I went for a MRI yesterday. It’s the second one I’ve had. The first uncovered my rotator cuff tear. This one is to see if the surgery worked. Based on my poor progress in physical therapy and the pain I still feel, last week the surgeon proclaimed that the surgery failed. Being me, I wanted a little more than his educated guess. So, I asked him if I could get a MRI to confirm his suspicion. He pointed out that nothing changes either way; I still need the same physical therapy.
But I have to know. He may have performed thousands of these surgeries and is infallible in his proclamations. But you know me. I just can’t leave things alone. So yesterday afternoon I spent a miserable half hour inside a giant magnet. This MRI is different than the one that I visited the first time. The tube is larger and it is three times as powerful. That means the magnet is three times stronger.
I was allowed to wear my street clothes, including shoes, in the first procedure. Yesterday, I had to strip to my underpants and put on scrubs. I had to take my shoes off too once we got into the magnet room. Julie snarked yesterday that I should have been put in panties for the MRI. It wouldn’t have mattered to me. I had much more on my mind. I was massively uncomfortable. The position on the table made my shoulder hurt. Each time they ran a scan, I swear the pain increased even though nothing, including me, moved.
Today I see the surgeon and we will look at the results. I hope that the scan proves him wrong. It probably won’t.
If you’ve been reading our posts for a while, you know that my curiosity often gets me into painful trouble. I helpfully suggest things Mrs. Lion can do to handle me. They’re always painful and most of the time, I’m sorry I opened my big mouth. Who bought almost all of her paddles? Yup, me. Who suggested domestic discipline? I’ll give you a hint; it wasn’t her. I’m the architect of my own demise. Sadly, I’m a very good architect.
The same curiosity that drives me to provide Mrs. Lion with new ways to torture me, drove me to get this second MRI. I just need to know. I can’t simply accept the doctor’s opinion. I need to know the same way I need to feel the fresh hells I discover.
In this case, if the MRI confirms that the surgery failed, I think I can accept the news. The main reason I wanted the operation was the nearly-continuous pain my injured shoulder gave me. I had gone through two cortisone injections. Each one gave me about three months of pain relief. Two was the limit. So, I agreed to the operation. That horrible pain is gone. I still hurt some of the time, but nothing like I had before. So, from that perspective the operation succeeded.