I like to think that I can put up with a lot: having no free time, little sleep, annoying people at work, a dirty roommate, not seeing family very often, etc. I used to be uber phobic of needles and hospitals but as I got older that seemed to pass (thus evidenced by the fact that I now have two tattoos, one in a very painful, spinal location...).

However, recent events have come to remind me that indeed, I whine, and I whine alot. Especially about my health.

Cue the "woe is me" speech.

So I was in physical therapy for the better part of last year to try and fix my knees, which, due to various sports injuries, began to cause me pain. Then, this past November, something new arised: a hip ailment which caused my hip to snap and for me to collapse in pain. I didn't think much of it until when I was home at xmas and was crossing the street with mom when a similar thing occurred and she looked at me in shock. So i called my therapist and made an appointment.
I go in to see my sports doctor and he puts in a requisition form for me to get an ultrasound, with the theory that a muscle that lies over my hip is snapping. Well, ultrasound proved inconclusive, so I was then scheduled to go back to the hospital for an MRI.

Well, I had never had an MRI and all I knew I knew from House: they put you in a tube, and you don't move. Simple right?

Not so much.

I get to the hospital, fill out my paperwork, get into the gown, go through the screening of making sure I have no metal or ailments that would prevent me from taking the scan. All clear. I get wheeled down to radiology, where I lie on a table with my hip exposed, the doctor using a metal pin and instant x-ray to locate the precise area of my hip joint, where he will inject dye that will show up on x-ray and on MRI.

yeah, i thought, i can deal with this. needles are nothing.

So he cleans the area, swabs with disinfectant, and then starts poking my skin with a needle, and then taking an x-ray in order to find the joint. Joint found, he attaches a tube to the needle and begins pumping in anesthetic.

Imagine someone pushing a thick, gel-like substance into your bones and veins. Yeah, not so pleasant. At first it didn't hurt, just felt like a lot of pressure, but then it began to sting and burn, and I started crying. He said it would get better, so I just tried to regulate my breathing.

Then the radiologist puts the x-ray dyes in, and I look over my shoulder to see the x-ray of my hip joint show a dark cloud moving over my bones with every subsequent shot. Then he injects more anesthetic, and cue more pain.

Again, it feels like my veins are being pumped full of gel, and shooting pains start to go from my hip to my toes, and I can't wiggle my toes or move my leg. And pain and more pain, and embarrassing tears, so I start to make jokes, anything to make this move along.

The MRI dye gets injected, and he says we are almost done. I still can't feel my leg, but it feels as though if you pushed my skin, it would sway and jiggle and then explode. He puts a band-aid on the two injection sites and asks me to stand up to see if i can walk.

Cue the moment where I discover I can't sit up, or move my left leg. They have to lift me off of the x-ray table, and I am crying yet again with the pain. I get wheeled back into the MRI department, where I try to sit at a 45 degree angle, so that no bending occurs in my hips of legs. I sit in front of the MRI swinging doors for a long time, I don;t know how long since my watch is in my locker, earning the pitied looks of other patients who see my tears and hear my panting through the pain. They engage me in idle chit chat about the book I am holding and that I can't pay attention to.

My radiologist comes by and tells me that he thinks, when injecting the anesthetic, they injected it into my femoral nerve, the one that runs from my hip to my toes. It is a 1 in 10,000 chance that it can be hit and temporarily damaged, which, lucky me, i get to experience for the next two to three days. He apologizes, and says if I can't walk after the MRI, I will have to stay in the hospital. Apologizing again, he returns to radiology to pump the next MRI patient pull of stuff in whatever area he requires.

I am then wheeled down the hall into a small room with a large cylinder. The two nurses lift me onto the table, since i still cannot move, and then proceed to strap me into place, taping my feet together and tying my legs to the table. I am handed ear plugs and then told that I cannot move. I am then inserted into a small tube, where the ceiling is about 4 inches in front of my face, lit only with small lightbulbs. I hear a voice over a speaker in the tunnel, the nurse asking me if I am okay. I acknowledge and we begin my 45 mins of stillness.

Weird clicks and beeps start, startling me, and then long, loud buzzing noises. My hands are clasped underneath my neck and soon fall asleep, but I don't make any attempt to move them since I could ruin the scan and have to start all over again. My muscles keep tensing and releasing and I hope they don't move enough to blur the scans. Mom had told me that they keep the communication lines open, so that you can talk to them, so I ask if I can move my hands. Or how much time is left. Everytime is no answer.

It is amazing how alone and scared you can feel while inside a dimly lit tube.

By this time it has been several hours since I used the bathroom and begin to get very uncomfortable. I routinely ask how much time is left of my 45 min scan, but no answer.

Finally, when I was just about to scream and demand to be let out, the nurse's voice is heard saying "final scan, this one is 3 minutes, try not to move". THANK GOD. I start counting and breathing deeply, not stopping until i hear the room's door open and the tube starts to move out.

The nurse unstraps me and asks if I can walk. At this time I can bend from the waist, but still no movement from the leg. I am helped to my feet and hobble as quickly as I can to the bathroom, which is in itself a difficult process given that I can't bend one leg.

The nurse then tells me that since I can;'t walk that I have to hang around for a couple of hours, unless there is someone I can call. I mention that my parents had flown in the day before, so I call dad, who tells me that they are 30 mins away. Dad asks where we should meet, and I tell him that due to my inability to move, I am going to need mom to help me dress. I sit in the waiting room with a book, still in my hospital gown, waiting for mom.

The first time I see Mom in three months, and she sees me tired, in pain, and in an ugly green gown. She helps me dress and I walk very slowly and painfully to the parking garage where dad is waiting. I slide into the car and lay sideways, legs unable to bend. Mom and Dad are on their way to meet Don and Jenny for dinner at the Keg, and I say I want to go. We stop and get me some extra strength advil that comes in giant yellow liqui-gels. I down one, wishing for the throbbing, pinching pain to go away. Immediately upon arriving at the restaurant, I order the largest margarita possible.

After dinner, I am taken back to rez, but I have to be helped into bed. I down another two advil and become giggly and hyper but then feel the drugs hit harder, and pass out listening to Josh Groban and Paul Potts on my iPod.

Mom and Dad pick me up the next morning to take me up to a friend's condo in Muskoka for Easter weekend, me still on painkillers and unable to walk properly.

Here it is, Sunday night, and all that remains of this experience is needle marks on my hip, bruises, and a slight limp.

I am 21, and have something wrong with my hip that I can only hope my MRI can reveal. An two essays due this week.

This event is probably dramatic, but it was definitely traumatic. I never want to go through that again.