MRI Yi! Yi!

"Do you have metal implants, tattoos, allergies, asthma, claustrophobia?" Those are just a few of the questions Earnest, my technician, asked before my MRI this morning. (Let me take a moment here to say that I always LOVE meeting a guy named Earnest. Because he usually is.)

But back to the subject at hand: Who isn't claustrophobic when they put a rack over your face and pack you in a tube and tell you not to move or it will take longer than the 30 minutes they promised? Not only that, even if you just had a bio break 20 seconds before you were put in place for imaging, all you'll be able to think about is how much you need to pee.  (Even though Dr. Oz says that from the time you think you have to pee and when you are really in trouble, it's about two hours, give or take. But that's no comfort in an MRI.) Oh - and your hands will surely fall asleep. And your nose will itch like crazy.

It's REALLY LOUD in there - that's why they give you earplugs; the squishy kind that look like candy, only don't be fooled! They're not! (And yes, I know about open MRIs, but my doc needed the type of sharp image you can't get from the airier version of the instrument.) It's kind of like being put in a big metal trashcan, and part of the time someone is drilling concrete right next to it, and part of the time it's being zapped with a taser, and from time to time your trash can is being pounded with a rubber mallet. In fact, I bet Earnest was sitting in his little control room during my procedure pressing buttons labeled "TASER" and "MALLET" and "DRILL" just to make the time pass. Because it's probably a pretty boring job to put someone inside a tube and just take a regular old x-ray.

At the end, Earnest gave me a CD of my images, similar to the way a couple would give you the favorite songs from their wedding as a party favor. Maybe I'll even make a label for it: "Anita and Earnest, January 20." I'm supposed to bring it to my doctor, but I might slip it into my laptop before then and take a look. It will be like me looking under the hood of my car - I know there's something wrong there, but I'll never find it.

First things first, though: I'm going to the bathroom, and then I'm going to scratch my nose as much as I want to.

© 2015 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Who Will You Call?

Around the middle of last year, a friend called with the sad news she had terminal cancer, with only months left to live. And then she said something that went straight to my heart: "I wanted to tell you that I loved knowing you." It was one of the most powerful and caring actions I've ever experienced. 

She made it easy for me to tell her what she'd meant to me as well, and though it might have been an awkward conversation for some, it was anything but that between us. She said she had lived a wonderful life and had been, and was, happy. She was one of my first role models in business, and though we were on separate coasts and didn't see each other often, ours was a friendship that picked up readily when we connected. It made me wonder who I would call if I were told my life was going to be shorter than I expected.

I have friends who make me laugh, who make me think, who startle me with their kindness, who are remarkably intelligent and talented, who have educated me and learned with me, without whom my life would be less colorful and mindful. And now I know: I will call them all. 

Thank you for this lesson, my sweet friend, for teaching me how to say goodbye with grace and peace and happiness. And let me say this once again: I loved knowing you, too. 


© 2015 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Why I Need Two Suitcases

It's fun to get away. I like the simplicity and predictability of a hotel room, or the interesting not-mineness of someone's guest room. I have even learned not to take 20 pairs of shoes when I travel, which was a big change for me, requiring hours of therapy and a Zappos patch to ease out of the addiction.

But even after kicking the shoe habit, I can't stop taking two suitcases with me on a trip. And here's why: I keep thinking I'm going to live the life I don't lead at home out of my luggage on the road. I take a friend's manuscript I've been meaning to read and comment on. I take that four-step skin system I bought from my dermatologist that I stopped using after a week or two, so I can get in the habit of doing it. (I don't. Ever. I'm stuck at the cleanser stage.) I take the yoga video I don't watch in my own living room but somehow think I will pop into my laptop and pose with, quietly, in someone's home before they wake up.  And a few other things that guilt me out in my own habitat and give me the sense I'm making progress if I bring them with me. Oh, and since there's usually a little space left, a few more pairs of shoes. (Recovery is a process, after all.)

Well, I'd better go. It's time to pack again, and I have to figure out how to get my sewing machine and fabric in my second suitcase. You know, to make those pillow covers I can't get to at home.

© 2015 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie