Prescription for Disaster

Sunday, 16 November 2014

The Bra Incident - in an MRI

The most insane hospital stay yet - Part II. Leaving my bra on for an MRI.

For even more fun, I left my bra on during an MRI.

Now that’s an interesting event, let me tell you. I was brought down by a porter in the wheelchair of shame to the MRI area, filled out forms assuring them that I had never been shot, bombed or stabbed (metal fragments?) and before laying down onto the platform I was asked if I had any metal in my pockets or on my body. I took out my hair-tie for fear that it would shoot into my brain if I didn’t, handed it to the nurse and then remembered my bra. I told her that I was wearing one and moved to take it off but she told me not to bother, the MRI was just of my head and I could keep it on.

Seems legit – surely she knows her stuff, right? So in I went to the machine, bra and all.
I was a little concerned as my head was being strapped down in ‘the cage’, reminding her once more that I was still wearing a bra with metal clips and under-wires.

She said I’d be fine.

I asked her if I’d be coming out of this thing wearing braces on my teeth, imagining the under-wires shooting straight up and into my brain during the scan. She assured me, again, that I would be just fine – try to relax.

Which I do. I love MRI’s. As long as you don’t open your eyes at all it’s just like a nice tight nap. I even tend to snore a little in there, and within moments of the machine being turned on and the overbearing whirls and pulses firing around me like a warzone I was peacefully fast asleep.

And then I had the odd feeling of being raised off the bed – by my breasts.

I woke up, suddenly alert but refusing to open my eyes for fear of seeing how tightly packed I was in there – and my boobs were jiggling around like popcorn. The bra wires were pulling upward in jerking movements matching the pulses of the machine, lifting my chest clear up into the air. I wouldn’t call it relaxing per se, but it started to get a little uncomfortable when the timing changed and they started lifting in different directions.

I must have jerked my leg in response, as a loud voice came through my earphones checking to see if I was alright.

“Ye..e..e…s.sss..sss…Ffff…ff.ff..fiii..nnnne.” I called back through the machine, giving the thumbs up as my chest jiggled madly on top of me.

“Try to keep still please.”

What the hell did they think I was doing in here? Dancing? The Judy Blume bust increasing routine?

Ten minutes later and I was drawn out of the machine, unhooked from my cannula wires and helped to sit up and back into the wheelchair of shame.

“How was it?” asked the radiologist.

I wasn’t sure what to say or how to respond to that. Odd? Strange? Frightening? Wildly inappropriate?

“It was…new. Next time I’ll try to remember to wear metal underwear too, just for the experience.”

I’m getting used to leaving baffled looks in my wake at hospitals. Why stop now?

1 comment:

  1. I'm making a list of things to do if I ever have to go for some of these tests. Just to liven up the experience.