Ok, so ‘criminal behaviour’ might be a bit strong, but absentmindedly walking out of a Camden café without paying for a cup of tea before the MRI scan is not my usual style! (Having said that, being presented with tea in a cafetiere is enough to send anyone into shock!)
The MRI scan is not something I thought would ever make a blog post. While clever in determining the size and scope of the cancer (the ultrasound suggested it was an ill-defined highly suspicious mass measuring 28mm), strong magnetic fields and radio waves are not exactly the stuff of headline news. For anyone who has had one, lying still as you head into a long tube with earphones on is a pretty simple procedure – if you’re not me that is!
My history with the ‘simple’ procedure is chequered to say the least. This has nothing to do with my ability to lie still, but the injection part, where they put contrast dye into the body. I was kind enough to let a student practice on my hip back in 2006. This was a decision I immediately regretted when they injected the wrong part of my leg with the dye and I had to wait another three months for them to try again.
Convinced that lightning wouldn’t strike twice, I turned up after a client meeting (alone again, but will say nothing about my inability to learn from ‘lesson number one’) and was expecting to be in and out in no time. I was initially amused by the fact no one (not me, a GP, a consultant nor the radiographer) could work out the true ‘day one’ of my ‘cycle’ (and still can’t for that matter). I was also amused by the fact the man before me had the deepest combat trouser pockets I had ever seen and spent at least five minutes emptying them of coins and other bits of metal.
The amusement started to subside, however, when I was faced with my old friend Mr cannula! I have great veins, a high pain threshold and haven’t a clue what fainting feels like, so was still smiling when the first one went in – until it wouldn’t flush.
I was laughing and describing my engagement ring to the surrounding party of nurses when the second one went in. All looked good and I lay face down on the rather odd breast scanner bed (one nurse joked that you could tell it had been invented by a man as it looks more like a torture device than a bed).
I now know why they give you one of those buzzers to press in case of problems. As soon as the contrast dye went in, my left arm really started to hurt. I was soon pressing the ‘I want to get out of here’ button like it was going out of fashion. I was initially comforted for being brave until they realised they were filling my arm (rather than my veins) with the stuff.
I have always wanted to know what I’d look like with bodybuilder arms. Now I know – and it wasn’t pretty. Determined to see it through, however, we tried to get two more cannulas into me. On the fourth attempt in a vein on my wrist, it worked! Thanks have to go to the amazingly talented and patient nurses and radiographers who worked so hard to complete the procedure, even when my body didn’t want to play ball.
There’s one form you certainly don’t want to see after an MRI: Patient advice in the event of extravasation. Sounds rather exciting, but it just means your arm is full of dye (and a bit larger than normal). I wish now I had taken a picture (photos will start soon when I am up to date). Let’s just say, it’s amazing how much work can be achieved with your arm in the air! Thankfully, my oversized bingo wing started to go down after a few hours of massage so no trip to A&E was required.
For those of you who are now worried that my moral compass is broken, do not despair. Having identified my crime in the hospital waiting room, I immediately texted my wonderful colleague Laura, who contacted the café. While I don’t think she will ever thank me for the conversation that followed (and the ridicule), she did confirm that the true cost of the tea was about 5p and the café could cope. Starting to think it would have been a bigger crime if I had paid, given the mark up!