Thursday, January 27, 2005
Dr. Paranoia shares medical miracles with Australian friend
LOOKING AHEAD by Wally Dobelis
G’day, Bruno:
Getting treated by an Aboriginal doctor in the Outback accompanied by didgeridoo music may be an aggro experience for your mates Down Under, butlet me tell you that we have its match here in the US. Although we EastMidtown New Yorkers are people of the Bedpan Alley, living next door to allkinds of medical miracles and the new tools that help them happen, a personal exposure to such things as MRIs, CT scans and nuclear stress tests can also be crook.
MRI, the magnetic resonance imaging machine, is used to discover heart,cranium, spine, and abdominal and other problems by having a major magnetgenerate a field some 10,000 times stronger than the natural magneticemissions. The story is that magnetic "rays" realign certain hydrogen atomsin our tissues, and then FM-like radio broadcasts identify them, producinga highlighted picture of our bodies and enabling the visualization of bothexpected and unexpected features. The physician-reader can then suss outthe latter for the therapist who ordered the reading, and treatment canbegin, if necessary.MRIs are non-intrusive procedures, unlike conventional radiology andcomputed tomographic imaging (CT scan), which use potentially harmfulx-rays to visualize.
The MRI "slices" the body in narrow bands, which,when placed side-by-side, produce a contiguous picture, so my mentorexplained. All very rational, not to aggro yourself.Nevertheless, having an MRI done filled me with trepidation. Thesarcophagus aspect, the idea of being rolled into this big fat white tomb,after relieving all pockets of metal objects, was daunting. Apparentlythe metal objects, which I shed, can create burns and other damage ifexposed to the flesh. And then there are the dangerous items we haveimplanted in our bodies. According to the pre-test questionnaire I filledout, pacemakers appeared to be no-nos, as were defibrillators, aneurysmclips, ear implants, electric stimulators, infusion pumps, coils, cathetersor wires in blood vessels, artificial limbs, joint replacements and heartvalves, magnetic dental implants, IUDs, tissue expanders for futureimplants, 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 are fair dinkum, else we'd all be ineligible.
The reading of the precautions had sort of eased my mind, as I entered tothe MRI room. There, stretching down on a gurney, stuffing my ears withplugs and having my head anchored down with Scotch tape to inhibitmovement, seemed almost normal. The technician told me to close my eyesduring roll-in and watch the mirror that let me see people were around. Thewhole experience, recording my cranium in some nine slices would take 20minutes Then the procedure began, a musical event, I wish I had knownenough 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, alsovarying in tone, with added instruments, then, blissfully, a sound like thebeach, with waves rolling in. But not for long, the gurney moved an inch ortwo, and the sequence repeated itself, more or less. I was settling down toeuphoria, but it was not to be. This time, several six-knock sequences wereinterchanged with six or more toots of the blower, about 20 times. The nextsequences were also variations of the original, but with enough mystery tobe interesting. and entertaining, believe it or not. I began discoveringand superimposing a house music rhythm to the stream of sounds, sort ofrhythm heard at weddings after the old-timers have left the floor and theyoung crowd takes over. The whacky sequences of drills, whips, sirens,saws, steam pipes and whirrs was overwhelmingly interesting, to the pointof almost making me wish for more. But it was over, after nine or tenslices.
Perhaps someone younger or less scared of the outcome or moreadventuresome will record it, superimpose it to a cut or two and generate apiece of techno-rock. Good luck, and send me a CD.As to the outcome, no fear, mate. They say a few tiny blood vessels havedried up in the cerebellum, all age appropriate, which explains why Isometimes address people as "buddy" and "sweets," until the namessurface, a minute or two later. The CT scan shows no problem, maybe achronic sinus infection, New York-appropriate. Trot on the nuclear stresstest, I'm ready. Ta for now.
Bruno B. is the writer's high school mate, a retired Australian executive living in Melbourne. As to the Australian: aggro is what it looks like, aggravated; crook is like aggro, only stronger; to suss is to spy, investigate; fair dinkum is good, acceptable; in a question it means "no kidding?"
G’day, Bruno:
Getting treated by an Aboriginal doctor in the Outback accompanied by didgeridoo music may be an aggro experience for your mates Down Under, butlet me tell you that we have its match here in the US. Although we EastMidtown New Yorkers are people of the Bedpan Alley, living next door to allkinds of medical miracles and the new tools that help them happen, a personal exposure to such things as MRIs, CT scans and nuclear stress tests can also be crook.
MRI, the magnetic resonance imaging machine, is used to discover heart,cranium, spine, and abdominal and other problems by having a major magnetgenerate a field some 10,000 times stronger than the natural magneticemissions. The story is that magnetic "rays" realign certain hydrogen atomsin our tissues, and then FM-like radio broadcasts identify them, producinga highlighted picture of our bodies and enabling the visualization of bothexpected and unexpected features. The physician-reader can then suss outthe latter for the therapist who ordered the reading, and treatment canbegin, if necessary.MRIs are non-intrusive procedures, unlike conventional radiology andcomputed tomographic imaging (CT scan), which use potentially harmfulx-rays to visualize.
The MRI "slices" the body in narrow bands, which,when placed side-by-side, produce a contiguous picture, so my mentorexplained. All very rational, not to aggro yourself.Nevertheless, having an MRI done filled me with trepidation. Thesarcophagus aspect, the idea of being rolled into this big fat white tomb,after relieving all pockets of metal objects, was daunting. Apparentlythe metal objects, which I shed, can create burns and other damage ifexposed to the flesh. And then there are the dangerous items we haveimplanted in our bodies. According to the pre-test questionnaire I filledout, pacemakers appeared to be no-nos, as were defibrillators, aneurysmclips, ear implants, electric stimulators, infusion pumps, coils, cathetersor wires in blood vessels, artificial limbs, joint replacements and heartvalves, magnetic dental implants, IUDs, tissue expanders for futureimplants, 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 are fair dinkum, else we'd all be ineligible.
The reading of the precautions had sort of eased my mind, as I entered tothe MRI room. There, stretching down on a gurney, stuffing my ears withplugs and having my head anchored down with Scotch tape to inhibitmovement, seemed almost normal. The technician told me to close my eyesduring roll-in and watch the mirror that let me see people were around. Thewhole experience, recording my cranium in some nine slices would take 20minutes Then the procedure began, a musical event, I wish I had knownenough 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, alsovarying in tone, with added instruments, then, blissfully, a sound like thebeach, with waves rolling in. But not for long, the gurney moved an inch ortwo, and the sequence repeated itself, more or less. I was settling down toeuphoria, but it was not to be. This time, several six-knock sequences wereinterchanged with six or more toots of the blower, about 20 times. The nextsequences were also variations of the original, but with enough mystery tobe interesting. and entertaining, believe it or not. I began discoveringand superimposing a house music rhythm to the stream of sounds, sort ofrhythm heard at weddings after the old-timers have left the floor and theyoung crowd takes over. The whacky sequences of drills, whips, sirens,saws, steam pipes and whirrs was overwhelmingly interesting, to the pointof almost making me wish for more. But it was over, after nine or tenslices.
Perhaps someone younger or less scared of the outcome or moreadventuresome will record it, superimpose it to a cut or two and generate apiece of techno-rock. Good luck, and send me a CD.As to the outcome, no fear, mate. They say a few tiny blood vessels havedried up in the cerebellum, all age appropriate, which explains why Isometimes address people as "buddy" and "sweets," until the namessurface, a minute or two later. The CT scan shows no problem, maybe achronic sinus infection, New York-appropriate. Trot on the nuclear stresstest, I'm ready. Ta for now.
Bruno B. is the writer's high school mate, a retired Australian executive living in Melbourne. As to the Australian: aggro is what it looks like, aggravated; crook is like aggro, only stronger; to suss is to spy, investigate; fair dinkum is good, acceptable; in a question it means "no kidding?"
# posted by Wally Dobelis @ 6:32 AM 
