Inconsistencies in time, ballet slippers and scans

Why is it that the last forty years has scooted past me in the blink of an eye, but forty minutes in an MRI machine seemed to be interminable!? 

How can this be? 

In this strange time zone I find myself in at the moment, there are some days that stretch out, and others which flash by...... let’s hope that when I go to work tomorrow for a ten hour stretch, that flashes by too!   

When I last wrote, I had just had the consultation with the Gynae registrar telling me about my “unexpected” CT findings. He promised that I would be referred to a new team, the colorectal specialism....  and would probably be called for a colonoscopy and a biopsy (if there was anything to see)..... all this seemed very vague to me as I walked back to Victoria, and pondered my change in circumstances. I wondered if the referral would happen quickly, or might I be virtually sitting in an out tray for a while, or even worse, fallen behind the radiator! 

The next two days passed with no communication, and I started to think I was gathering dust behind that radiator, but then I had a phone call (landline, which I rarely answer because it’s usually an Asian man/lady called Simon/Sandra who wants to know if I’ve been involved in an accident, not my fault......). This call was from Mr Rasheed’s secretary - much to my delight, as the phlebotomy nurse had said that Mr Rasheed was “lovely” and she hoped that I’d be referred to him. Anyways.... the secretary said that an appointment had been made for me to see Mr Rasheed next Wednesday. That was all - so I was wondering if that would be the start of the “plan”:- colonoscopy, biopsy etc etc. but then, quite late on Friday afternoon, I get another call from a private number, and it’s the diagnostic team asking me if I could come for an MRI early on Saturday morning! I chose to accept - the alternative was in an off-the-beaten-track scanning unit during a work day, and I’m trying to up the credit on the work front..... just in case. 

So this morning, I was up and ready to leave the house at 7am. Hilariously, they had told me that I could eat and drink as normal before this scan.... but last week’s PET scan at 2pm required fasting! I set off and grabbed a black coffee at East Croydon station, then had to surreptitiously sip it under my mask (WORN AT ALL TIMES WHILST TRAVELLING). Needless to say, that coffee did its work, and as I was walking through Belgravia towards Chelsea, I was feeling the need to go to the loo.......... not number 1, enough said. Made it to the Marsden main entrance (and nearby facilities) without mishap (clenched teeth and butt) and was in good time for my appointment. 

I arrived at the third floor to find the doors firmly locked...... this was unexpected to say the least and I started to feel the panic rising.... had I misheard the instructions? Nothing on paper ...... but no. I was just early. 

I found a chair and killed some of that slow moving time (what did we do in days before smart phones?) and then when I went back, sure enough, the doors were unlocked and the department was ready for business. 

I had to fill in another interminable form regarding my COVID risk, and then I was collected by James who walked me to the MRI area, explaining the forthcoming procedure. There’s always a slight concern that I might have forgotten about a random bit of metal about my person and that I might self destruct during the scanning. 

I had my own room, locker and delightful hospital gown and was ready and waiting (everything removed except knickers and sandals....) when they came back to get me. We established that I’d like to listen to Radio 4 (anyone who might have read my earlier blogs about the initial cancer screening process might remember that I’d had an interesting dalliance with the Eagles during an earlier MRI at Mayday hospital).

Cherry blossom tiles on the ceiling, injection of IM buscopan, earplugs in, headphones on.... and I was beginning the scan. I was just getting interested in the programme about Henry I and how he blinded his grandchildren (I think that’s what they said.... but the earplugs rendered the sound very faint) when the machine started it’s clanking and rattling....... I had been strapped in, and had weighted x ray plates over my torso and a panic button wrapped in tissue in my left hand, and I knew it was going to take about 40 minutes........ every now and then, the noise stopped and a disembodied voice in my head asked “Madeleine, are you ok?” I replied cheerily each time, but was mightily relieved when the voice told me that there was about five minutes left to go and I was “doing very well.....”

A completely different person (a handsome black man this time) came to unstrap me from the machine, which made me question time inconsistencies once more..... and I told him that I had found the weight of the X-ray pads strangely comforting. He looked at me in amazement, so I asked him if people often pressed the panic button. His reply was a resounding YES..... so I waffled on about weighted blankets giving assurance .... but he only stared at me with incredulity. 

Anyway, I left the hospital about an hour and a half after arriving, and headed home, ravenously hungry and gagging for a cup of tea. In one of the shop windows I passed, I noticed an enormous pile of ballet slippers lurking next to a wedding dress. This took my fancy, so I quickly made a record on my phone and thought I’d use it to illustrate today’s blog......... I wondered if all those ballet slippers had ever belonged to real ballerinas...... and if so, where were they now?