findings, which shows no sign of enlarged lymph nodes. This again suggests that the cancer seems to be confined to the lesion and has not spread.