Written Thursday, January 20, 2011.
Today was the big day…
My Ninth & Tenth Appointments
January 20, 2011 @ 10:00 am & 10:30 am
Mayo Clinic Hospital 1st Floor 1 West
Rad MR Brain & Rad MR Venogram Head
Before my 2009 MRI, a twitter friend suggested I wear my coziest, warmest, metal-free clothes to the MRI. She sure knew what she was talking about. Today I wanted to do the same, so I planned every detail of my outfit to work with the MRI… except the pants. The only cozy pants I brought on the trip have zippers at the feet and would have to be removed during the MRI.
So, my mother-in-law and I left Mesa early enough to stop by Walmart so I could buy a pair of yoga pants to wear. The rest of the drive was a breeze, and we arrived early enough to allow me time to change in the hospital lobby’s handicap restroom, and make our way across the lobby to the waiting room with time to spare.
The room was packed. Like a coin-operated washer in college housing. Way. Too. Full. And, as I walked to the check in desk I decided I rather wait in the lobby than endure that sort of unnecessary closeness with so many complete strangers. But, after checking in and being told the radiology wing was running at least 45 minutes late, I turned around to find my mother-in-law had actually found a seat for each of us, and the bulk of the patients had apparently been called to their appointment. The room was half empty.
And there was a large fish tank in the middle of the room. How did I miss that?
I have a fairly short attention span. To mitigate impatience and disinterest, I typically carry a notepad with grid paper, a red felt tip pen, a book, and my iPhone. Today these items came in especially helpful with my extended wait. I may not be a Boy Scout, but I know it pays to be prepared.
And it pays to have a fish tank.
About fifteen minutes into our wait a pair of Mayo folks came into the waiting room, climbed a ladder, and began feeding the eels in the fish tank. Fascinating, I tell you. Fascinating. They also fed the fish, but it wasn’t half as interesting as the methods they used to feed the eels (even the shy guy that liked to hide at the bottom of the tank).
Almost as soon as the fish-feeding skit duo wrapped up, a tour group approached the outside of the waiting room. The tour guide paused, explained the sort of appointments that took places in the wing, and explained, “We call this the fishbowl room. Can you guess why?”
I honestly believe it’s a toss up between the fish tank prominently located in the middle of the room, and the large bay of windows overlooking the lobby through which tour groups in power suits point, gawk, and loudly opine.
Oh wait, maybe I’m being a bit too facetious.
While my mother-in-law got pumped for our upcoming trip to my favorite place by reading the Unofficial Guide to Walt Disney World 2011, I people watched. The waiting room seemed like a beach with waves of patients coming in and out constantly. Three of us were there for almost 45 minutes, but everyone else was there less than fifteen. I was impressed by the apparent efficiency of the wing.
Eventually a very tall and very young looking man came to fetch me. He walked me down a hallway that was much longer than I imagined there was room for in the hospital, and dropped me off in a secondary waiting room. This room was like a Motel 6 version of the dressing room I used for my x-ray last week. It was tidy, but it felt more like a typical doctor’s office than of my previous experiences with Mayo. A bit tired and a bit dated.
I didn’t have to wait long for another young-looking person to come call my name. She walked be back up the hall a bit, and into what looked a bit too much like a hospital room for my comfort. Luckly we walked around another corner, that looked more like a phlebotomist’s room than a hospital room.
At this point I was a bit confused. I’d gone through great lengths and a dozen phone calls to remove with “w/sedation” from my MRI order, but she was talking about putting in my IV.
I’ve never had an IV with an MRI before.
My genuine confusion was only increased by the poor soul awaking from anesthesia in the corner who was obviously sick to his stomach. Gross.
The sweet girl recognized my concern and began to explain what she was doing. Good save lady, good save.
She got me all wrapped up in a detailed conversation about where I wanted the IV. She made me feel like a tough cookie for picking my hand over my elbow (but really I just didn’t want to have to have my sweatshirt sleeve pulled up for the entire 90 minute MRI). She explained that, rather than pull me out of the MRI to inject contrast half way through, Mayo prefers to insert an IV and keep things going (makes sense to me). She did her job, and she did it well.
After she wrapped up the port part of the IV, she sent me back to the secondary waiting room where I debated… “Should I look at the IV? Will it make me light-headed? This sucker is annoying. I’ve never seen one before, in my own hand. I should look. No, there’s nothing to be gained. Ew, look. It’s bleeding. Look away.” And so on.
The MRI (technically MRI, MRI w/contrast, and MRV) went a million times better than I could have hoped. I got to wear my slippers. I was out in less than 45 minutes even though they scheduled me for 90. I stayed calm (much thanks to lots of prayer by loved ones and myself), played MarioKart in my head (mostly DoubleDash), and almost fell asleep.
Actually, I think I did fall asleep but awoke when I twitched and accidently opened my eyes. Yikes!
After my MRI, I stopped off at the handicap restroom to throw my sweats on over my too-big yoga pants then headed outside for some…
My mother-in-law and I enjoyed a lovely lunch at Kona Grill and walked down the way to get some MoJo Frozen Yogurt (third time). In true Kate form I butted into the conversation the sweet ladies enjoying their frozen yogurt at the table next to us on were having. They were a bit off on their information about Apple products, and I just can’t let that sort of misinformation be perpetuated, so my MIL and I answered their questions. We’re pros. Daniel would be so proud.
So many of you offered support, encouragement, and advice in preparation for today’s MRI. Now that it’s over I am able to relax and realize just what a strength your confidence and concern continue to be. I pray tomorrow brings nothing but good news and more of the peace I feel this evening.
All this talk of cozy clothes has me thinking, “We’re in my jammies.” Which as me thinking of this sweet little girl.