I resisted starting this blog for a long time. I kept thinking that my life wasn't all about migraines. Surely next month I'd have my treatment regimen mastered, and then I could focus on the things that really matter to me. But I've been thinking that for at least the last 10 years.
The inside of an MRI sounds like heartfelt discussion between a dial-up modem and an early 1980's videogame. Luckily I'm not claustrophobic, so I don't mind either the enclosing aperture or the layers of swaddling they use to keep me in place. I like the bolster under my legs, the warm blanket, the neon green earplugs, and even the pads they stick on either side of my head to keep it from moving. I like feeling the odd sounds ricocheting in my skull. Most of all, I like the fact that this MRI is voluntary. I signed up to do it as part of a research study on migraines. The man who shepherded me through the procedure was warm and down-to-earth. He said that when he was a young boy, his mother used to lecture him and his brother, telling them that "thoughts have energy." He used to roll his eyes. Now, though, he's looking at the energy of my thoughts, in a way. They did several scans of my head, each between 5 to 11 minutes long. For most of them, they told m...
Comments
Post a Comment