There have been many things in my life that haven't turned out the way I thought they would. I got engaged to my high school sweetheart and later found out what kind of person he was. I married a man 28 years my senior and had a wonderful life for 4 years. We had Jenna and then he was gone. I loved people who couldn't be loved; or in the way I wanted, anyway. I met Tony and although things have worked out, the early years were certainly not how I thought they would be and I'm sure he didn't either.
But while some things turn out in the long run, there are things they stay with you forever. And those things don't work out--at least without a lot of help. I am very claustrophobic. I have been for a very long time. I freak out when I feel confined or when I feel that things are closing in on me and I can't stop them. Flashing lights, no breeze going across my face, no room to move. These are things that haunt me and chase me into my worst fear zone.
That happened today. I was supposed to have a cat scan to monitor the nodules on my lungs. I have nodules on my thyroid and on my lungs. We have to watch them to see if they grow or change or flash to cancer at any given time. It scares me. The scheduler that called about the appointment told me that I had to go to the Ogden office to have the scan done. I asked her to schedule me in my doctor's office in Brunswick Forrest, but she said she was not able to do that and I would have to go to Ogden.
I have done cat scans before--with help. The first one was like an MRI and I didn't do it well. Tony came in and calmed me down and I did it, but I couldn't do it on my own. The second one was kind of the same, but I knew what to expect, so I was better. I didn't feel like the machine was this sea monster that was swallowing me up from the depths of hell.
And so, I had a cat scan scheduled for today. I went for the appointment confident that I wouldn't have any problem. Tony waited for me in the lobby and in I went. I saw a donut shaped machine that was open. It was different than the one I was used to so I asked questions. I explained that I didn't do confined spaces very well and the image operator told me that it was going to be a quick process and I would be fine. I wanted to go in feet first, but she said the machine wasn't equipped to do the cat scan that way. I laid down on the table and she started to wheel me in. I was confident that my head was going to be out the other side while the scan was going on. I was wrong.
The scan operator wheeled me into the machine and stopped with the arc of the machine directly above my head. Lights went on and started to rotate. It was hot. I panicked. I couldn't do this. I tried to sit up, just like I did so many years ago when I had a stroke and I was literally forced into an MRI. The operator did her best to get me out quickly but it was too late. I was way past panic and into thrashing and ripping the paper up from the tray that you lay in to have the scan completed. I went into complete melt down.
It brought back a memory for me. Years ago, my mother and I had a fight. Shortly after that, she was washing my hair in the kitchen sink. I couldn't breathe. All I could feel was the hot water splashing on my cheeks and into my eyes and I wanted to stand up. My mother kept pushing my head down so I wouldn't get water and soap all over, but the more she pushed my head into the sink, the worse it got. She was going to kill me, I thought. I was going to die. With all of my strength, I stood up and started pushing her away. All she could see was water going all over the kitchen and she was not happy. The more I pushed to stand up, the more she pushed to keep me down. That stayed with me for a long time. All I could see was the kitchen sink coming closer and closer to my face and I couldn't breathe. It was the same today. The machine seemed to be coming closer and closer to me, with flashing lights and I couldn't stop it. At some point, my mind stopped being rationale. I was going to die, I just knew it.
The scan operator called Tony in to talk me down off of the ledge. And he did. Tony gets me. He knows when I am afraid. In that Air Traffic Controller calm voice that says, "you are going through a rough patch of air, I will bring you home safely. He had me breathe and lessen the tension I was feeling. I closed my eyes on the way home and saw immediately the machine rolling like a drum with lights and odd things tripping across my mind. I kept my eyes open and held tight to the door handle in case I had to get out quickly.
Hours later, I felt foolish, but still afraid. I need to have this done. Why can't I do it? Lots of people do. What is wrong with me?
I called my doctor and told his nurse what happened. They are scheduling me for another scan, but this time in their facility, where I have had it done before--feet first and with my head outside of the machine. I can do this. I will do this. But, going forward, I will not accept an appointment unless I know what type of machine I will be interfacing with and how it will affect. me.
Sometimes, things don't turn out the way you think they will. But, as long as you find an alternative that works for both sides, it should be ok.
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