As the next step in his diagnosis plan, Edward had an abdominal MRI. I’d never had an MRI and I didn’t know much about it. Here are a few things I would have liked to know ahead of time (and could have, if I’d done any research):
1. It was LOUD. I mean, I knew it would be loud. The tech said it would be loud, and he gave Edward noise-muting headphones and he gave me ear plugs. But he said it would be “loud.” It would have been significantly more accurate to say that at times it sounds as if the hospital is under attack and using their loudest, highest-emergency alarm system. And that at other times it sounds as if someone is using a machine-gun. And that at other times it sounds as if the machine itself has something seriously, seriously wrong with it. Some noises were so loud and went on for so long, I felt stunned by the noise.
2. Edward had to drink several cups of barium-something beforehand. This was the worst part, as far as he was concerned. It didn’t taste too awful, according to Edward, but the aftertaste was unpleasant. The biggest issue was that there was so MUCH of it. A nice man in the waiting room with us said, “Ug, I’ve had to do that. No fun. And you’re just so FULL: it’s way more than you’d ever normally drink.” Edward finished about half the bottle (which looked like it held about a pint), and then a tech came in and filled it back up almost to the top; that was very discouraging. Edward drank it down to about half-full again and then started gagging hard with every sip. I started panicking: what if he COULDN’T finish it? What if I tried to force him to drink more and he threw it all up and had to start over? And then the tech came to get us for the procedure, and I held up the bottle and said in a fretful, anxious voice, “He didn’t drink it all!,” and the tech said, “Eh, that’s fine.” WHAT.
3. When I booked the appointment, they told me the MRI would take about 30 minutes. As the tech brought us in, he said it would be 60 minutes. It was actually 90 minutes, not counting the long wait in the waiting room. About 60 minutes of that was in-the-machine time, so that is probably what the tech was referring to. (The other 30 was changing into the johnny, setting up the pads and straps and breathing monitor, waiting for the doctor to say if the pictures were good enough or needed to be redone, and getting the contrast dye injected.) I’d been worried he’d have trouble holding still, but they nestled him in pretty securely with pads and straps (he looked cozy and cute, not Strapped Down). He could have moved if he wanted to—but as long as he WANTED to hold still, he wouldn’t have much trouble.
4. There was a Surprise Needle. Toward the end of the MRI, the tech said, “So, now we’re going to put in the contrast dye,” and I had to rapidly explain to Edward what that meant. It went fine, though. The staff changed shifts halfway through the MRI, and the tech who was leaving said the good news was that the tech coming on shift was especially good with kids/needles. And he really was.
5. I was allowed to go into the room with Edward. (I assume this part varies from hospital to hospital and from procedure to procedure.) I was even allowed to keep my glasses on. I’d taken off all my jewelry, my watch, my wedding ring, and I’d taken all the metal out of my pockets, but it turned out that wasn’t necessary for the person NOT going into the machine. When I leaned over to look at the inside of the MRI machine, I felt my glasses starting to be pulled off. They had me sit at the head end of the machine, which was extremely reassuring: I could see enough of Edward (top of his head, eyelashes, upper chest) to know he wasn’t panicking or upset. We could also theoretically hear each other if we needed to: at one point when there was a break in the noise, I said, “Edward! When he says to take a breath and hold it, take a DEEEEEP breath!”
6. If I’d known there would be several times when Edward would need to take a breath and hold it, I would have practiced that with him ahead of time.
7. The machine looked like a jet engine. I was picturing a big silver metal toilet paper tube, but it was more rounded than that on the outside, and white. The tube through the middle was still toilet-paper-tube-like, but also white. That felt less scary to me than silver. There were lights, so it wasn’t dark. Both ends of the machine were open to the air: I’d pictured being ENCLOSED. The end of the machine I was staring at for an hour looked like one of those “smiley faces found on inanimate objects” photos: the lights looked like eyes, and there was a seam that looked like a smile. This photo doesn’t show the smile, but it shows the resemblance to a jet engine:
(photo from en.wikipedia.org)
But I’m not sure knowing all this ahead of time would have helped me prepare Edward. I just had no idea how HE would respond to any of it. Would he panic? Would he be scared? Would it be WORSE or BETTER to know ahead of time that there’d be a needle? Would it be WORSE or BETTER for him to know that some people freak out inside an MRI machine? I was extremely uncertain about the ability of a child to hold still inside a machine for 30 minutes, so it’s probably better I didn’t know it would be 60 minutes. And he did completely fine with it anyway, even with the surprise needle; at this stage of things, I don’t think needles surprise him much anymore.
Edward sounds like a little trouper. And for that matter, so do you! I’m sorry you’re having to go through all this, and am hoping that it will help focus in on whatever is going on. Thinking about you!
I was in my mid 20’s when I had my first (and only) MRI. My mother had had so many I couldn’t count, and she had told me all about what was going to happen, and I still wasn’t prepared. I think it is one of those things that you can’t actually prepare for unless maybe you saw a video of one maybe.
It sounds like you both handled it really well. Hopefully this helps and won’t be needed again.
Sounds like you both got through it like champs, and I know your careful observations will help somebody else out there feel a little better prepared.
It sounds like he did great (and you, too). I hope this helps get to the bottom of things.
I wish I had known! I work at a place that makes MR scanners. (And I just had one last year.) I could have actually contributed factual information! It sounds like everything went well, though, and he was a champ. I’m sorry it was so stressful.
Usually the iv is set up before they start the whole process to inject the contrast dye in the middle. I’ve never known an MRI to take less than an hour. Sorry you had to go through it.
Man, Edward is doing so well with all of this, and it seems you are holding up. I am thinking of you guys and sure hope you get some answers soon. *hugs*
J had to have two MRIs, but he had to be sedated for both of them because he had to hold perfectly still for an hour, and no one can do that. Like, PERFECTLY still. He didn’t have to drink anything though, thankfully. I had a CT scan when I had appendicitis and I had to drink an enormous Fribble-sized cup of bleah, and Edward has my deepest sympathies. It was far and away the worst part of the day, and I ended that day with surgery. He’s right! There’s just SO MUCH. You drink and drink and drink and there’s still so much left in the cup. That doesn’t happen when it actually is a Fribble. But here’s hoping that this is the last diagnostic procedure he’ll need, and from here they will have the answer. And the answer will be along the lines of, “Oh, he just needs to eat more ice cream.” Or Fribbles.
What a brave guy you have! How long until you get results back?
In the next few days, we’re hoping.
I love that you write posts like this.
I had an MRI around fifteen years ago. It took HOURS AND HOURS. I had to have one redone at the end too because I had moved a smidge during the 60 minute scan.
I hope this scan has good answers for you!
Yes, they are LOUD. That being said, I actually fell asleep during one part where it was more machine-gunny…oh, and mine was for my boob, so I was FACE DOWN with my boob in a square hole. Obviously designed by a man, because boobs fit into squares so nicely, right?!
Oh, you guys are so brave. I am claustrophobic and just contemplating an MRI (for me OR my children) makes me feel heart-fluttery and hand-clammy.
I hope you get good results, whatever those would be.
Good job done by both of you!
When my son had his mri(s) there was a clock counting down on the outside of the machine. We had a signal set up for me to tap him and let him know how many minutes were left for the different sets. It helped him and made me feel like I was able to do something for my kid.
I had a CT scan done of my abdomen back in the fall and it was very similar with the having to drink the contrast crap. I very nearly did throw up- I’d had no idea I was going to have to drink anything and had already had lunch just an hour earlier. It took me over an hour just to get the crap down. But the actual process of the scan is much briefer with a CT scan, thankfully!
Edward sounds very brave, because I found the whole thing icky and awful and I’m a grown ass woman who’s given birth four times. (I do, however, have a strong gag reflex and some claustrophobia issues!) I hope you guys get some answers soon.
Yeah, I’ve got nothing. Except that posts like this make me love you, and I hope you and Edward get answers soon. Sounds like he was a total rockstar. Seriously, I can’t imagine my 8-year-old son handling any part of that procedure well!
MRIs suck…i had one of my ankle last year where they kept having to redo it because they kept forgetting to take pictures of the correct angles. I am glad Edward did okay, though. what a brave guy.
I had an abdominal cat scan when I was ten to determine if I had appendicitis, and I also had to drink the barium stuff. The nurse who was working with us said that it made it taste better if they mixed it with some kind of juice, but she wasn’t supposed to because it diluted the dye and made it less effective. She proceeded to dilute it with juice anyway which means I had to drink twice as much. About 3/4 of the way through I threw it all up anyway. They didn’t make me redrink any of it though and proceeded with the scan, which showed an only slightly more blurry picture than what they wanted. It was maddening. Based on that and this story I wonder how much barium you actually need to get a picture and if it is so small, why must you drink so much. This experience also ruined apple juice for me for YEARS.
Awesome he did so well (you too mama).
Our (children’s) hospital had a movie screen inside the MRI machine & my daughter got to pick a movie from a list of several hundred. I’m sure that makes it a lot easier on kids.
Oh gosh. I’m sorry he needed this but glad it all went smoothly (including the unexpected parts and even the “unsmooth” ones, if that makes sense — I mean, like the noise was far worse than you expected but it didn’t lead to a result other than the procedure getting the images needed). I hope you have answers soon and that they are useful ones.
Oh he was so brave! And you as well.
I find it hard to watch my children have any type of test done. My kids have had CT scans and x-rays, but so far I’m the only one that needed an MRI (and it was LOUD).
Thanks for all the helpful info!
Drinking barium is worse than drinking the colonoscopy stuff, in my opinion. Tastes like chalk sludge.
Taking a deep breath and holding it was like a fun game for me, but exhaling everything and then holding my breath OUT was much more uncomfortable.
I’m glad Edward did so well, and I hope this is the last test you need to get some answers!!
I’ve had an abdominal MRI before, and that is no fun. This post makes me feel like I would fail at parenthood in this instance. Good for you both, and you are close to answers!