Me at the Cu Chi Tunnels, totally not freaking out or anything
I have a friend who is a caver. That doesn’t mean that he gives in easily; it means that he crawls around in caves for fun. He has explained to me numerous times the difference between caving and spelunking, but I always forget what it is. Actually, I just looked up an article that explains the difference, and the act of reading about it alone made my chest tighten up a little bit.
My friend will tell you that sometimes he’ll go through passages in caves that are so narrow they require him to take his boots off to get through. Passages like this are also too small to back out of. There has to be an exit on the other side or he’s stuck fifty feet underground, unable to move. Again, writing this is making it a little hard for me to breathe.
I recently attended a lecture about avalanche safety (I’m a skier who likes to go off-piste a lot) by a guy who had been buried in one and was miraculously rescued. Hearing his story almost gave me a panic attack.
When my wife and I visited Vietnam we took a tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels, the underground warren that served as a base of operations for the Viet Cong. I crawled through about twenty feet of one tunnel, which had been widened to a third again its original size in order to accommodate large, non-Asian tourists. The enlargement didn’t prevent me from bailing back into the fresh air at the first opportunity, so I could pant and shudder and wait for my heart to stop trying to explode.
One Halloween, my wife and I went to San Francisco with some friends and had the option of either taking an expensive cab ride from the Castro District back to our hotel or getting a lift in a friend’s tiny Porsche 911. With three other full-grown human beings. That’s five people in a car that is fairly comfortable for two waifish Europeans. We chose the latter, and it was only the focused breathing I had practiced in Bikram Yoga that kept me from screaming from the “back seat” to stop the hurtling death trap that was obviously going to flip over and pin us for hours in a lacerated pretzel before we were mercifully consumed by fire.
Other than those, I haven’t really had many instances of claustrophobia worth mentioning. It’s totally not a problem. Usually.
But yesterday, I had an MRI. Ever have one of those?
“MRI” stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging, a process by which the soft tissue structures in your body can be made visible without your being dissected. It’s pretty cool that this is possible. Unfortunately, the experience for the patient is much like being inserted into a tube just slightly bigger than your own girth and detained there while loud, experimental industrial music made from air-raid sirens blares in jarring, erratic intervals. Wait. No. Not like being inserted into a tube, etc., etc., etc.: Being inserted into a tube etc., etc., etc. This kind of treatment would be in flagrant violation of the Geneva Conventions were it used to interrogate prisoners of war.
In case you’re wondering, I had to get an MRI so that the Physical Medicine specialist I went to for my jacked up back can look at the pictures and say either, “Yup, that’s what I thought: a squished disc that’s impinging on the sciatic nerve and causing shooting pains into the patient’s legs and feet; we’d better give him another shot of coritsone and see if it gets any better,” or “Hmm…that’s not exactly what I thought it was; we’d better give him another shot of cortisone and see if it gets any better.” So, you know, totally necessary. But that’s not the important part of this story.
Also, I thought I had really lucked out, because I was getting out of going to church. My mother-in-law was in town, and when she’s in town, everybody has to go to church. That’s also not important. Just kind of ironic.
The important part is that I’m not really very claustrophobic. But I had a few moments of…what would you call it…”fear” (I had to look that word up because I don’t know its meaning very well) when I was in that tube.
When I got there, the technician seemed to be in a big hurry, maybe even a little flustered, even though I was the first appointment of the day. He was almost breathless, scurrying around the room preparing for my insertion.
I lay on the table as directed, pulled down my pants, lifted my legs so he could place some pillows under them. He placed a call-button in my hand–a squishy ball actually–that I was to squeeze if I got panicked and wanted to get out. Pssht…How embarrassing would that be? No way I’ll need to do that. He asked if I wanted a washcloth over my eyes–some people find it comforting. A washcloth? For what? “Nah, I’m all right,” I said. Because I’m not really claustrophobic or anything.
The table slid into the tube and I was stuffed in it like a pimiento into a green olive. Okay, this is fine. A little snug, but whatever. I’m only gonna be in here for twenty minutes.
Then I opened my eyes.
The inside of the machine was clinical off-white plastic with greenish fluorescent tubes. The tubes were about three inches from my face. It occurred to me that the average coffin was significantly roomier than this contraption.
My breathing got fast and shallow. It’s been a long time since I did Bikram yoga.
A disembodied, tinny voice that sounded like it was from an Apollo 13 recording or a Wendy’s drive-through crackled into the tube. “Everything okay in there? You ready?”
“Uh…actually, I’m…um…can I just get out of here for a second and maybe catch my breath and prepare a little bit?”
“Of course. No problem.” I didn’t detect any exasperation in his voice, but then again I didn’t care how he felt about it at that point.
I emerged from the tube into the dim light of the basement imaging room. I felt like I was suddenly in a beautiful alpine meadow. I could almost hear babbling brooks and twittering songbirds.
“How ’bout that, uh…that washcloth? You think I could get one of those?”
Once the technician realized that I was not entirely at ease, he slowed down, talked a little more soothingly to me, and made sure that I realized that the machine was open on both ends–a bit of information that was surprisingly comforting to me.
The twenty minutes I spent in the magnetic coffin were not exactly enjoyable, but I didn’t have to squeeze the emergency ball. The most difficult part, of course, was controlling my imagination. My internal dialogue went something like this:
Okay…this isn’t too bad. This series of pulsating sonic blasts is kind of catchy. It’s like if you isolated one track of Velvet Underground’s “Sister Ray.”
Or else it sounds like the alarm that goes off when the submarine is going down…
SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!! Okay. Calm down. Just think about boring stuff. What are we having for dinner tonight? Where should we take the kids this afternoon? What blog stuff do I need to do?
Hey! How about writing a post about freaking out in the MRI tube? You know…feeling like you are being buried alive, except with horrible sonic torture as a bonus?
SHUT UP! I’M NOT FREAKING OUT! THIS IS NOT AT ALL LIKE BEING BURIED ALIVE!
You know what would be a really cool novel or movie? Check it out…this guy is getting an MRI, and there’s a huge earthquake, and he gets trapped in the tube, with the noise blasting in his head…
SHUT UUUUUUPPPP!!!!
…and the whole story is him fighting to get out of of the machine…but at the same time, he’s kind of losing his mind…thinking about his family…wondering if there are survivors of the quake…he starts to lose touch with reality…is there really an outside world at all? Is he in hell?
SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!
…yeah! And maybe a big chunk of concrete crushes his feet..
SHUT. THE FUCK. UP.
…and maybe he starts regretting all the times he didn’t go to church when he was supposed to…
SHUT THE…What? Okay…that’s just stupid.
I know. I was joking.
Hahaha…good one. LOL, as they say.
Right? This is still better than church.
Word.
About BetaDad
I have no problems admitting that I’m claustrophobic. Awhile back I needed an MRI. I took a Xanex and totally convinced myself that I could do it. Then I got in the actual machine, with the wash cloth over my face, and completely lost it. IT WAS TOUCHING ME!!!!! No way. Nu-unh. Not unless I’m knocked completely out.
I remember reading this story in Reader’s Digest (What? I like to read.) About a guy that went caving in an unfamiliar cave and almost got trapped. Like he had to take his clothes off to fit through this tunnel. I break out in hives just thinking about it. And of course it is something that I’ve never been able to forget. The fact that I need milk at the grocery store? Yes. Bone crushing cave tunnel death story? No.
Ugh. Heebie jeebies.
It really seems like with medical science being so advanced and all, they could make the MRI at least a little less unpleasant.
My crazy-ass husband fell asleep in the MRI. I close my eyes and pretend I am anywhere else.
Twitter Name: dragondream
The first time I got one, for my knee (ACL), I actually fell asleep too. My head wasn’t all the way in the machine, and they gave me headphones that I had them tune to NPR. They had to wake me up because I kept having the falling-asleep-twitches.
On the bright side for you, judging from the picture you posted, most casual observers would not readily be able to distinguish your, “I’m freaking the fuck out” face from your, “I will kick this tunnel’s ass” face. You look pretty tough in that pick to me.
That’s cool. To me, I look like a deer in the headlights. My eyes are usually not open half that wide.
I understand entirely, I only had to go in to my chin and I was pretty sure I would completely lose it. Why does no one ever tell you about the jackhammer like noise? I tried to impress some guys by going caving one time, I cried and screamed my way through the worst of it. Not too impressive eh? Hope to hell they offer complete sedation if I ever need a brain scan.
Twitter Name: KAROLYN CRABTREE
It seems like they could do a little better with their noise reduction measures. Or at least warn you that you are going into a sonic torture chamber.
I had one done when I was 8. Along with the test that connected my brain with many wires (EKG?) Thankfully I was young and naive.
Hope your tests come out as wonderful as mine were. All clear with no problems :)
Glad your brain is okay (or was when you were 8, anyway.) My MRI confirmed exactly what the docs thought–herniated disc. It’ll probably get better on its own after a while.
Buried starring Ryan Reynolds is kinda like your movie but it’s not an MRI it’s a coffin buried in the middle of Iraq. Whole movie takes place in the coffin.
Weird that that movie wasn’t a huge blockbuster.
I’m not claustrophobic, but a few of your descriptions did sound pretty scary. Specifically the underground-oneway- boot-removal-technique for exploring caverns. BTW, caves sometimes fill up with water (another thing to add to the fear factor).
Here’s a fun little factoid: Missouri is the “Cave State”. We have tons of them and yes, I’ve been in most of them (not really, but quite a few).
I think the most famous is Meramac Caverns. I believe Jesse James hide out there. I don’t know if he ever took off his boots to explore though. Probably not, the cavern is massive.
I have no problem with big caves. I’ve been in a bunch of them. As long as there’s enough room to stand up and turn around, I’m okay. I’ve been in some really cool caves in Vietnam, and these caves in France where they grow mushrooms. I don’t know why that doesn’t freak me out.
Great post! Loved the dialogue at the end (and the reference to VU–best band name ever, btw!). . . I was beginning to wonder why this MRI experience didn’t resemble mine, and then I remembered that I had a torn knee ligament and only had to stick my leg in the machine for twenty minutes. I would’ve flipped the fuck out if I had to go full on in there! I’m glad you survived!
Twitter Name: lickthefridge
Yeah, I had the knee version years ago as well. That’s probably why I didn’t mentally prepare for this. Just figured it would be about the same.
I’m not sure,if I worked at an MRI department,if I could resist the urge to wait until you’re fully inside before saying “I don’t expect you to talk Mr Bond,I expect you to die……”
As for the none love of caves,are you sure “Beta Dad” isn’t used to cover your real name Mr Wayne?
Twitter Name: JacksofBuxton
If my tech would have said that, it probably would have totally put me at ease. And yes, I’m sure that my name is not Bruce Wayne.
Heh. As a result of my HORRIBLE car accident I’ve had numerous MRIs and CT scans in recent months. About six of each. When they’ve asked what music I want to hear on their Pandora setups, I’ve always said Bowie or some really, umm, gay-friendly bands (OK, Lady Gaga—but once I said Metallica; another time, Placebo). The tests never bothered me for a second. I can’t believe I beat you on something on the (fake) manliness scale!
Though really, going in those Cong things I don’t see any point in doing. No pleasure. All pain.
I was surprised that they didn’t have any music in this one. That would have made me much more comfortable.
Didn’t they have to tell you to stop singing and gyrating while you were in the machines?
The tunnel thing was only a small part of the tour. The rest was above ground and interesting. We also got to fire automatic weapons. That part was fun but, at a buck per shot, the most expensive thing we did during our 3-week trip.
Man, that pic reminded of the time I went caving in PA and had to crawl out through this hole in the rocks that my hips could barely fit through. Then my light went out. I could show no fear though because I was with my girlfriend.
I feel asleep during my MRI last year and had to do it over again. What did they expect? They were playing the easy listening station during the whole thing, of course I was going to doze off.
Twitter Name: Ronald Mattocks
I agree; MRIs are totally intimidating. I’ve had four now, two of them on my head. I just close my eyes, pretend I’m in a massage machine and listen to the tunes. I also like the fact that they keep it all pretty warm.
My HELL claustorphobia story is from a hydrogen sulphide training course. At the end of the class, we had to team up in pairs, don SCBA (full tank, face mask respirator, etc… just like a scuba diver but on land), go into a completely pitch black maze, find a 100 lb dummy and carry him out. I was good up until the point where we could feel the door to leave the maze, and I couldn’t find the handle. I LOST it. I’ve got this tiny mask on my face, breathing artificial air, I’m sweating, we have a time limit and the door handle is about 1.5 feet LOWER than it’s supposed to be, like it was made for midgets AND it’s on the wrong side of the door. I screamed and the instructor turned on the lights and came running in.
I did the same course five years later, and the instructor remembered me. Thank goodness he let me opt out of the maze from hell.
Twitter Name: lucynamackay
That sounds terrible! I had to look up hydrogen sulfide training. Do you work at an oil refinery or something?
No, thank goodness! I do environmental work for the oil field though, so there is a chance we will be drilling for contaminated soil and POOF! H2S may blast up. Thank goodness it’s rare.
Twitter Name: lucynamackay
Amazing. Thank you for this.
You’re entirely welcome. Happy to, um, amaze.
I hear commercials all the time for the “open MRI” and I hope that I can exercise that option if I ever need an MRI done. The idea of not having an noisy tube for my test is very appealing(since having tests done causes me angst regardless of the surroundings and I don’t need to pile on).
Twitter Name: MamaKaren
Trying not to pee myself reading your inner dialogue, remembering similar conversations with myself during an MRI and a couple of bone scans recently. The bone scan is not IN a tube, but you canNOT move and the top lowers over you sort of like a coffin lid. I have to turn my head before it starts and look out to the side the entire time. The best is the breast MRI. Women lie on their stomachs, place each of their naked breasts in 2 metal holders, then get moved in. Face down with the loud sirens going off and your boobs in cold metal “boob baskets”. Feelings of naked boob humiliation intercept claustrophobic anxiety every few minutes. It’s fun getting old. By old, I mean 30′s.
Twitter Name: HeatherSchiavo
I wanted to comment with something amusing, but I can’t top “naked boob humiliation.”
I know this is odd but I get what I call ‘no fresh air’ claustrophobia. I freak out in places where I feel like I can’t breathe properly – like caves. I had a major freak out in a cave – no day light, no breeze, no windows. I was sweating like crazy and had to run out. I just lay on the grass panting. Embarrassing!
You did well with not losing it completely!
Ps. Still way better than church!
I recently went caving in Mexico, and there were a couple in there with the tour group who kept grinning maniacally saying “hehehe NoI’mFine hehehe ThisIsSoGreat hehehe”.
The cave/dark/unknown stuff didn’t bother me at all, until I started imagining what they were imagining (ie: drowning in an underground Mexican cave) that was making them pretend not to freak out so much.
Good times.
Twitter Name: letmestart
Hilarious! I’ve had a few close calls with claustrophobia, like having to be led out of the mirrors fun house in Orlando and freaking out at Ruby Falls in Tennessee, this is an underground falls, but never identified myself as “claustrophobic” until I had to get an MRI. I had no idea what I was in for, but kinda wondered why they were asking so many questions when I called to schedule the appointment. I told the doctor office that I had no problems and was not claustrophobic. While I was sliding into the tube my eyes were closed, so I had no idea how close the top was to my face. When I opened my eyes, “I lost all cool points!” I started flapping my hands and told the nurse I needed to get out. She calmly told me that I should look behind me because there was an opening. I glanced back to see the wall and told her that I didn’t care, I needed to get out now. She slowly reversed the table and let me free. She then asked, “are you claustrophobic?” and I thought to myself no dumbass, I just don’t like small, tight, confining spaces!