Monday, December 06, 2004
The experience of MRI, CT scan and other medical miracles
LOOKING AHEAD by Wally Dobelis
Ciau, Bruno:
Getting treated by an Aboriginal doctor in the Outback accompanied by music may be a unique and scary experience for your mates, but let me tell you that we have its counterpart in the US. Although we East Midtown New Yorkers are people of the Bedpan Alley, living next door to all kinds of medical miracles and the new tools that help our doctors achieve them, a personal exposure to such things as MRIs, CT scans and nuclear stress tests can also fill one's heart with forebodings.
MRI, the magnetic resonance imaging machine, is used to discover heart, cranium, spine, and abdominal and other problems by having a potent magnet generate a field some 10,000 times stronger than the natural magnetic emissions. The story is that magnetic "rays" realign certain hydrogen atoms in our tissues, and then FM-like radio broadcasts identify them, producing a highlighted picture of our bodies and enabling the visualization of both expected and unexpected features. The physician-reader can then identify the latter for the therapist who ordered the reading, and treatment can begin, if necessary.
MRIs are non-intrusive procedures, unlike conventional radiology and computed tomographic imaging (CT scan), which use potentially harmful x-rays to visualize. The MRI "slices" the body in narrow bands, which, when placed side-by-side, produce a contiguous picture, so my mentor explained. All very rational, not to worry.
Nevertheless, having an MRI done filled me with trepidation. The sarcophagus aspect, the idea of being rolled into this big fat white tomb, after relieving all pockets of metal objects, was daunting. Apparently the metal objects, which I shed, exposed, can create burns and other damage to the flesh. And then there are the dangerous items we have implanted in our bodies. According to the pre-test questionnaire I filled out, pacemakers appeared to be no-nos, as were defibrillators, aneurysm clips, ear implants, electric stimulators, infusion pumps, coils, catheters or wires in blood vessels, artificial limbs, joint replacements and heart valves, magnetic dental implants, IUDs, tissue expanders for future implants, and tattooed eyeliners (popular in the 1970s, they used mercury, I was told). One is left with wonderment about how bionic we have become. Fortunately, dental fillings ate okay; else we'd all be ineligible.
The reading of the precautions had sort of eased my mind, as I entered to the MRI room. There, stretching down on a gurney, stuffing my ears with plugs and having my head anchored down with Scotch tape to inhibit movement, seemed de rigueur. The technician told me to close my eyes during roll-in and watch the mirror that let me see people were around. The whole experience, recording my cranium in some nine slices would take 20 minutes Then the procedure began, a musical event, I wish I had known enough to bring a tape recorder with me.
First, three taps on metal, followed by a further drumming sequence. Then, a buzz-saw, in several modalities, and a rhythmic blower sound, also varying in tone, with added instruments, then, blissfully, a sound like the beach, with waves rolling in. But not for long, the gurney moved an inch or two, and the sequence repeated itself, more or less. I was settling down to euphoria, but it was not to be. This time, several six-knock sequences were interchanged with six or more toots of the blower, about 20 times. The next sequences were also variations of the original, but with enough mystery to be interesting. and entertaining, believe it or not. I began discovering and superimposing a house music rhythm to the stream of sounds, sort of rhythm heard at weddings after the old-timers have left the floor and the young crowd takes over. The whacky sequences of drills, whips, sirens, saws, steam pipes and whirrs was overwhelmingly interesting, to the point of almost making me wish for more. But it was over, after nine or ten slices. Perhaps someone younger or less scared of the outcome or more adventuresome will record it, superimpose it to a cut or two and generate a piece of techno-rock. Good luck, and send me a CD.
As to the outcome, no fear, mate. They say a few tiny blood vessels have dried up in the cerebellum, all age appropriate, which explains why I sometimes address people as "buddy" and "sweets," until the names surface, a minute or two later, but so be it. The CT scan shows no problem, maybe a chronic sinus infection, New York appropriate. Trot on the nuclear stress test, I'm ready.
Bruno Birzenieks is the writer's high school mate, a retired Australian executive living in Melbourne.
Ciau, Bruno:
Getting treated by an Aboriginal doctor in the Outback accompanied by music may be a unique and scary experience for your mates, but let me tell you that we have its counterpart in the US. Although we East Midtown New Yorkers are people of the Bedpan Alley, living next door to all kinds of medical miracles and the new tools that help our doctors achieve them, a personal exposure to such things as MRIs, CT scans and nuclear stress tests can also fill one's heart with forebodings.
MRI, the magnetic resonance imaging machine, is used to discover heart, cranium, spine, and abdominal and other problems by having a potent magnet generate a field some 10,000 times stronger than the natural magnetic emissions. The story is that magnetic "rays" realign certain hydrogen atoms in our tissues, and then FM-like radio broadcasts identify them, producing a highlighted picture of our bodies and enabling the visualization of both expected and unexpected features. The physician-reader can then identify the latter for the therapist who ordered the reading, and treatment can begin, if necessary.
MRIs are non-intrusive procedures, unlike conventional radiology and computed tomographic imaging (CT scan), which use potentially harmful x-rays to visualize. The MRI "slices" the body in narrow bands, which, when placed side-by-side, produce a contiguous picture, so my mentor explained. All very rational, not to worry.
Nevertheless, having an MRI done filled me with trepidation. The sarcophagus aspect, the idea of being rolled into this big fat white tomb, after relieving all pockets of metal objects, was daunting. Apparently the metal objects, which I shed, exposed, can create burns and other damage to the flesh. And then there are the dangerous items we have implanted in our bodies. According to the pre-test questionnaire I filled out, pacemakers appeared to be no-nos, as were defibrillators, aneurysm clips, ear implants, electric stimulators, infusion pumps, coils, catheters or wires in blood vessels, artificial limbs, joint replacements and heart valves, magnetic dental implants, IUDs, tissue expanders for future implants, and tattooed eyeliners (popular in the 1970s, they used mercury, I was told). One is left with wonderment about how bionic we have become. Fortunately, dental fillings ate okay; else we'd all be ineligible.
The reading of the precautions had sort of eased my mind, as I entered to the MRI room. There, stretching down on a gurney, stuffing my ears with plugs and having my head anchored down with Scotch tape to inhibit movement, seemed de rigueur. The technician told me to close my eyes during roll-in and watch the mirror that let me see people were around. The whole experience, recording my cranium in some nine slices would take 20 minutes Then the procedure began, a musical event, I wish I had known enough to bring a tape recorder with me.
First, three taps on metal, followed by a further drumming sequence. Then, a buzz-saw, in several modalities, and a rhythmic blower sound, also varying in tone, with added instruments, then, blissfully, a sound like the beach, with waves rolling in. But not for long, the gurney moved an inch or two, and the sequence repeated itself, more or less. I was settling down to euphoria, but it was not to be. This time, several six-knock sequences were interchanged with six or more toots of the blower, about 20 times. The next sequences were also variations of the original, but with enough mystery to be interesting. and entertaining, believe it or not. I began discovering and superimposing a house music rhythm to the stream of sounds, sort of rhythm heard at weddings after the old-timers have left the floor and the young crowd takes over. The whacky sequences of drills, whips, sirens, saws, steam pipes and whirrs was overwhelmingly interesting, to the point of almost making me wish for more. But it was over, after nine or ten slices. Perhaps someone younger or less scared of the outcome or more adventuresome will record it, superimpose it to a cut or two and generate a piece of techno-rock. Good luck, and send me a CD.
As to the outcome, no fear, mate. They say a few tiny blood vessels have dried up in the cerebellum, all age appropriate, which explains why I sometimes address people as "buddy" and "sweets," until the names surface, a minute or two later, but so be it. The CT scan shows no problem, maybe a chronic sinus infection, New York appropriate. Trot on the nuclear stress test, I'm ready.
Bruno Birzenieks is the writer's high school mate, a retired Australian executive living in Melbourne.
# posted by Wally Dobelis @ 3:31 PM 
