I wish I had a nickel for every time someone said that to me…Except for when it’s your Doctor, and he didn’t mean he wanted me to make an appointment with his buddy who is affiliated with the hospital that has stainless steel mirrors in the “guest suites”. No, he was talking about his colleague, the neurologist.
Ok, it’s just precautionary for two reasons; a family history issue, and a hearing loss issue, however; I think I would have had less trepidation about a session on a leather couch than forty- five minutes in magnetic humming beast with my head strapped down.
“But they have open MRI’s now!”
Save your logical objections to my irrational fear, they are of no use here.
“Perhaps a couple sessions on the leather couch are in order?”
Fine, make me an appointment, but make damn sure it’s with the guy who can write scripts and not the guy who recommends Zen gardens and self-help books, because I’ve made had three appointments for an MRI, aka brain sucker machine, and each time left in tears.
Alas I am making some progress on my quest for photographic evidence that there actually is a brain in my skull, and not just the perfect perpetual motion machine cranking out an endless stream of doomsday what-if scenarios. On my last visit, I actually let them strap down my head and wheel me into the mouth of the kraken before hyperventilating.
Here’s a little something you don’t hear from medical professionals very often. “Why don’t you go around the corner to that little bar and have a few drinks, make those straight shots, and come right back here and we’ll finish this examination.” I did hear that while playing Doctor once, but it wasn’t eight o’clock in the morning, and it wasn’t from a chick in nursing shoes.