Panic Button!

Here's the skinny on MRI's.  If you are skinny, there will be more room to breathe (need to work on that one).  And thankfully for me they need the part of the body in the middle of the tube that they are scanning.  So since it was my foot, I only went in half way.  However, I did not realize this until AFTER I hit the "panic button" 2 seconds after the lady left the room.  How can I be so weak?  I have no idea, and I never knew how claustrophobic I was until today. 

I have always been able to talk myself down, quote scripture, breathe, sing in my head ect. to calm myself down in tight spaces.  That was until today when I faced the Toshiba (yes - Toshiba) coffin machine (aka MRI.)  I refused to think I would need "help" just to do something people do every day.  After all, aren't I confident, in control and capabale?  Well, that's what I thought.  I was rational right up until SHE LEFT ME!  I was laying half way in the tube, headphones in and she says, "ok, lets get started."  The music was suppose to start, and it didn't.  I took one look down my body at the small opening and how close my nose would be to the top and I lost all reasoning.  Now remember, I still thought I was going further in:

"I won't be able to breathe.  The air is hot in there.  I will be too close to the top.  How will I get out?  I need her to come back.  Why isn't the music playing,  I can't do this.  I can't breathe.  I can't do this. I can't breathe in there" . . . literally over and over while increasing in speed and intensity in my head.  No more self talk, no more prayer.  Just crazy lady I've never met before.  My chest was pounding and racing at the same time, my breathing changed and the room was spinning.  And I had NO CONTROL.  Not fun!  So, I sat up - they can't put me in there if I sat up I thought.  And I hit the "panic button" (call button).  "Are you ok?"  "How far do I have to go in?  My music hasn't started." 

And then she is the music to my ears, "Oh, you don't have to go any further.   That's it."  And I said with as much nonchalance as I could muster, "Oh, okay.  Great.  I'm good."  I layed down, listened to my music and noticed the "TOSHIBA" sign on the coffin machine.   I also decided if the coffin machine and I ever meet again for anything other than a foot - I will be requesting sedation!