Rant #2,740: Bad to the Bone

… So let me tell you about my MRI.
 
I had the MRI on Thursday evening, when honestly, my leg felt a lot better than it had when I could barely walk on it just a week before.
 
I was strapped into the machine—it was a closed MRI—but happily, I did not have to go all the way into the machine, just basically up to my chest, so I wasn’t fully inside.
 
The technician asked me what music I wanted to listen to, and before I could say “rock and roll,” he had me plugged into what goes for "classic rock" today, stuff from the likes of Bon Jovi and the Scorpions, stuff that I hated when it was new and still don’t like.
 
But it is better than listening to Whitney Houston or Lionel Richie.
 
So after all the noise was over—there was plenty of it, as the MRIs were taken—I was done, and that was that.

 
Soon after, I received word about what I have in that knee, and it is not a torn meniscus.
 
I have proximal patellar tendinosis and very mild distal quadriceps.
 
In English, I have what is popularly known as "Jumper's Knee," and it is something I will have to deal with.
 
A lot of basketball players get it, hence the name.
 
I guess I sowed the seeds of this malady 50 years ago, playing basketball on the concrete courts in Rochdale Village in Queens.
 
Yeah, right.
 
More important, no tears, no breaks, it is all probably age-related.
 
Sprinkled throughout this Rant are pictures of my knee, and there is nothing to wince about when looking at these images. Sure, they are not as cute as my baby pictures are, but they are not repulsive at all.

 
I just have to be more careful when I turn over in my sleep, because that's how I got it.
 
Since then, it kind of bothered me during the weekend on an intermittent basis, but then the pain went away for hours.
 
I guess I could go for physical therapy, as I have done in the past, but honestly, I don’t think I need it for this malady this time around.
 
If there are exercises I could do at home to lessen the stress on that area, that would be fine.
 
And whatever the case, I will learn to live with this. The other things that I have had have been so much worse.
 
I actually volunteered for the MRI—I have been told nobody volunteers for getting one, but I really wanted to know for sure what it was, so I said I would do it.
 
Happily, that experience went pretty well this time around.
 
In the past, I have had some disturbing experiences related to getting an MRI—nothing criminal, but nothing I would put a happy face on.
 
Here is what I had to say about my very first MRI in Rant #792, dated August 27, 2012:
 
“I came into the room, had to take off any metal on my person--watches, belt buckles, etc.--and then I put myself on this thin gurney-type device, all sprawled out.
 
A support was put around my head to make sure I didn't move, and then I was pushed into the machine.
 
Happily, I don't have claustrophobia, because if I did, I would not have made it.
 
It was a closed MRI, as opposed to an open one, meaning that I was now in a pod-like structure where my nose was about three inches from its ceiling.
 
My arms were sprawled out to my sides, and boy, was it uncomfortable!
 
The pain was incredible. I know at one point, I yelled out, "Get me out of this thing," but the attendant basically talked me out of it.
 
I decided that this is something I had to do, so with the attendant telling me, "If I let you out of the machine, it's over!" I decided to stick it out.
 
What did I do to suppress the pain? I literally thought of nice things in my life, visualizing each one: my family, my wife, my daughter, things I like to eat (like hot dogs) ... anything to get my mind off of the pain.
 
I also tuned out whatever the attendant was saying to me, which wasn't the right thing to do. Her instructions were vital in getting me through this, but I couldn't listen to her screeching anymore.
 
Nor could I listen to the "relaxing" music they had on in the background. Sorry, Lionel Ritchie does not calm me down at all.
 
Finally, it was over, and yes, I hurt all over. My arm was really barking, but at least I got through it. The attendant told me that this wasn't going to be a group of the best "pictures" she had ever witnessed, "but they would be good enough to help the doctor plan my path.”
 
Yes, the first time around, the technician was like a little Hitler, yelling and screaming at me to get it right or else.
 
Funny, when I went for another MRI about a year and half ago, I mentioned this incident to the technician, and he knew exactly who I was referring to, and said, off the record, that I wasn’t the only one who had had a bad experience with this woman.

 
This time around, nothing with nothing, although hearing “You Give Love a Bad Name” really isn’t my cup of tea … but it’s certainly better than hearing “Saving All My Love For You” when going full throttle in the MRI way back when.
 
Now, hopefully, I can keep myself in one piece for the test of my life.
 
It is truly amazing that each time I hurt myself to the level that I needed an MRI, I did it while turning over in my sleep.
 
I just have to somehow, be more careful when doing so, but how do you make sure of that if you are in a deep sleep like I was during these occurrences?
 
I have no answer for that, but it is something that I am going to have to do.
 
But knowing me, I am almost waiting for the next shoe to fall, or the next bad turn in my sleep to happen.
 
That is not the way for a restful sleep, so I wonder why I sometimes have insomnia.
 
I do wish I could put the whole thing to bed, literally.