The PK Diaries, Entry 3: The One With the MRI

“People are always forcing you to make decisions between flesh and spirit, whereas I want to dance myself in the direction of God. 
I go out drinking with God. 
I am flirtatious in the company of God. 
I am not a person who has to put God out of his mind to go out on the town. 
It’s a key point. 
The divided souls of Marvin Gaye and Elvis were conflicts that tore them apart, and they don’t tear me apart. 
I reckon God loves all of me…”
- Bono, 2005 Rolling Stone Interview 

“Wait, wait! Stop! Let me out! Stop!”
Hello.
My name is Chuck, and I’m a Claustrophobic.
And this.
This was not happening.
This being a Cervical Spine MRI.
Cervical Spine MRI.
If it sounds intimidating, well, that’s because it is.
If you need one, if your doctor recommends you get one, then you know.
You know something’s off.
You know things aren’t right.
Google it and the essence of it is this:
“A cervical spine MRI specifically scans the neck and are used to diagnose the cause of a patient’s neck pain, especially if the patient’s pain hasn’t subsided with basic treatment.”

“Hasn’t subsided with basic treatment”.
How about “hasn’t subsided”.
Period.

This particular MRI takes place inside a large tube.
A large, closed tube, not that rookie-entry-level-open-tube stuff.
This was the tight-ish-large-enclosed tube you’re slid into and asked not to move in for half an hour.
While you’re tubed in and the fun begins, jarringly-loud, jackhammer-type sounds go on and off at startling, unnerving intervals.
IYKYK.
That’s an acronym or an initialism for, “If you know you know”.
It’s quite the ride, which I’ve now stopped seconds after starting.
It’s allowed, stopping the process that is, if you’re wildly triggered by confined spaces.
And this.
This is the very definition of a confined space.
“Did you close your eyes?” asked the oh-boy-here-we-go-again-not-another-one-he-looked-so-together-and-promising technician as he stopped the machine, sliding me out.
He managed a weary smile.
“You have to keep your eyes closed.”
No, in fact, I hadn’t closed my eyes.
Opening them, if only for the briefest of moments, revealed to this card-carrying-founding-member of Claustrophobics Anonymous the horror of the OMGETN.
That’s my acronym or initialism for, “Oh My God it’s an Enclosed Tomb of Noise”!

I’ll spare the details.
It’s more.
Just more.
More of the same.
My body appears to be crumbling, disintegrating and degenerating from the inside out.
A pain here, a pain there.
A pain every-freaking-where.
My back.
My shoulder.
My arms.
My wrists.
My knees.
My knees?
Not yet but I’m sure they’re not far behind.
No, this is for my neck.
Upper spine, to be precise.
You know, to match up with the rest of my spine.
Can’t be having any imbalanced pain now, can we?
When I began writing this entry, I was waiting on the results.
I assumed by the time I finished, by the time this gets read, I’d know what fresh hell my body had decided to descend into.
I do.
I do know now.
Warranties.
My body needs new warranties.
Lots of new warranties.
But that’s not how this works.
That’s not how any of this works.

“It’s worse than I thought…”
Time stopped, with his words momentarily suspended, frozen in mid-air.
“His words” being those of Dr. A, or Nick, my Interventional Pain Management doctor who said them when I asked if he would interpret my MRI findings for me.
Somberly.
Soberly.
Seriously.
“It’s not good…”

For years - more like decades - I’ve gone to Nick for treatment of my bad back.
Pain-meds.
Diet.
Exercise.
Stretching.
Injections.
PT.
For years - more like decades - I’ve managed to live a relatively pain-restrained life. 
Worked.
Played.
Worked hard.
Played hard.
For years - yes, more like decades - I’ve heard all of the advice from very well-meaning friends, loved ones, and others.
“Have you tried Pilates? Oh you should!”
“Have you done Yoga? It’s the best!”
“Have you worn orthotics, back braces, or injected shark’s milk?”
Thanks, but, well, maybe.

Maybe not.
And for years - decades - we’ve agreed that surgery would be viewed as a last resort.
“I think we’re there”.
The Last Resort.
I’ve arrived.
We’re.
There.

A few of the greatest hits from my MRI report drove the Last Resort consensus home:
The word “severe” sprinkled throughout.
Probably never a good omen in any medical report.
The word “multilevel” as a qualifier.
As a general rule, “multi” in a word is a good thing.
Think multimillionaire, multicultural, multitalented and multitasking.
Good.
All good multi’s.
Multilevel followed by “neural foraminal stenosis”, and “spondylolisthesis”, not so good.
The word “all”.
As in “disc herniations at all cervical levels”.
I suppose this is consistent with other areas of my life.
If a recipe calls for one garlic clove, I immediately think “if one is good, ten must be better”.
If an hour in the sun gives you a healthy glow, then think what an entire day in the sun can do.
If one beer tastes good, then…well, you get the picture.
One herniated disc?
Don’t be ridiculous.
Let’s herniate all of them.
Finally, my favorite.
“Spinal cord compression”.
Another fun Google search.
“Increases the chances of paralysis”.
I’m not going to lie.
I face most things in life with humor, often really dark humor.
But increased chances of paralysis?
That’s a bit too macabre, even for me.
I’m not playing in that sandbox.

In the days and weeks ahead, consults with doctors, neural spine surgeons, and injections are in my future.
Bowie wrote a song with a simple question as the title, “Where Are We Now?”
Here.
This is where.
Here.
This piece was supposed to be a continuation of my deep dive into my religious and spiritual roots.
I think it still is or will be on some level.
Concepts like multi, all, and increased can fit onto that landscape, just not the way I anticipated.

“Let's make a list of all the things the world has put you through,
I don't know what else you wanted me to say to you,
Things happen, that's all they ever do,
Things happen, things happen…”
- Dawes, Things Happen