I Wanna Be Sedated

Despite ear plugs and headphones blasting music the MRI folks provided, I wasn’t really prepared for the pounding and jack hammer noises for forty-five minutes. I don’t remember my first-ever MRI in October 2011, after I had a seizure while running in the Zombie road race. Yes, the drugs were that good. When I had a second MRI the morning of my Gamma Knife surgery several weeks afterwards, I did have a little happy medicine in me, but not too much since I had to be coherent for my surgery. The cage attached to my head by four screws was my biggest concern, and I figured nothing could beat that squeezing sensation. For my third MRI on November 14, 2012, I decided I would undergo the procedure without medication. As the MRI folks slipped me into the Open-MRI machine, I settled in, imagined floating on water, and soon heard Taylor Swift singing “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” through the headphones. Wait! The Ramones “I Wanna Be Sedated” screamed from somewhere in my brain.

Mr. MRI sings boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom, and I pretend to hear “Ba-ba-bam-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bam-ba, I wanna be sedated.” But Taylor Swift keeps interrupting: “Ooh-eee-ooh, we are never ever getting back together.” I think: Wait…this is my time…my happy place…Ramones…“I can’t control my fingers; I can’t control my brain…I wanna be sedated.” I consider pushing the call button, but it feels like a fat minnow in my hand. The mad music machine continued playing songs I had never heard of while the MRI beat out its own form of torture. Was this hell?

Some forty minutes later, I heard the unmistakable sound of Toby Keith’s voice singing “Every Dog Has His Day.” “It’s about time,” I muttered to no one. Even though I had never ever heard the song before, I thought it was a sign from the music gods. After all, I had just written about a dog in a pre-MRI post on my blog. In my shaken, but not stirred brain, I believed Keith’s song meant my latest MRI would show a much smaller tumor.

After several days of waiting, I finally received an email with my results: “[The tumor] may be slightly smaller.”  Further into the report I read: “There is now note of fairly extensive…edema involving left temporal white matter.” I knew from previous conversations with the Gamma Knife folks that edema around a tumor after radiation surgery is fairly common and could be responsible for my balance issues and headaches. Well, funky cold edema!

Dennis from Gamma Knife phoned me the next day after he conferred with the neurosurgeon. My MRI report was “as expected.” As for the edema, it would eventually go away, perhaps in two months or two years. I had three choices as for taking care of the edema: deal with it, take steroids for three weeks, or have brain surgery and remove the tumor. They highly recommended I did not have brain surgery. That works for me: I never ever want someone to cut into my head if it isn’t absolutely necessary. Bring it on, funky cold edema! Dizziness? Barometric-pressure-fueled headaches? I grew up in Dodge City, Kansas, SBT, and I’m not afraid of you.

Next November, I will have another MRI, and I hope my SBT, will have gotten a little smaller. I know I have some challenges in front of me, but that’s the way it goes in life. I am thankful for my family and friends putting up with me during this really crappy year. I could focus on the grief I have felt during the death of my father and dog this year. I could focus on the way having a meningioma has affected my life. Instead I have discovered that I need to focus on the joy music brings me. I realize that even if I could return to the life I had before I got smacked in the head, I would never ever wish for the old me. I have learned a lot about myself this year and what I should be focusing on. My family and friends are what get me through my days of uncertainty, and music, sweet, sweet music is all the sedative I need. Well, and maybe a nice cold beer at the end of the day.