Why not? Shit kicks in slow…like the tide. The tide totally sneaks up on you. It's not there and then... *WHAM*
I was feeling alright, relaxed, until I was conveyor belted into the machine. I had a black sleep mask over my eyes and my hearing aid was out (which only picks up louder, concussive sounds anyway – no language, music, tone or sound direction). My head was bolstered into its cage – I couldn’t move. This was sensory deprivation city.
The inside of my head was like one of those iMax theaters and I was sitting front row/center. I was watching my smoking skull (someone else’s smoking skull?) rise high and fast into a dark, star spotted night. I was zooming over the surface of the ocean, greeting orcas and other whales. I visited octopuses – I think they were having tea.Yep, I was quite unexpectedly tripping my fat ta-tas off.
Once I realized what was happening, I just tried to go with it, enjoy the ride. It was certainly a distraction from being stuck in the small, tight place, unable to move.
Still, HOW could this have been possible? Maybe the very small amount of pharmaceutical calm-me-down med ignited those two weed gummies into a medicinal kaleidoscope joyride? Could I, in my pre-MRI claustrophobia nervousness, accidentally dropped an additional calm-me-down or a third gummy?
I don’t remember doing so but it’s possible.
When the techs pulled me out of the machine I was still pretty disoriented but I could, with my rollator and Jen’s assistance, walk. I told her that “I’m trippin’ my balls off here. I don’t actually have balls but I guess you know that. I gotta pee now.”
Yep, I guess I’m a talky little day tripper.
She took me to the large disabled persons loo where I’d have more room to spaz around while I changed out of my ever so stylish johnny pants and gown. Jesus, Jen’s a saint.
Amazingly, I succeeded in getting back into my shorts and T (with Saint Jen’s help, of course) AND was able to walk to the car (using the rollator) all by myself (well, Jen spotted me but there was no need for the wheelchair). The entire time though, I was waffling between “I think I’m just pleasantly high now” and “nope, I am definitely still tripping with the roadies.” It seemed to change by the moment.
Once in the car, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I turned to Jen and announced, “I have the munchies – BAD!” Luckily, Jen had a bag of small dark chocolate dipped pretzels RIGHT THERE, opened and at the ready.
Have I mentioned Jen’s obvious celestial beinghoodedness yet? Yes, I think I might have. It’s quite true, you know. With the biggest smile pasted on my gob, I ate all her pretzels while grinning like a madwoman and cloud-watching on the way home.
When do I get the results? When do I find out whether the slight swelling and interior sense of numbness in my left calf, ankle and foot is due to a growth spurt in the tumors over my motor cortex OR is caused by something else entirely?
Dunno. I’ll drop Doc Plotkin and his nurse practitioner a note this morning. Good news – I would really like some good news today. Thank you!
Emmmm, in conclusion, don’t trip during your MRIs. Being chilled out is cool – unexpectedly having front row seats to a show of my smoking skull rising into the stratosphere on its way to Europa or some nice bodega on Proxima Centauri b is, well, fascinating if a tad unnerving
I take gummies to sleep most nights - half a 10 mg, usually. It's become my favorite time of day: it's like, once I take the gummy I have clocked out of being a responsible adult, and I'm just waiting, as you put it, for the tide to roll in. Sometimes it's barely noticeable except for the relaxation. Other times I can see my thoughts, like wisps in the ether that disintegrate if I try to grasp them.
ReplyDeleteI hope the results from your MRI are good news.
Thank you Lori! I used to take a gummy before bed most nights – same reason. Not as often now but I feel better knowing they're at hand if I need them.
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