M.R.I

M.R.I

My mum lost her hearing in one of her ears a few years ago and the doctors never knew what caused it. She was booked in for an M.R.I scan, but ended up not going through with it saying she felt too frightened and claustrophobic. I told her she was being ridiculous, and that if it was going to help well, she should just bloody do it! 

Mere hours after my own M.R.I, I phoned to apologise to her. I understood exactly what she meant. 

The nurses told me to remove all my jewellery, piercings and hair pins. Nothing metal left in my body, and seeing as I have no plates or bionic limbs, that should’ve been pretty simple right? Not quite. I have an intimate piercing that is quite literally impossible to remove on my own. I sheepishly explained this and was told that I may need to reschedule as the piercings can “explode” and rip out whatever part of the body it’s attached to. (yeah, she actually said “rip”). Then another nurse came, handed me a magnet and told me to hold it against my piercing to see if it was magnetised. It wasn’t, so she said I would be safe to go in and there would be nothing to worry about. Sorted then! Then why were exploding vaginas all I could think about? 

I put on my gown and answered some basic health questions, then was warned that the IV buscopan that I was about to receive might make my vision blurred so not to panic about blindness or anything, and that on rare occasions,  some tattoos can heat excessively during an MRI, and if this happens I should push the buzzer and they’ll take me out (I have about 27 tattoos so this wasn’t particularly pleasant news). So now all I can think about it is losing my sight, having exploding genitals and burning from the inside out. Great. What a morning. 

I lay on the bed and 2 boards were placed on top of me and fastened to the bed so that my arms were trapped by my side, rendering me unable to move. So when my vaginas flying around in tiny pieces, I won’t be able to throw my hands out and grab anything to salvage! 

I was told I’d be lying under the machine for an hour. An HOUR! I thought this would take a few minutes! As I started to be moved in, I immediately knew what my mum meant – it was horrendous. I felt totally trapped and couldn’t see anything around me apart from white, clinical plastic. They gave me earphones, but it was impossible to concentrate on the awful music over the hum and beeps and murmurs of the machine. 

About 30mins in, I needed to sneeze. Shit. I’m not supposed to move in here right? It came and went twice, until I couldn’t stop it anymore. Damn, not one but, two sneezes! I tried in vain to stifle them, which only resulted in my eyes watering. I could feel a small steady stream of tears rolling down my face. I couldn’t life my arm to wipe it. Uh-oh, now my nose was running. Snotters slowly dripped down my face. Oh my God, it’s going in my mouth, it’s going in my mouth! I turned my head ever so slightly to try veer the snotters off course. Result! They bypassed my mouth and continued rolling down my chin and on to my neck. Crap, there goes my eyes again. More tears were coming, followed by even more snotters. My face was a soggy mess and I couldn’t do anything about it. 

Finally, the murmurs stopped and I started to feel myself move backwards. The nurses appeared and unstrapped the boards. I could finally lift my hands and I immediately wiped my wet, snotter soaked face. It was over.  

Or was it? Was that actually the easy part? 

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Hostile Reception

Hostile Reception

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If I had been face-to-face with the receptionist at my GP surgery today, I would have threw my shoe at her. Without hesitation. Ok, well maybe not my shoe – I like my shoe. But I’d have said a swear word and stormed off. And maybe knocked over the pile of last years magazines they have for reading. 

Like I said before, after my appointment at the RMC clinic, it was agreed that I was a “good candidate” for progesterone and I was told I could get this from my ever so helpful GP. I phoned him a few weeks ago and was quickly dismissed, with him saying he can’t give me anything until he receives confirmation letter from the hospital (yeah cos I quite fancy getting high off the progesterone). Anyway – fine – I guess he has an oath or some bollocks, but I explained that I was eager to have it all sorted for when I got my next positive test and asked that he update me as soon as the letter was received. 

Today I call to find out if the letters been received and the exceptionally helpful receptionist tells me that it was indeed received – 20 DAYS AGO.. She says to me: 

“It says there’s no further action required so no you don’t have a prescription” 

“Yes,I know I don’t. I’m just wondering if it’s been confirmed that I have to get it once I’m pregnant” I say calmly. As calmly as I can manage anyway. I’m probably getting a bit ratty. 

“But you’ve to take it when you’re pregnant, not now. You aren’t pregnant.” she says. 

Gee, thanks for reminding me! And I’m aware how to bloody take it you stupid woman. All I want to know is if it’ll be there when I need it! (I never said this of course. I’m calm remember. At least at this point anyway.) 

“Well we actually recommended that you don’t get pregnant until after your scan results” 

WE?! WE?!?! Who the fuck are WE?! 

I totally lost it then. I screamed that if she bothered to look at the rest of my notes, she would see I’ve had 5 bloody miscarriages and I WILL be getting progesterone and I certainly wont be taking advice from a receptionist who is merely reading notes from a screen and I will absolutely not be told by a receptionist what to do with MY body nor when I’ve to do it and I want to speak to my GP right NOW and I will not continue this conversation with someone who is completely unqualified to be giving any sort of medical advice! 

It never got much better either to be honest. My GP called back and started going on about possible side effects and how the recent medical studies aren’t conclusive and he’s totally uncomfortable prescribing it and he’s decided against it. Fuck. All I want is someone to give me the drugs for my incompetent vagina. For fuck sake. 

(Apologies to receptionists everywhere that are decent at their job. This isn’t directed at you. Just that one bloody woman) 

Appointment with the NHS

Appointment with the NHS

I’ve spoken briefly about my frustration with the NHS in relation to my miscarriages and I think I should be more specific. Its mainly at my local GP’S attitude and staff than aren’t directly involved with my history. And I tend to be constantly angry at the R.A.H hospital by how I was treated by them during my 1st miscarriage at 21. (See my post ‘guilt’ for more detail on that one)

I had my appointment at the Queen Elizabeth University Hospital  (Southern general – it’ll always be southern general to me)

Anyway.. the doctor and sister that seen me today were fantastic. I’d already met the sister when I was in for tests around 9months ago (9months,  how horrendously ironic). They were both so understanding and sympathetic.  I wasnt patronised or made to feel like it wasnt a big deal. They were genuine.  And while I cried at least 4 times, I left feeling better… feeling listened to.

I never had further tests done as everything that could be tested already has been. Everything is negative. Or positive. I dunno.. it’s a good result. I’m basically a picture of health. I’ve just been unlucky. Three times.
Part of me hoped there was something – at least that way it could be treated. But I was assured that medically speaking its better this way.

The advice was just to keep trying. Stay positive. Do everything I’m already doing. It’s hard to see the light sometimes but I am going to keep going. I’ve only been fighting for a year and I know some of you have been fighting much longer. Your strength helps me keep going.

If anyone is delaying the tests, or scared to go for fear of discovering something they didn’t want to know – just go. The worst is fear of the unknown. Once you have some kind of answer, you can start to move on. I’m still going to feel like shit every now and then, I’m still going to be angry and frustrated. I’ll 100% still cry. But I’ll know that there’s nothing more I can or could ever have done. I know that when it’s my time.. I’ll have my baby.

(At least that’s the positivity I’m trying to lead with today!)