Friday, May 24, 2013


"He gives strength to the weary, and increases the power of the weak." Isaiah 40:29

Glad about that. :)

You know you're a mom when an MRI appointment feels like a vacation.  Hours of quiet alone!  The bliss of waiting in a child-free office!  The prospect of lying down on a table for a full hour, with strict instructions not to move!!  :)  And I was happy right up to the point where I was told they were going to (very slowly, they assured me) inject me with a substance that was to "paralyze my intestines, just for a few minutes." 

Say what?  Swell, guys.  Way to ruin my mini vaca.  I inquired as to whether this substance would stop any other of my vital organs "just for a few minutes."  I was assured it would not, but that I may experience some nausea.  I sighed, moved my head back two inches to where I was strapped and nested onto the narrow table, ready to be slid back into the tube called an MRI. 

A tough looking male nurse was on standby on my left, adjusting the tubes for the infusion machine.  The 20 something girl on my right began the injection into my IV lead, glancing at me with a partially reassuring smile.

"If and when I puke, do I turn to port or starboard?"

The guy on the left grinned and brandished a large plastic bin at me. "Turn here! I've got three kids; I'm a pro."

Three kids.  I have six, right?  Or four?  Almost five?  It's hard to decide how to answer that simple question sometimes... I stopped my sinking thoughts, smiled, and asked for their ages.

The tiny girl with the needle keep asking "Are you doing okay?"  Every ten seconds or so, which tread the line of sweet and annoying.

Well... Yes and no.

Like when I went for the intake for the MRI... they read the order and asked, "Oh... boy or girl?"  Apparently updates had not been made...

Oh. A little wave of quiet sadness.  "It was a girl.  But I lost her."

Gosh that spoiled the mood... Her face dropped.  We had previously been engaged in witty sarcastic banter about how delightful it was to be on a basement on a gorgeous May morning. 

"I'm so sorry."

"Thank you."  I really try not to say "it's okay," because I mean, it's really not.  And it doesn't seem to make sense to just say "it was a girl," because then she might ask more questions and I may have to tell her anyway.  Seems best just to say it. But I haven't figured out a way to say it " gently" enough it seems... And then the reaction to the bad news reminds me, again, how much I lost.

The MRI is the first of a bucket list of "after the baby, I need to check out this or that random part of my body that is acting up."  At the risk of sounding like a hypochondriac... there's plenty wrong with me at the moment, being the queen of auto-immune issues that I am.  Fortunately, my swelling hands responded to prednisone, but with increased aches and pains I'm now I'm supposed to switch from Humira to Remicade... I'm going to try a more natural route first.  The sharp pains in my abdomen that pre-dated my pregnancy have now been "MRId" and then I have to have my fav: a colonoscopy. My fifth.  It's a special treat reserved for Crohn's patients: every two years instead of ten for that procedure.  Oh yes, not to mention the geneticist and my dear Napro-tech doctor, who spends so much time reading my charts, autopsy reports, genetic findings, interpreting them, encouraging me to take even more thing, but good things, like magnesium and Vitamin D... which I severely overdosed on, mistakenly taking a "once a week" tablet once a day... but I'm not glowing like the sun yet, so all's well that end's well, I guess?  But man, doctors, tests, meds: I'm exhausted just thinking about all this. 

It's worth it to me to discover and rule out causes though, making sure I'm healthy as possible in the future for... whatever.  I'm glad I didn't have the MRI during my pregnancy, like the doctors had wanted me to.  One less thing to wonder about.

I didn't puke.  My infusionist was pleased.  The machine slid me in, and I was left alone.  After the initial, "Eeeek!  I'm in a tube!" feeling, I don't mind my MRI's.  I bring my own ear plugs though... the first time I panicked and was sure the machine was malfunctioning but no, it's supposed to beep loudly and honk and groan. 

Through my headphones: "Take a breath. Hollld it."

I did.  I am.  Holding my breath. Waiting to "get better." To not break down in public. To not have the bad dreams. To not play Taboo and, even while having a blast, somehow wanting to guess "baby" or "pregnant" every few cards or so.  Even when I think I've really moved on, I'm learning that there are just going to be bad days.  And it will be okay. 


1 comment:

  1. Hey Katie, love you! It was so great to see you on Saturday!! We must do high tea more often, especially during these trying days. When can the Dancause family come and see us this summer? We'll show a plein air Casablanca. Get out that calendar, young lady . . . I have a sister-in-law who is pining to meet the Blog Queen of Grief Lit. In all seriousness, thinking of you.