The MRI was today. I'm glad to be posting. I felt great about it [the MRI], though I knew there was a greater than normal risk, due to the pacemaker. But they sent some guy in to have me sign a paper that said I understand the risks who seemed far less at ease about the whole thing than I was really comfortable with. So, the first part of the MRI, I kept thinking something was feeling weird, but was recognizing it as anxiety, but I wasn't completely sure, and and and and and and.....so I said something about it and the tech replied with the fact that if nothing had happened yet, it wasn't likely to do so. When they asked about claustrophobia before the procedure, I told them that as long as I can breathe, I should be ok. But the aural space was too small and I wasn't prepared for that. Those repeating noises were almost too much. A CNA was telling me that her son really was into music. I wanted to tell her about Edgar Varése and his Poeme Electronique from 1958 and how the MRI was similar to it. (Listening in headphones gives a pretty accurate depiction of the 40+ minutes I was in there. Also, listen with a cheap football helmet on). Not much fun, but hopefully it gives the neuro a welcome bit of detail to work with. No results or anything from the MRI just yet. I have a copy being sent to me, but I don't know how to read them, so we'll see if I can make any sense of it. [The Varése piece falls in the category of 'tumor humor', in case you're wondering "oh the audacity of someone to put something that sounds like that on their blog!"
It's me, Kevin, but with a brain tumor. Disclaimer: I have a very dry and twisted sense of humor. This is a scary situation. The jokes ("tumor humor") could be a little dark from time to time. I intend to keep this rather interesting for you, but if I get a "how could you SAY that?!?" response from you, know it's just, well, I hesitate to use "gallows" humor, but I don't have better phrase for it. Enjoy, and thanks for your support through this time.