I'd love to say that MRIs are old hat, by now. True, I know what to expect (no metal, IV for the dye injection, 25 minutes of weird noises inside the big tube), but the calming effect of having information doesn't trump the anxiety of even mild claustrophia. Atavan -- in the 2mg size -- is still my friend.
Jockette squired me to tonight's appointment. All cancer-related procedures seem to involve significant time in a waiting room, so we got caught up on industry gossip, office drama, and personal tall tales, 'til the technician spirited me away.
It's hard to believe that lying face down on a padded cage, a needle in my arm, headphones on, naked from the waist up, has become routine, but I guess you can get used to anything, if you do it regularly. The one thing that never becomes easy -- and that Atavan can't help me with -- is waiting for results. Let's hope they hit the Dutchman's desk before our date, next week.
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