I’m
diagnosed over seven years now, and in that time I’ve never had an MRI.
In recent
discussions with my neurologist and MS nurse it was decided I should have one.
Firstly, I
am still on Copaxone, which means injecting myself three times a week. It
appears to be working because I am generally well, but the MRI will actually
show if it is.
It will
show all the lesions that exist inside my body, causing damage quietly, and
thinking they can get away with it!
But this
MRI will be compared again the last one in 2009 and the comparison will show
exactly how my own immune system has been malfunctioning – and if the drugs I’m
currently on are really working.
If they
aren’t then I have the option of switching onto one of the many oral
medications that now exist, as well as Lemtrada.
So it’s a
catch 22 sort of scenario because I hate injecting and if the MRI shows Copaxone
is doing me little good then I’ll get to stop them. But if I have to switch
that means the lesions are doing more harm.
Anyway, it
is what it is, and the results shouldn’t be too long hopefully.
But I have
to say the MRI itself was fairly stressful. I was a touch laissez-faire about
the whole thing; thought it would be a breeze, because I can’t remember it bothering
me the last time.
And this
time I was allowed to bring my own music to play while the crazy knocking sound
did its thing.
But in
reality here’s what happened.
I get taken
into a small room, undress and put on the unflattering backless gown. Lock all
my valuables in a small cupboard on the wall, and leave with only the key and
my CD.
They ask me
to lie down, tell me nothing about the procedure, stick on the headphones and
strap me in.
I’m whoosed
back into the chamber, with the emergency buzzer clamped in my hand and I find
that there’s no noise in my headphones.
I feel it would
be stupid of me to buzz and mention the lack of Josh Groban singing to me so I grin
and bear it.
I close my
eyes and try to doze off amidst the noise. My eyes never open.
Halfway
through I start to panic as my throat feels dry and I am terrified of licking
my lips, knowing that staying still is the name of the game.
My heart
races and I talk myself down from the irrational feeling of helplessness.
I start to
imagine the images the machine is making and the fact that they might not be
good.
At times a
whoosh of air comes at me, and at others the machine shakes so much I shake
with it.
The noise
knocks directly in my eardrum; my head starts to pound.
And it
takes forever. Way longer than the 20-30 minutes the letter suggested.
Finally I
am taken out, and I mention to the nurse that I couldn’t hear a thing in my
headphones.
She shrugs
and says ‘Well, we enjoyed it back there.’
I gather my
things, get dressed, and they give me back my un-listened-to CD and I go home.
It feels
quite surreal.
So I take
my eldest daughter to the cinema and feel no guilt whatsoever in eating Ben and
Jerry’s ice cream and a bag of chocolates, even though I should be dieting
(always!)
Now the
wait for the results begins.