So, I had been having this annoying, shooting pain in my left shoulder for about a month. But recently I have become a fan of the PBR (c`mon, cute cowboys in tight jeans, who isn`t a fan of bull riding?) So, what the hell, just cowboy up and deal with it. You think Justin McBride whines to his Mama about a little shoulder pain? 
Rub a little dirt on it
But the pain kept getting worse, especially at night and I was taking more Vicodin than Greg House, MD. Except, unlike House, had no Sherlockian leaps of insight, I was just slow and sleepy. Then when I added steroids, I was slow, stupid, grouchy and had Pizza Hut on autodelivery.
Then my left arm went completely numb and I couldn't even lift that 5th slice of pizza to my starving mouth
About now, Dr. House would order an MRI and so did my new Doctor, a lovely family practice guy with good listening skills, the anti-House. (My last doctor, Sherry, recently died of colorectal cancer at age 52, leaving me a medical orphan. Damn!) `You aren`t claustrophobic,are you?` asked the new guy, because he actually cares about my feelings.
Being a House fan, I was apprehensive, because the Patient of the Week rarely comes out of the tube without crashing. On the House message boards, it is referred to as the MRI of DOOM!
Hawk reminded me that House was not just teevee drama it was FOX teevee drama and quit being such a freakin` drama queen.
Cowboy Up, dude!
MRI is at 7:30 scheduled at the Medical Mall at St Josephs. The Medical Mall looks like the lobby of a cruise ship with glass bubble elevators, a cappuccino bar, fountains, and valet parking. Now my man Hawk is currently working out of a cinder block box in Rosebud, South Dakota with no air conditioning. Most of his medical equipment should be in a museum. The difference, of course, is the little 2in x 3inch plastic card I have from Aetna. Go see Michael Moore`s new film. 
My MRI tech is as pretty as a June Morning, in a Reece Witherspoon way. On House, his fellows (the ducklings) always do the MRIs themselves, but in the real world a radiologist will review the films from the comfort of his office (at the Medical Mall) and send Aetna a big ass bill and a report to my PCP.
Pretty Reece makes sure I have no metal plates, pacemakers, earrings or tongue piercings, because the MRI will rip any metal right out of your body. There is a hospital urban myth about a guy with a snap on toupee that was too embarrassed to admit he was bald and was scalped by an MRI machine.
I am given a gown and ear plugs. `It gets a little loud` says Reece. Then she asks if I want music. Absolutely, I reply and girlfriend has more CDs to offer than the BMG music club. I pick Sting `Brand New Day` Thanks Aetna. Dr Hawk has music in his clinic too, of course...a radio tuned to the Indian Station. They broadcast in Lakota
I climb on to the table, recline and Reece straps my head down. One arm stretched above my head, one to my side. Sting is singing Desert Rose through the headphones. Reece eases me into the tube the way you would get into a hot bath...just an inch at a time. I feel like Winnie the Pooh, stuck in Rabbit`s front door . I will never sign up to be the ships counselor on a submarine. I should not have eaten all that pizza.
I am Spam in the can.
Reece is talking to me through the headphones. I am to hold very still and keep breathing. I bet she says that to all the boys. A cool breeze is blowing across my face. The first test will take 2 1/2 minutes.
KLUNK, BANG, CLINK, BUMP! The machine go crazy, making scary noises and I cant hear Sting anymore. I lie still and think of England. 2 1/2 minutes is a long time. And that is only the beginning.
There are a couple of 4 minute scans and then the Mother of all Diagnostic images; 7 minutes. I make lists in my head: Opening day lineups of the KC Royals, Hot Bull Riders, grocery lists, Erikson's developmental tasks, the novels of Jonathan Kellerman...anything to keep my mind busy and make me forget I am trapped forever in a $5million dollar coffin.
I survived and lived to tell obviously. I cowboy up. I am tougher than a hospital steak. It was no big deal. I wish Reece a pleasant morning and don`t let her see me gasping like a fish or that my knees are wobbly. It is good for health care providers to be the patient every now and then. I think I am going to hit the cappuccino bar on the way out.
Postscript: Turns out I have a herniated disc in my neck (between c4-c5 for your medical people) I am being turned over to a pain specialist (in the Medical Mall!) but my appt isn`t until next week, which is an odd week because the 4th if July comes right in the middle and why not just take the whole week off as a holiday. So I remain in a Vicodin fueled limbo, which explains the incoherent ramblings above.
Love to everyone who missed me.
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