And Now...We Wait

Well, I survived the MRI. It was weird. I heard they were loud, but good lord. The woman who ran it gave me earplugs so I didn't get the full effect, but still. It wasn't just loud, it made weird noises. For a few minutes it sounded like a jackhammer, then it would stop. Then it would start making noises like the emergency broadcasting test on the radio. Over and over. Then quiet. Then back to jackhammers. Then just random synthesizer noises, like that scene in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Then quiet again. Have you ever seen Tron? There was this little floating thing called a Bit that followed Tron around that could only say Yes and No. The MRI did an imitation of Bit saying NONONONONONONONONONO. There were a couple of times I was really afraid I was going to bust out in an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. The poor technician would probably sedate me thinking I was having some kind of acid flashback.

But now we wait. A couple of days ago I told The Man I thought I should just go back to work. I mean, the pain isn't that bad anymore. And is it really that important to feel all 10 fingers? Isn't 8 enough? At least I can sleep at night now. As long as I fluff my pillow just right, and don't lay (or lie? whatever) on my left side very long.

But I'll wait. Next Tuesday we go back to the doctor and get the results. The Man is guessing I'm going to be getting some kind of physical therapy for a couple of weeks. I might be able to go back to work while I'm going to therapy, or maybe I'll have to take another couple of weeks off work. I'll go to all the physical therapy they want. I just don't want anything that involves scalpels or lasers or stitches or anything with anesthesia. Maybe hit the chiropractor, or better yet an acupuncturist.

On the other hand, I didn't get to have a booby test. When I went to the doctor last week the secretary found out I've never had a mamogram. Yes, that's right. Never. Even though I'm 42 and not just my mother but my grandmother and even my freaking mother-in-law has had breast cancer. I like the don't ask don't tell policy, but apparently that only works if you're gay, not avoiding a potentially life-threatening illness. So we scheduled a test for right after the MRI, but while I was trapped in a scary metal tube the booby doctor called The Man on his cell phone and said the booby mashing machine was broken. So woo-whoo, no tender titty tonight.