Attracting dumb injuries like a magnet
Magnetic resonance imaging doesn’t sound that scary, since I
think of magnets as friendly little things that hold pictures onto
a fridge.
Attracting dumb injuries like a magnet
Magnetic resonance imaging doesn’t sound that scary, since I think of magnets as friendly little things that hold pictures onto a fridge.
An X-ray sounds much harsher. You get zapped with X-rays while wearing a lead bib to protect your vital organs (aren’t they all vital?) from exposure to radiation.
I’ve had plenty of X-rays over the years, for sprained ankles and dental procedures, and was never freaked out about it – except when I thought of the mysterious rays that were coursing through my head as the dentist took a picture of my molars.
Having to undergo an MRI was a little more disquieting, as I had heard stories of people freaking out in claustrophobic fits while in the machine.
Because my body just turned 40 while my brain is stuck in its 20s, I overexerted myself a month ago while playing basketball and injured my right knee – formerly known as my “good knee.” The MRI became necessary when an orthopedist told me that I shouldn’t be in such pain so many weeks after an injury.
I’d like to say that my knee buckled when I crashed to the floor after taking a charge or fighting for a rebound against a larger opponent. The truth is that I was playing coed city recreational basketball on a team with my wife when I jumped to block a shot and landed on the ground with no one around me.
The pop I felt in my knee let me know right away that something was wrong, since I had experienced a similar feeling in my other knee (formerly my bad knee and now, once again, my good knee) while playing in the men’s league four or five years ago – that injury was so much more manly, though ultimately, less severe.
I hopped my way to the bench, where I put ice on the knee while muffling curse words behind clenched teeth. What would my coed team do without me? Put in some other 40-something dude who hadn’t hurt his knee in a while, that’s what.
After a few weeks (yes, weeks, I’m a man and we’re supposed to suck it up) of swelling and continued pain, I decided to see the doctor, who ordered the MRI.
Despite some trepidation, I was relieved when I realized that my entire body wouldn’t be in the MRI machine. My head was sticking out during the procedure, which was surprisingly long, though painless.
The technician reminded me to get rid of all metal objects before I went into the MRI room, as the powerful magnets would attract any such items and send them hurtling toward it as if it were a black hole.
He showed me the power by holding a key at the end of a string and turning the machine on. The key jumped toward the MRI contraption. I understood the power.
Despite checking all my pockets, however, the technician stopped the procedure midway through when he realized I had left my car keys in the pocket of my shorts. Fortunately, the keys didn’t fly away or get melted or electrocute me or cause a disruption in the time-space continuum. They just required me to stay in there a little longer.
The worst part of the MRI was the noise, which was louder than a jackhammer at close range. The ear plugs I was given helped, but the whole thing was a bit jarring.
I made it through, because I’m a man (who injured himself playing coed basketball without being hit or pushed). Turns out my meniscus is torn, as is my ACL.
If I were a pro, I’d likely miss a year. Because I’m a weekend warrior, there will be no protracted drama about my future. I am formally announcing my retirement from rec basketball – especially the dangerous coed version.
A few weeks of physical therapy and a specialized knee brace are in my future, and I’m hoping knee injuries are in my past. No surgery is required yet, the doctor said, so if I’m careful, I’ll be back on the bench cheering on my wife’s team next year.
I just hope the women don’t get too close to the bench when they run by. I might hurt myself trying to get out of the way.
