Wish I was here
Within the last week, I’ve put my body through two very different types of situations. First it was an MRI. I never considered myself claustrophobic until I had my first MRI several years ago. This year’s scan was my doctor’s attempt to get a sense of what was going on inside my leg, what exactly was causing all of the additional pain and fatigue I’ve been experiencing.
I feigned enthusiasm when I told my son I’d be going to this appointment. I explained it to him as a special machine that takes a picture of the inside of my leg. I told him that I lie down very still, and my body is pushed into this sort of tunnel. The machine gets very loud, and while the machine is taking pictures, I have to remain very still.
That’s basically what an MRI is. I didn’t tell my son about the “panic button” that remained close by in case I needed to be pulled out of the tunnel. I didn’t tell him that my legs were wrapped tightly together. And I didn’t tell him about the shot I received that inserted some sort of contrast into my system and would provide a different set of images for my doctor to examine.
I didn’t tell my son that I was afraid of what my doctor would fine. And I didn’t tell Ryan that I really wasn’t sure what I was hoping for -- would finding something be better or worse than not finding anything at all?
The second event was a mild yoga/stretching class. A friend of mine had attended one session and told me she really enjoyed it, had found it quite relaxing, and so I was intrigued. I haven’t been stretching at home. My pain level has been pretty high lately and by the time my son is in bed, I just don’t feel like getting on the floor to stretch as my physical therapist had suggested I do.
I had never attended a yoga class before. In my head, I heard “yoga” and envisioned stick-thin people getting themselves in and out of pretzel-like poses. And that definitely wasn’t me. This yoga instructor was very welcoming and very accommodating to every one’s different abilities. The five of us were guided through different stretches and poses. Some of the times, I was inhaling when she was telling us to exhale. And there were a few stretches that I couldn’t do completely, but I attempted each one she guided us through.
This room had soft music playing and soft lighting. It was a room designed to promote a sense of serenity. Participants didn’t talk much (or at all, now that I think about it). On the other hand, when I went for my MRI, it was very isolating. My husband came with me, but while I was strapped down, I couldn’t see him. And when I did open my eyes, there was nothing really to look at except the ceiling and the large Siemens machine (ironically named “Symphony”) that was manufactured in Germany.
In both cases, the end result is a hope of feeling better. Better meaning less pain and less fatigue, more leg strength and more stamina. And in both cases, I don’t know if I’ve found the answers. After one yoga class, I’m not sure yet if I want to try it again. And after the MRI’s findings, I’m now waiting to see another specialist in September.