MRI’s are painless, you just lie there and relax. You’re not prodded, poked or, with the exception of the IV for the contrast dye, not stuck with needles. The only bad part about an MRI is the dreadful noise. So having to have one done didn’t worry me in the slightest.
Well, not until I was sleeping the night before.
I dreamed of my boob exploding in the machine. And that apparently, the ‘titanium’ markers they’d used during my biopsy, weren’t titanium after all. The hospital had chosen to cut corners and placed some cheap metal shavings in instead, which, in reaction to the magnetic beams, caused my left boob to go to mush, burn up and then…BOOM!
No seriously, after I woke in the morning, I didn’t give the dream a second thought.
There I was, laying face down, yet again with boobs dangling through two holes in a bed, totally relaxed, listening to a medley of bangs, clicks & rattles of the MRI machine, mixed with a little classic rock radio from the headphones they’d placed on me, when suddenly I felt a burning sensation in my left breast and for a second, thought….oh crap!
But, needless to say I survived, and neither me, or the boob exploded.