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| Rainbow over the Cancer Treatment Center |
Last night I was scheduled to have a complete spinal MRI. I thought it odd that the hospital would schedule me for an evening appointment, usually diagnostic tests are done during regular business hours. Dr. "S" had ordered the test to find the reason behind my constant back pain. I didn't want another diagnostic test, not because I felt I didn't need one, but because of the financial obligations that came along with it. It seems we've just barely gotten all of last year's medical bills paid off and now we're racking up a whole new set.
When the nurse called me earlier in the week to give me instructions to prepare for the MRI, she asked if I "was uncomfortable in tight places, in other words," she said, "do you have claustrophobia?" Just the mere mention of that word freaked me out! I'd never suffered with claustrophobia until I was trapped in an elevator for over an hour several years ago. It's funny when you watch movie portrayals of this type scenario. The person inside the elevator starts to get agitated and fearful, then clothes begin to be loosened and beads of sweat dot along the person's forehead. Soon, the trapped victim, is gasping for air, clutching their throat, and then slides down along the inside elevator wall as they collapse on the cold elevator floor. That scenario was mine in 2006, but it definitely wasn't funny! I was thankful to be the only person on the elevator at the time of my entrapment. I didn't think it would affect me so severely but it has indeed! Now I can't stand to be in confined places and do my best to avoid them at all costs.
When I explained to the nurse that I did suffer from claustrophobia, she told me not to worry. She'd have the doctor prescribe some anti-anxiety medications and that should take care of it. I asked if there was a possibility that I could have the test done in an open MRI and she replied, "Unfortunately, Newnan doesn't have any of those. If you want to have an open MRI, we'll have to send you to Atlanta." I didn't want to drive up to Atlanta, so I decided to suck it up and just take the pills.
I watched the clock all day. I had been instructed not to eat anything within 2 hours of the test and to take the pills at least an hour before the test. I set a couple of reminder alarms in my cell phone and went about the day.
At 4:30 p.m. the first cell phone alert went off. I wasn't really hungry but knew I had to eat now in order not to jeopardize the test. Quickly, I prepared supper and my husband and I ate. It was a quiet meal.
At 6:00 p.m. the second cell phone alert sounded. I grabbed the bottle of Lorazepam and popped 2 pills into my mouth. "I sure hope these work, " I told my husband. "I don't know how they're going to affect me. Maybe I'll get really sleepy or maybe I'll be really goofy, I just don't know. I hope I'm not like a Zombie!" He looked at me and said, "if you fall asleep, I'll pick you up and carry you in to the test." I laughed and told him I didn't think he was that strong.
Just as the carport door was lifted, the bottom fell out of the sky and heavy drops of rain began pelting the ground. The sky was an ominous shade of black and I wondered if it was going to be safe to be inside a small tube having the test done....what if, heaven forbid, the power went out and I got stuck in there for an undetermined amount of time??? I couldn't think that way. I had to stop myself or I was going to be sick.
We headed down the driveway and on toward town. The rain was coming down hard and our wipers were flying. Traffic was heavy and it was difficult to see as the water ponded on the road. At a large intersection, the rain slacked up and my husband shouted for me to look into the sky as he pointed toward something in front of us. As I looked up, I saw a huge, beautiful rainbow spanning the sky! What a beautiful sight! God's timing was perfect, once again. (The last rainbow He'd given me was back in September 2014. You can read about that experience
here.) Immediately, we were both elated and filled with hope. (In the Bible, God placed a rainbow in the sky as a sign to promise His people that He would never again flood the earth.) To this day, a rainbow in the sky symbolizes God's promises to me. I took the sign of the rainbow to mean I had nothing to worry about.
We arrived at the hospital and filled out all of the pre-registration papers then sat down to wait. The waiting room was empty. At this late hour, there was only a skeleton crew on staff. Instead of the usual loud banter and chaos of hospital routine, there was a wonderful, peaceful silence.
When my name was called, I stood up and walked over to meet the lab tech. He explained to my husband that I'd be gone for a good while and asked if he wanted to come sit in the waiting room near the MRI area. Phil decided he'd stay in the general waiting room and enjoy the television show that was playing. I followed the tech through several large double doors and into the MRI room.
My technician's name was Lloyd. He was a tall, lanky black man with round glasses. His hands were large and soft as he took me by the arm to help me down onto the table that protruded out from the MRI machinery. He asked if I had on a bra. I looked up at him and smiled a big cheesy grin. I said, "nope! No boobs, no bra!" He looked startled and then asked if I had another other metal on me and I assured him I did not. He placed a paper hairnet over my head and then slipped some headphones over my ears. He placed a large bulb in my hands telling me it was the "panic" button and to press it if I started to be frightened. After asking me if I was ready to get started, I gave him a thumbs up and closed my eyes. I figured if I kept my eyes closed, I could pretend I was somewhere other than in a metallic tube that encased my body tightly.
Slowly the table moved and I slid deep into the belly of the beast. I kept my eyes tightly closed and began to pray asking God to protect me and to keep me calm. Lloyd's voice came through the headphones and softly, he said, "We're ready to begin." The next sounds I heard were from a Christian radio station, J93.3, The Joy FM. Strong Tower by Kutless was blasting through my ears but I could still hear the sound of the machine's metal bouncing marbles slightly underneath the sounds of the music.
The table shook slightly underneath me as the machine sounds continued. I tried to focus on the words to the songs playing in my ears. I noticed I hadn't swallowed in several minutes so I took a deep breath and swallowed. Licking my lips, I pressed my eyelids closed even tighter. I had no idea how long I'd already been in the tube but it seemed like a long time. I made myself remember there was an opening about a foot above my head and below my knees. Those thoughts comforted me a little. I felt a small rush of air flow over my face and was so thankful to be able to feel the breeze. It reminded me that even though I was enclosed in this metal tube, I wasn't going to die...there was air around me and I could breathe it in.
I continued to listen to the songs playing through the headphones. I was so thankful to have Christian music playing. Francesca Battistelli's song, "He knows my name" came on and the words rushed over me like a soothing balm. Each and every word of that song spoke volumes to my heart. The words were words I needed to hear: "True to who You are, You saw my heart. And made something out of nothing. He calls me chosen. Free, forgiven, wanted, child of the King, His forever, held and treasured, I am loved." I listened and listened and listened. I became more and more relaxed, partly from the pills and partly from God's peace washing over me.
As Lloyd moved the table slowly forward, I felt myself being ejected from the tube. As my body slid along the walls of the MRI machine, without opening my eyes, I felt what a tight squeeze it had been. I pressed my arms a little tighter into myself hoping to gain a little more room and prevent myself from getting stuck as the table continued to move outward.
I was so thankful to be out of the tube! Hallelujah! Fresh air! I opened my eyes and looked up. Lloyd was standing there and as he took my hand, he called my name. "Ms. Annis, now it's time for the cervical thoracic part of your MRI. I have to fit this plate over your face and it's going to be a little uncomfortable." I asked how much longer I'd have to be in the tube and he said for this next part it would only take 10 minutes. I figured I could handle 10 more minutes and closed my eyes as I was slid back into the MRI machine.
Having the face plate on made me very uncomfortable. I was unable to move my head at all and my neck was already feeling very stiff. I tried hard to focus on the music and not on the contraption on my face, but it was difficult. The sound from the machine continued and got progressively louder. Oh, I was so ready for this test to be over!
When the table started to move forward, I knew Lloyd was moving me out of the machine once again. I was thankful to be unconfined and able to breathe freely. As he gently removed the face plate I told him I bet I looked like the guy from the movie "Silence of the Lambs." He laughed and took my hand again. This time, he began slapping it as he told me he was about to begin the contrast part of the test. His slapping on my wrist was to stimulate a vein to stand up enough that he could palpate it and insert a needle filled with contrast dye.
It quickly became evident that Lloyd was not a phlebotomist. I know I scared the bejesus out of him when I told him I had Lymphedema in both arms and he would only be allowed to used my left lower arm to insert the needle. He did the best he could, tightening the rubber tourniquet and having me squeeze a rubber ball, but my poor little old veins didn't cooperate. After a stick and a miss, Lloyd said, "Ms. Annis, I can save this study and we'll have you come back another day to do the contrast, then we can get the results to your doctor." I looked up into Lloyd's big dark eyes and said, "Ummm, no. I'm not coming back again. Can you get someone else to stick me?" So Lloyd goes to call the ER department and asks for help, but they won't come. They tell him to do it himself. I can tell Lloyd is scared so I show him where they've been able to draw blood in the past. As I point to the crook of my arm and circle the exact location, I tell him to use a butterfly needle, which he does and BINGO...the needle is in and the contrast is flowing. Lloyd is happy!
Back into the tube I go. It's been over an hour now and the medication is starting to wear away. I have to think really hard to keep my eyes tightly shut and to just listen to the music. After about 30 minutes, Lloyd slides me out and says we're all done. Praise Jesus! I am so happy not to have to go into that tube again! Lying on the hard metal table, I start to rise and feel myself going faint. Lloyd tells me to take it slow as he extends his hand to help me up. I sit for a few minutes on the table before rising.
Lloyd leads me out the big metal doors and I find myself a little unsteady on my feet. I'm kind of wobbling through the halls. I guess it's the medication. I ask Lloyd where the restroom is and he points as I quickly head that way. Rounding the corner into the restroom, my shirt gets hung on the door handle. I stick my head out and laugh in Lloyd's direction. "Bet you never had a patient that did that did you?" He smiles and I feel like a klutz. Hurrying into the restroom, I pull out a paper liner and sit...the contrast dye is flowing through my bladder.
Hubby is quiet in the waiting room. He's reading his book. He looks up as I enter the room. I ask if he's ready to go and he starts to walk toward me. "How was it?" he says. I look at him and say, "I don't ever want to do that again."
We walk hand in hand through the silent hospital lobby. I can't believe how still and quiet it is! We step outside into the cool night air and head to our car. Now we wait. The results will come tomorrow or Friday.
As we pull out of the parking lots, the words to Kerrie Roberts' song, "No Matter What," fill my head. (You can listen to it in its entirety
here.)
"I'm running back to your promises one more time
Lord that's all I can hold on to
I gotta say this has taken me by surprise
But nothing surprises You
Before a heartache can ever touch my life
It has to go through Your hands
And even though I keep asking why
I keep asking why
No matter what, I'm gonna love You
No matter what I'm gonna need You
I know You can find a way to keep me from the pain..."
No matter, no matter what"Whatever the test reveals, I'm okay with it. If there's more evidence of cancer cells, God knows the next step He'll have me take. If I get the all clear, I'll celebrate good news...but really and truly, no matter what, I know I can trust God. He holds my life in His hands. Good and bad pass through His hands into my life as He wills. I know He uses everything for my good and to mold me and shape me into the person He wants me to be.
We pull into the driveway and it's dark now. Inside we go through our normal "getting ready for bed routines." I grab my book and begin reading as hubby turns over and drifts off into the land of Slumber. I can't help but think about how blessed we are!
I read a page or two before turning out the light. I close my eyes and am so thankful I'm not inside a metal tube.
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