Mingo.Life

The soundtrack to my week was pure chaos. Part industrial techno, part heavy metal, like someone had locked a DJ inside a toolbox, and fed them exclusively red bull.

I finally had my MRI scan, the long-awaited next step in the saga of “what the hell is wrong with my head.” They slid me in on a tray, making me feel like a supermarket pizza shoved onto the middle shelf. They gave me headphones, warning me it gets noisy, and asked if I wanted to listen to the radio. I declined, opting instead to use the time to be with my thoughts. Except you can’t really be alone with your thoughts when it sounds like you’re being repeatedly attacked by a gang of angry washing machines.

For 45 minutes I stared at a tiny fleck of damaged paintwork inside the machine.

A fleck that, after about minute 12, became the most fascinating object in the known universe. I’ve seen less character development in a Marvel film.

This pivotal scan came just days after an epic rock concert with Emma last week. The headline act were called The Browning, supported by The Defect, in Nottingham. For those who’ve never heard of them: imagine a nightclub, an angry robot, and a jet engine all having a fistfight while someone flashes 5000 laser pens at a disco ball. It was fantastic. I met the vocalist of The Defect (who incidentally is the Wife of the lead singer of The Browning), went for a wee next to The Browning’s guitarist (in the toilets, I hasten to add), and drank a reasonably priced beer (Beavertown Gamma Ray, if you must know).

There were mosh pits. There was jumping. There was even a wall of death. Nobody died, although several people probably woke up the next day feeling like they had. But for me, it was balance. The polar opposite of the sluggish, grey negativity that chronic pain brings.

I loved it. High on life. Buzzing for days.

The MRI machine clicked and whirred around into it’s next cycle, as the nurse injected some contrast dye into my cannula.

Then… I paid the price. Of course.

Three nasty nerve attacks followed during the week. See, with this nerve damage pain, it just doesn’t matter what you do; enjoy yourself, laugh too much, breathe in the wrong postcode… Boom, pain. And to add insult to actual injury, I managed to miss sporadic doses of Gabapentin owing to long drives and a mad family schedule, which is apparently my brain’s equivalent of unplugging the router mid-Netflix binge. Confusion, nausea, dizziness. On Friday I was so spaced out I wasn’t sure whether I should be getting up for work or boarding a flight to Central America. I was sweating. I felt like I was going to throw up. I was drowsy, sedated like I was at the end of a long night out.

Fortunately, I had an Emma. She worked out what I’d done, dosed me back up, and an hour later I returned to the land of the living, albeit zombified for 2 days and unable to do much more than simply exist in pain and fatigue coloured clothing.

Something loud thudded to a stop behind my right ear. The machine had done something, and now it was powering up again and doing something else. Magnets. A science beyond my limited knowledge.

According to Google; the loud, rhythmic banging and clicking sounds of an MRI machine are produced by gradient coils turning on and off to create magnetic fields during the scan itself. You may hear a quiet, humming background noise or a rhythmic “thump-thump” from the helium pump that keeps the magnet cool, even after the scanning noise stops.

Click. Bang. Clunk. Whirr. The next scan began.

The cherry on top this month? The medical officer at work has shelved me for another three months. Logically, it’s the right call, I’m still having attacks at least twice a week, and my current hours at least give me some sleep routine, while working from home allows me immediate access to emergency medication. But, I want my adventurous life back. I want to be the most kickass, strong version of myself that I can. I still can’t get my head around an invisible enemy holding me back.

It is hard not to feel useless, pining to contribute something grand and epic to the world. But, I really have valued the unexpected bonus of precious time with Poppy & Evelyn during the summer holidays.

As I lay there, somewhere around the machine’s seventh drum solo, my brain gave up on worrying about results and wandered somewhere nicer.

I thought about the kids, the long summer holidays, our upcoming Mexico adventure, and all the good things waiting just outside that claustrophobic tube. Sunshine. Ice creams. Poppy’s unstoppable laugh when she beats me at Moana Uno. Evelyn trying to eat sand like it’s a Michelin-starred delicacy. For a moment, even with the machine shrieking like a robot being murdered with a saucepan, life felt big, colourful, and worth every decibel.

For now though, we wait and see where this journey takes us next. What will the MRI actually show? What will the neurologist decide? Will I suddenly start eating carrots and hummus like some sort of middle-class hamster? Who knows.

Meanwhile, we’ve moved on to a revised planning permission for our extension project, Poppy needs a new wheelchair and if Emma batch cooks any more food for the kids I think she’ll literally turn into an omelette. My god those kids eat healthy.

Anyway, I’m about to go and do something really special indeed. 10 years in the making. See you real soon…

Click. Scan complete.