Panic Attack in the MRI

I’ve been thinking about this article I wrote several years ago because I get to have my annual pancreatic MRI tomorrow. The end of that sentence makes it sound like a privilege. Maybe it is a privilege. I’m one of the lucky Americans who has health insurance, not that my insurance pays for much. Even after the insurance has paid their part I’ll still be left with a bill of approximately $1,000. I got off easy with the MRI of my foot in July, no contrast dye, great tech who chose some wonderfully rhythmic and distracting Rhythm and Blues music to pipe through the headphones and it only cost me $500. Some people spend their money taking vacations. I spend mine on medical procedures.

Tomorrow will be another joy ride: synthetic clothing that isn’t my own, heavy metal contrast dye I.V., and lots of “hold your breath” instructions-so no headphones to block out the machine’s natural arythmic squeals, chugs and thumps. I will once again be attempting to meditatively manage my own sensory overload and the terror of what the test might reveal. I’m generally an upbeat, positive thinker but the past several years have served up more than I can handle. I routinely throw my hands up in the air and shout in a general skyward direction: “NO MORE, I already have more than I can handle! ” but the universe seems to have enormous confidence in my abilities.

The full on, heavy metal, MRI experience.

Is this what it feels like in my autistic son’s overstimulated brain?

Arranged and precisely positioned on the sterile, cold metal human-sized cookie sheet, my head is encased in a space helmet contraption preventing any involuntary movement and I’m slid into the tube, 5,4,3,2, despite wearing foam ear plugs mashed into my ears the concert begins with loud, vibrating rhythm errrrrr Kachung, kachung, kachung, kachung, kachung, kachung kachung kachung, over and over and over again until I think I’ll break protocol and scream and claw my way out of this horrible heavy metal concert that I don’t remember buying a ticket to. 

I’m hardly dressed for a concert-though I suppose short and skimpy with elaborate headwear is a costume of  sorts. I begin an internal monologue “Try to imagine you’re in a meadow with warm sun and a babbling brook.”  Oh God, now I have to pee… Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang. “Focus, think, I’ve got to focus, take deep, calming breaths, in through the nose breathe, BREATHE, breathe, breathe and let it out… slowly…. “ I can’t breathe!  I can’t breathe! I’m suffocating.  “Please God, please God, please God... send me peace…. I pray for comfort, I pray that everyone in the world right now suffering may find peace and comfort.  Peace and comfort. . .peace and comfort.” Eeeeeerrrrrrchhhhhhh.  The metal tray lurches forward. I involuntarily shudder, why does it have to be so cold in here?

“Imagine the warm sun heating your shoulders, your chest, your arms, as you lay in a field of yellow wild flowers. . .Breathe, breathe, breathe. . .”Caw, caw, caw,caw, caw, caw….. Are the sides of the tube closing in? I can't … the noise temporarily abates and Mission Control speaks abruptly into my ear: “O.K. Mrs. Kelner We’re going to administer the contrast now, hold still, we’re halfway done”.   

Whoosh, the injected contrast hits my system with a flush and I’m hot all over.  Am I going to wet my pants? Have I wet my pants? Half way?  ONLY half way? My shoulders ache and I can no longer feel the arm with the I.V. Haven’t I already been here for at least a  week?  “BREATHE. . .” Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp. . .

Suddenly it strikes me: Is this what it’s like? Too much stimulus: astringent antiseptic, the sharp achey tug of the I.V. in my hand, the pressure on my bladder, the hard cold metal, the unpredictable lurching and whirring of lights and, worst of all the- impossible to ignore, overwhelming the senses,  ayrthmyic thudding!  This must be what it’s like to be Noah, to live with autism! Oh God!  “BREATHE, Don’t dwell here.  Remember this thought, but let's go for a walk, calm, peace, birds fluttering through the forest.”