To infinity and beyond!
Not wanting to give the impression that my body is almost entirely falling apart, but tonight I went and had an MRI scan to try and get to the bottom of the wierd symphony of snap, crackle and pop that has been dancing inside my ears for nearly a year and a half now. It is to say the very least, amazingly irritating.
I had rather hoped when I was diagnosed with the thyroid thing that they would be linked and the ear popping would magically stop with the tiredness, depression and mad weight gain. No such luck. So off I went to St Helier Hosptial for my MRI scan this evening, again with an amazement and awareness of how lucky I am to live in a country where, when there is something wrong with me, I go to the doctors and am sent for expensive scans and given medicine for free.
I was rather excited by the whole prospect. It is now clear to me that I've watched far too many episodes of House. I am strangely addicted to it. That and Location, Location, Location. The housing one is more understandable - the huge desire to have a place of my own. But House is rather formulaic, though Hugh Laurie is very funny.
Anyway, so there I was in my very own medical drama, happily without Dr House, and even more happily without one of those ugly medical gowns that open at the back to show the world your naked bottom. I was allowed to stay in my tracksuit bottoms and jumper.
I lay down on a long pull out shelf/plank and my head was wedged still and they put ear plugs in my ears and told me it would take about 10 minutes and be very noisy and to do my best not to move. No problem.
The tray slid in, rather like the contraptions they keep dead bodies on in a morgue. I was in a spacey white cylinder, unable to move, with a pump in my hand, like old fashioned photographers have for taking the photo, to press if I started to panic. Above me there was a little mirror so I could see out if I wanted, but I decided to keep my eyes shut.
The scan itself was like a practical joke. It sounded like a very contemporary piece of music. A mixture of african drum beats and sirens. Very strange. I wouldn't be surprised to turn up at the Sadlers Wells and see Rambert doing a dance piece to something similar.
It went on for 10 minutes in bursts of three or one and then that was that and I went home on my bike. That machine could see inside my head. Isn't that amazing? Those odd sounds were it looking inside my head to try and find out what is making the popping... There's nought as strange as folk, or at least, nought as strange as what folk have made for other folk.
I had rather hoped when I was diagnosed with the thyroid thing that they would be linked and the ear popping would magically stop with the tiredness, depression and mad weight gain. No such luck. So off I went to St Helier Hosptial for my MRI scan this evening, again with an amazement and awareness of how lucky I am to live in a country where, when there is something wrong with me, I go to the doctors and am sent for expensive scans and given medicine for free.
I was rather excited by the whole prospect. It is now clear to me that I've watched far too many episodes of House. I am strangely addicted to it. That and Location, Location, Location. The housing one is more understandable - the huge desire to have a place of my own. But House is rather formulaic, though Hugh Laurie is very funny.
Anyway, so there I was in my very own medical drama, happily without Dr House, and even more happily without one of those ugly medical gowns that open at the back to show the world your naked bottom. I was allowed to stay in my tracksuit bottoms and jumper.
I lay down on a long pull out shelf/plank and my head was wedged still and they put ear plugs in my ears and told me it would take about 10 minutes and be very noisy and to do my best not to move. No problem.
The tray slid in, rather like the contraptions they keep dead bodies on in a morgue. I was in a spacey white cylinder, unable to move, with a pump in my hand, like old fashioned photographers have for taking the photo, to press if I started to panic. Above me there was a little mirror so I could see out if I wanted, but I decided to keep my eyes shut.
The scan itself was like a practical joke. It sounded like a very contemporary piece of music. A mixture of african drum beats and sirens. Very strange. I wouldn't be surprised to turn up at the Sadlers Wells and see Rambert doing a dance piece to something similar.
It went on for 10 minutes in bursts of three or one and then that was that and I went home on my bike. That machine could see inside my head. Isn't that amazing? Those odd sounds were it looking inside my head to try and find out what is making the popping... There's nought as strange as folk, or at least, nought as strange as what folk have made for other folk.
posted by lecoqblogger at 10:31 pm
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