Today to the scanner. I had to remove jewellery, glasses etc. I had to lie on a bed/trolley, with my head strapped in position. A button was taped to my leg so I could press it if I needed attention. A headset was also placed on my head so that they could speak to me, and I could use the attached microphone. I did a couple of times, when I wanted to scratch my face or rub my nose. I was given the tube from yesterday, the one that inflicts randomised pressure/pain on my thumb. Today it was my right thumb. And I was covered with a blanket, a cellular blanket, because it was very cold in the MRI room. I love cellular blankets in hospital settings. , cosy and comforting.
The bed was raised and then wheeled backwards into a large hood, and it all went rather dark. I had been told that I would be in for about fifty minutes, for four scans, but it ended up being about an hour and a quarter, and six scans. Initially, there were fuzzy lines round my pictures, so they pulled down my bra straps. But that didn't seem to work, either. I did request some water - suddenly my mouth had got very parched - and when they came with the water, they quizzed me about my hair products! I was thinking, maybe it's just my hair. I was having a big hair day; I'm overdue a cut (oh, the roots are dreadful...). Whatever the cause was, they finally got some decent pictures. No doubt to be sent to Belgium, along with my heart and (some of) my blood!
It was very strange in the scanner. I never felt claustrophobic, but I did feel isolated and a bit surreal. It was noisy and they kept inflicting pain on my thumbnail, and yet I felt very calm. Although the strange thing was the most severe pain didn't manifest itself as 'ouch ouch' but as extreme irritation and an annoyance that really got on my nerves, a bit like an itch, or scratching polystyrene. I did try to concentrate on the pain, but there were long and short periods without pain, just noise. And yet, despite the noise, I was able to have a general think - half drafting this blog-entry, recalling some pleasant memories from last month, thinking about things on my 'to do' list.
As the session continued, I became quite drowsy. I did not think I would fall asleep, and I had no trouble keeping my eyes open. But my mind was playing tricks on me. Which I think just proves that being in a Loony Bin messes with your mind! I was utterly convinced that I could hear some sopranos soaring away in a loud chorus, and then the strings came in. It was an entirely unfamiliar piece but I 'knew' that it was by Karl Jenkins, who qualifies as my celebrity stalker.
It was very strange, almost like an out-of-body experience. It crossed my mind later that if I was a religious nutter I might even try and make claims that I had temporarily died: the sound was very celestial, and if I had been brainwashed by the Godsquad I might actually believe it was a choir of angels, or some message that God - or Karl Jenkins - was watching over me. Of course, being rational, I did not accept that belief, but it made me realise how easy it is to enter into that delusion.
Does anyone else ever experience 'waking' dreams? I do. They are different from daydreams, where I'm in control and directing a creative process; and different from sleeping dreams, which are either experienced in recall, or occasionally are lucid - I am aware that I am asleep and dreaming, and am aware of what is happening, and often want to direct events, but can't. But the waking dreams are the usually the most abstract or surreal - for example, my 'waking dream' was telling me to channel the different levels of inflicted pain into different colour boxes - dark green, like Lambeth's Recycling Boxes, and purple, like Liverpool's wheelie bins. Because, obviously, it's entirely logical to dream about Liverpool Wheelie Bins when lying in a MRI scanner on the Lambeth-Southwark borders.
At one point I wanted nothing than just to curl up and go to sleep; regretting my intention to go to work, just wanting my own bed, but then knowing that my pleasure would be ruined by the noise nuisance from 30 Streatham Place.
When I emerged from the I felt disoriented and quite delicate. The Researcher led me back to Reception, and I had no sense of retracing footsteps; it was like I had never been there before, although I had earlier, and yesterday. As to the bus-stop, I felt quite beleaguered and not entirely with it. I think if I had encountered a quotidian mini-crisis I would have not been able to negotiate it. Partly because of the disorientation and partly because I was feeling very lethargic. I could not be bothered to walk down the escalator at Brixton, an unusual occurrence. And when I got to work I informed my manager how I was feeling. He's being brilliant and very supportive, and was not surprised when at four o'clock I said I was going (although I had not got in until midday). I went home and straight into the bath, and then lying down and dozing until eight.
My brain is now functioning, but I do feel the same old dull ache in various parts of my body, notably around my neck and shoulders, and in my calves and feet. I have now taken my first tablet. One this evening, one tomorrow evening, and then from Friday, two a day. However, I do not know if they are real or placebo. And nor do my research team.
Next week I get a phone call to check how I'm feeling. If the tablets make me nauseous, I can call and ask for an anti-emetic. And I have a monitoring appointment in early July. I will have another scan at the end of the trial, which I think is thirteen weeks.
