Today's MRI

Deb and I just got home from the Chester County Hospital's Medical Center where the MRI exam took place. Boy, what a difference from the Johns Hopkins experience last May!

First of all, my anxiety level was much lower than back then. Faithful readers of this blog (at least those with good memories!) may recall that the previous MRI was aimed at helping make the decision whether or not to have more surgery done to remove the remaining part of my parotid gland. (The initial Modified Radical Neck Dissection led to the discovery and removal of the primary tumor. At least most of it, but maybe not all of it because there was one edge of the removed gland duct that wasn't completely "clean," meaning that some primary tumor might still be located in the remaining part of the gland. And to go back in surgically would be a major operation that would delay my chemo and radiation treatments by six weeks or so.) And I was getting conflicting advice from some very high-powered MD's who were specialists in head/neck cancers. But this time around, the MRI was simply to confirm that things are going well. No decisions needed on my part. Whew.

Second, the frame that held my head immobile this time for the 40-minute scan was completely open at the top. That is to say, in front of my face. And that caused me to wonder why the frame at Hopkins included a bar that went right across my eyes, roughly an inch or two above my face. Made me feel like Hannibal Lechter! I mean, if your skull is immobilized (which both frames did nicely), why would anyone put a barrier in front of your eyes that is likely to cause an attack of claustrophobia? I dunno...

Third, I knew better than to open my eyes in any case!

Fourth, I knew I had the love and support of so many wonderful people. Folks who were home or at work or off doing something else, but so many of them thinking, "Randy, I want you to lie still!" And that knowledge came to me as a chorus of well-wishes coupled to a simple request that I do my part.

So I lay there on the sliding table, perfectly still. Doing my part. And when it was over, the technician told me I had done a good job of keeping still. (Although she did not offer me a lollipop. Darn.) So all of you who were calling on me to stay immobile, please raise your right (or left) hand, pull it back behind your head, and give yourself a big, thumping pat on the back.

There. Now, didn't that feel good?

(It occurred to me on the way home that being perfectly still on the table would result in the clearest possible image for the examining doctor(s) to look at -- and the best chance to find anything unusual and/or unwanted. Somehow, I hadn't quite figured that out before then.)

So the results of the scan won't be known probably until Monday. And I promise to let all of you know just as soon as I do.

It's a beautiful day today. Above and beyond which, the sun is shining and the wind is down and the temperature is moderate and the birds are singing and the roads are clear of snow and I love my wife and she loves me. And I love all of you.

Thanks.