A Little Claustrophobic

A little background information is necessary before I can make my point, so here it is.

Back in August I hyper-extended my arm one too many times playing golf. This lead to chiropractor appointments for a month and a half, a doctors appointment a few weeks ago, and physical therapy. Physical therapy has hit a bit of a dead end and the head therapist told me last Friday that a torn UCL (Ulnar Collateral Ligament) was probable. Leading to my point.

Today, I, Rachel, the claustrophobic, had my first MRI.

I'd done all of the proper researching: what to expect, does it hurt, what to bring, and how to control a phobia-instigated panic attack. I walked into the hospital with no metal on any of my clothing, no bobby pins in my hair, and no sense of calm whatsoever. I took my earrings out and my necklace off in the waiting room and stowed them, and my cell phone, with my mother. I nervously waited, feeling a trembling in my gut and fluttering heartbeats that wouldn't calm themselves with any amount of deep breathing. "In with the good air, out with the bad air."

After impressing the technician with my knowledge of how MRI's worked (which I'd studied in psychology) and my awareness of the machine's sensitivity to metals. I was tense and straight-backed as she asked me if there was shrapnel or bullets in my body. I admitted to her my claustrophobia and she smiled and offered to stand in the room with me. Pre-scan, she talked with me; asked me about my future plans, how my senior year is going, and the tension started to ease.

As it turns out, I didn't need her as much as I thought, though it helped to know she was there. I was only in the tiny-looking tube up to my waist with the arm in question stretched over my head whilst lying on my stomach; my head was resting on a pillow just so that I could see out the tunnel behind me.

The loud noises sounded like Atari video games: lasers, machine guns, even a clock sound at one point. I didn't feel as frightened as I'd prepared myself for. After twenty or so minutes, it was over and the other technician showed me some of my pictures. (The inside of my elbow is disgustingly cool!).

My poor boyfriend; I'd worried him throughout the day with talk of my dread. He reminded me to keep my eyes closed and just breath. "Think of me," he'd said, "And have faith in the doctors, they've had a lot of schooling." After I left school and we'd made it to the hospital, I got an illicit message from the dear boy: "I love you." That was all I'd needed.

Life is awfully short to let "irrational fears of tight spaces" deter me from life's necessities, joys, and pains. They are all experiences of life. I made friends with technician who was quite a bit older than me. And before she would let me leave with my mom, she looked at my mom and said, "Your daughter is so mature." And to me she said, "I may never see you again, but good luck with college and the rest of your senior year and everything." And from that stranger, I heard some of the most sincere well-wishes for my future I have ever had the privilege of hearing.

In the end, my boyfriend was right. Breathing, closing my eyes, and having faith in the technicians made my much-feared experience rather pleasant. The day I had my MRI will always be a happy memory even if it does produce evidence of a torn ligament. Leaving my mom in the waiting room, I thought I was being a big girl and facing my fear alone. I found great comfort in people I didn't know. I faced my fear, but I wasn't alone. We're never really alone. People we know, like my mom and my boyfriend, and people we don't know at all, like the MRI technicians, have our backs.

Take comfort in knowing that good people are everywhere and there's always someone who's willing to help. I learned that lesson from a couple of ladies in hospital scrubs in an MRI screening room on the back of a truck. Sometimes it pays to admit you're a little claustrophobic.