THE SCAN

What horrors await behind these doors?

If you follow me on Twitter, or especially if you choose to catch the odd episode of glennzb tv, by now you're probably sick to death of hearing about my dislocated shoulder and the unique challenges presented by my recovery. However, as I was casting about for a topic for this week's glog, I couldn't really go past my M.R.A. scan - for me it rated as a significant event.

To be honest, I wish I had lied. When the specialist asked me if I was claustrophobic, I should have said yes, very. When he asked me if I had a pacemaker, I should have said yes, two of them; one in each eye. I'm pretty sure that would have ruled me out of contention for my 90 minutes of good times at Auckland Radiology. And yes, I did mean eyes, but I'll explain all that shortly.

I didn't lie of course. I leapt at the opportunity. I've always secretly wanted to have an M.R.I. I've seen people having them on TV and it looks so space-aged and science-fictiony. I've heard some people say they're a bit scary, but those people were obviously complete wusses and not pioneers of medical innovation like me. "What's the difference between an M.R.I. and an M.R.A.?" I asked. "It's like an M.R.I., but they'll inject some dye into your shoulder so I can see what's going on," my specialist answered. I really should have picked up on that whole, "inject some dye into your shoulder" thing, but I was just so darn excited by the whole process.

Of course, technically I didn't know what an M.R.I. was either. As it turns out and both M's stand for Magnetic, both R's stand for Resonance. The "I" is for Imaging, the "A" is for Angiography. I've only just googled all that up now, so probably not that pertinent to the story - I just thought you might like to know.

I arrived at the x-ray place and filled out the forms. Lot's of questions about pacemakers. Also lots of questions about ever having anything metal getting in my eyes. Odd questions. I answered no.

I was then shown to a cubicle to undress. "You know it's just my shoulder, right?" I said it as though I was sort of joking, but I sort of wasn't. The technician didn't even sort of laugh. She just told me to put on my gown. She then asked me about pacemakers, and whether I'd ever had any metal in my eyes.

Funny how odd questions seem more serious once you're not wearing pants. You'd think I'd remember if I'd ever had a pacemaker, although the metal-in-the-eyes scenario may not have made such an impact. Fourth Form Workshop Technology was many years ago - was there some freak candlestick construction accident that had slipped my mind? Had I ever made one too many extravagant arm gestures over dinner and left part of my fork optically embedded without noticing? These are the sorts of vague worries I was starting to concoct.

A doctor arrived to "inject some dye into my shoulder". The reality of this was beginning to hit home as she detailed the possibilities of infection in my shoulder joint if they didn't keep everything sterile. I wanted to point out the proximity of my armpit to my shoulder, given I'd never considered armpits to be particularly sterile, but I was distracted by the doctor swabbing me with something REALLY QUITE FIRMLY on my injured shoulder, so I just clenched my teeth and grunted a bit. Anaesthetic next. Goodo, "injecting some dye into my shoulder" would probably prove a tad uncomfortable without some numbing. "This'll sting a bit." She was right, but at least the worst was over no, NO, NOOOOOOOO it wasn't!

"Aaaaarrrrrgggh!!!" I said. "Try and hold still," she said. I was really starting to not like this woman.

Here's what you should know if your specialist ever suggests, "they'll inject some dye into your shoulder"... what he actually means is, "there's a bone stabbing in your near future."
You see, if he'd asked me to attend a bone stabbing, I think I would have found a way to politely refuse. Now I've experienced my first bone stabbing, I'll be looking to opt out of any future ones. I said quite a few rude words in my head, then apologised out loud for being such a wimp. "Don't worry," the doctor said, "No-one really likes needles." Oh, how I hated her in that moment.

That was just the dye, by the way. The giant magnet was still to come. I picked up the little basket containing my clothes and belongings and shuffled down the corridor - now feeling a bit like how I imagine new convicts do on their first day in prison. I'd only been inside half an hour and already someone had had their way with me with their oversized prick.

Wait! Giant magnet? Now it was all falling into place. I was about to be stuffed inside a giant magnet which explained all the questions about pacemakers, foreign objects and metal eyes, which I was now being asked for the third time by a new crew. Oh god, were my eyes about to be torn from their sockets because I had inadvertently blinked in some iron dust last time I drove past Glenbrook Steel Mill?

Panic had really set in by this stage and I was starting to make some damn poor choices. "What radio station would you like to listen to?" I was now asked, "It gets pretty loud in there." What station? What station? I wanted to say Newstalk ZB, of course - but the thought of Leighton Smith talking me through this nightmare seemed surprisingly uncomforting. What station? What station? Coast has less ads of course, but I can't stand the mix. Would Classic Rock That Rocks provide the distraction I required?

"Hauraki!" I blurted. "Hauraki it is. Now make sure you're comfortable, we need you to try and stay perfectly still." I was as comfortable as I was going to get... right up till the point I was actually inside the machine, when I immediately realised I wasn't comfortable in any way and would be completely incapable of keeping still for 1 minute, let alone 20.

She wasn't kidding about the noise. Why does a giant magnet make a sound like a jackhammer? I then realised Hauraki hasn't been Classic Rock That Rocks for ages and I had no idea what song was playing. I couldn't really hear it anyway - their headphones were useless. Not aeroplane only-working-in-ear useless but close. The jackhammer stopped suddenly, followed by what sounded like the introduction to Led Zep's "Communication Breakdown". It wasn't Hauraki back on track with its playlist though, just the M.R.I. working through its repertoire. Hauraki was now playing a long stream of ads. Why hadn't I gone with Coast? Why? I kept my eyes closed. I'm not claustrophobic... but it IS pretty tight in there.

Then it stopped. I was extracted. Thank god. Except... It wasn't over.

"Can I just get you to bend your arm behind your back?"

"Not really," I said. "I recently dislocated my shoulder." They knew that was why I was doing this, right? Surely it was written down somewhere.

They made me bend it there anyway. What a fun voyage of medical discovery this was turning out to be. Two more minutes of jackhammer and we really were done. An hour and a half of torture a CIA interrogator would be proud of. I'll talk, by the way, I'll say whatever they want me to.

Now I almost want them to find something, just to make it all worth it. Otherwise it'd be like going to the dentist only to be told you have perfect teeth. Except I usually get to keep my pants on at the dentist.

Don't worry, it's just my shoulder - post the bone-stabbing