Several weeks ago I went to get an MRI for my left knee. I'd been trying to "run" through the pain, like a good Amazon should...but after a particularly hard run one day I gave in and went to my doctor who subsequently ordered an MRI.
Oddly enough, it was an evening MRI and it seemed that when I rolled into the waiting room at 8:30 pm, I was the last rocket ship ride for the day.
I've had one of these before so I knew what to expect...remove all metals, don't move, and don’t breathe if you can help it. I filled out the paper work etc and after waiting about 10 minutes this little dude comes in the room to take me back--a short 'wittle' guy who looked either tired or just "not ...all... there." He goes through the "put this robe on, lock your valuables in here, and follow me to the magnetic room yadda yadda spiel." Yet, he never said, "got any metal in ya'? On ya?"
Last time I had an MRI I was told to remove my bra, regardless of the fact it was an MRI for my ankle. I have no problem with this, so much so that this time I took it off anyway, for good measure, even though he never mentioned it. I also recall being asked a few years ago the "got metal?" question repeatedly and annoyingly to the effect that I wanted to ask, "do YOU have any metal? Nose ring? Fun ring? Are you wearing a bra?"
After I walk across the hall to the magic room, it isn't too long before DD (Dopey Dude) has me positioned on the table where he immediately clamped my left knee with the brace to hold it in place. All the while I was still thinking ,"wow, the last time in Florida they really asked more questions like, "are you sure you don't have any metal on you? In you?" "Is this the correct leg?" "Shrapnel from combat?" etc...He did none of these things. Even then I didn't say anything because I knew this and it was the correct knee so I just let it go.
After I'm all clamped in and even have the nifty goggles on to watch TV, DD was about to walk to the magic booth, he stops, as if just remembering he left the stove on eight hours ago, and says, "Oh... which knee is hurting you?"
Oh yeah.
He then enters the booth and turns the machine on and I glide on the table into the groove tunnel. Although the noise was too loud to hear the TV I somehow was able to fall asleep.
Thirty five minutes later, it's over and I glide back out; DD comes in and without skipping a beat he asks, "You didn't have any metal on right?"
"Is there a problem?" I ask.
"No, I was just checking," he casually says, but I can tell he had an 'oops, I forgot to ask' moment and was trying to make up for it in the end, as if asking after the fact canceled out the stupidity. It didn't.
Oh yeah. This is the dude who was the star of the Safety and Radiology Training video of what not to do. Apparently, that night was a follow up shoot and they forgot to ask me to sign an acting release.
I relayed my story to my doctor a week later. Her eyes got really big and she was quite appalled. I'm sure she reported it. I'm sure he was reprimanded. I'm sure the next time I walk into that magic room I will be wearing nothing but ear plugs and a checklist tattoo that reads: “Which knee is it? Got metal?”
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