The MRI Is Wherever you Aren’t
I went to get two MRIs of my spine so Mayo can look for MS lesions.
I already had the brain MRI, because apparently my body is being submitted in separate files.
I have had roughly one hundred MRIs.
That is not literally true, but it is true enough that I believed I knew where I was going.
My dad drove. He pushed my wheelchair. I guided him.
This arrangement contained one qualified participant.
For the past few years, I have been in clinical trials, where people met us, escorted us, or sent us to the same place every time. I was recently forced out of those trials, which I am bitter about and have discussed elsewhere.
Today’s subject is simpler:
I am a terrible guide.
The GPS took us to the correct building.
I told my dad it was wrong.
This is especially humiliating because I regularly tell people to trust their map apps instead of their own sense of direction.
So, naturally, when the map app knew where we were going and I did not, I chose me.
We entered the wrong building.
A receptionist told us we needed another building and directed us to a shuttle.
We considered the shuttle.
Then we rejected the shuttle, returned to the car, and decided to drive ourselves, because the first round of independent decision-making had gone so well.
Eventually, we reached the correct building.
Victory.
Except no one inside the correct building seemed to agree on where the MRIs happened.
One receptionist sent us left.
Another sent us right.
A third sent us somewhere that felt less like a location and more like a personal challenge.
We went to approximately five different places.
At some point, I believe we entered a section of the hospital that exists only when patients are already late.
My dad kept pushing.
I kept guiding.
Neither of us questioned why I still held that position.
Finally, slightly late and several miles older, we reached the right place.
It was the same damn place we had both been before.
Of course it was.
The scans got done. Mayo will get the images. My spine has been thoroughly photographed.
And, my dad got enough steps to bury every fitness watch he has ever owned.
I also learned an important lesson:
Trust the GPS.
Trust the shuttle.
Trust the receptionists selectively.
And, under no circumstances trust the legally blind man confidently pointing down a hospital hallway.
A mistake
One I won’t make again
Doubt it
