What to Expect When You’re Expecting An MRI

(Before we jump in, a disclaimer: This piece follows the author’s personal thoughts through the experience of getting a brain MRI with contrast. It is one person’s subjective experience of symptoms, testing, and results and isn’t meant to diagnose or provide medical advice.)

I’ve been thinking for a while now whether I wanted to share this post… it was written from within a tender, vulnerable space of fear and uncertainty. In many ways, I am still in that space. I have a diagnosis and some prescriptions to manage symptoms, but the root cause of my diagnosis (occipital neuralgia) is unknown, and some of my symptoms (mainly the twitching) aren’t fully explained by this. While I am taking a pause from pushing for more tests (it’s exhausting), there is a nagging fear that something else lurks beneath the surface.

This is rooted primarily in knowing that the experience of being inside my body now is radically different than it was just over a month ago. It stems from being uncertain how much of what I track and note as different is truly a change versus what comes simply from a heightened awareness of my body now that it has, in some ways, failed me.

Ultimately, I’ve decided to be vulnerable because I think these stories are worth telling. I share this story because I don’t want anyone to feel alone through this experience. I share it in gratitude that, whatever may be happening, so far it seems that it is something manageable, something that might even heal entirely with time. With the knowledge that for others who’ve gone through similar experiences, the end results were not the same.

Wednesday, August 7th

I write to you from a space of uncertainty, a space of not knowing whether I will hit “publish.” I write from a deep, vulnerable place within myself that I am only just learning to inhabit.

This year, I’ve become no stranger to doctor’s visits. I have truly learned to be grateful for my full time job and the truly amazing health insurance that comes with it. Within my privilege, I sit couched small and scared inside a body that I don’t fully recognize anymore.

Perhaps (okay, almost definitely) I’m being a tiny bit dramatic. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I do not make a graceful, brave, inspiring sick person.

But of course, I don’t know that I’m truly sick. Or at least, not that kind of sick. Not yet.