Having my head read

I was going to be so good about writing this year because I know it's good for Me... I started with promising Me that I'd write every day, then she got lazy/distracted by life and bargained it down to every second day. Then I had a bit of a wrangle with Me and got it all the way down to once a week. At least. I think I'm almost getting that in but, really, I know I is right and Me should butt out with her manipulations. If she just sits down and starts writing, she loves it. It's time I and Me get on the same page (preferably this one).*

So, I've had a nasty headache for about the last two weeks that was initially only at night, then progressed to during the day too. I never get headaches (and my mind fretted about causes - tumours, bleeds, aargh! I am slightly over-dramatic, and it doesn't help to be medically-minded and know all about such things) so I saw the doctor, he referred me to a neurosurgeon who made me go for an MRI to have my head read. It was scary.

In the meantime, my sister had her cards read in Joburg and the woman told her the source of my headaches would be found, they would get better, and it could possibly be psychological. I was quite impressed with that thought - if my mind was capable of causing such excrutiating pain, perhaps I have other super powers too.

So off I went for a brain scan. This is not something I would recommend to anyone as a pleasure activity. It is claustrophobic, and loud. But like in really, really loud. They use soothing voices and explain that it's a tight space, they give you earplugs and warn you it's 'quite loud' and they tell you to keep dead still. Then they pat you on the shoulder encouragingly (these displays of touchy-feelyness from complete strangers (although very nice ones) should've alerted me to what was coming).

Then they leave the room, close the door and you move electronically into the gaping (but very small) mouth of this huge machine. I asked how they fit fat people into it when I first saw it. The answer: "We don't". Okay then.

I got such a fright with the first noise, I nearly jumped out of my skin, forgetting the no moving rule. Oops. It sounds like magnets being clicked together, and probably is, considering MRI stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging. That's bearable. But then extremely loud noises, prolonged, like a tractor, but a tractor in your head, begin. It's the kind of noise that makes you want to scream and run.

What they forget to tell you is that this ordeal goes on and off for 28 hours. Okay, I exagerrate slightly. It's about half an hour. But it feels like 3 months. I tried to establish a beat in it, and pretend I was in some wierd, monotonous rave club but then realised it was making me move my head, so I stopped, and concentrated on just getting through it (which, obviously, I did)

They gave me the disc with the images on it to take to my doctor, but not the report. That makes me cross. It's my brain, why shouldn't I know what comments they have? I, of course, instantly put the disc into my computer at home and looked at my brain. Wierd, my brain was looking at itself. And all my brain could say was: "Hmm, yes, that looks like a brain. It could be me, but fuck knows if there's something wrong with me. How should I know?" Apologies for my brain's profundities. I, apparently, have no control over it.

I duly delivered the disc and waited for the doctor to get hold of me. About 24 hours later Which, again, felt like a week, I was worrying myself silly) he called. I was fearful that he took so long because he was trying to work out the best way to tell me that, actually, I had no brain at all. But, no, I have one, and there is nothing dire wrong with it. Phew.

I am now slowly going through other possible solutions to send the headache packing - increased fluid intake, changed my pillows, am getting a new mattress (it's been 12 years, probably a good thing) etc. It seems to be getting better. I'm still feeling a bit like I've been run over by a bus though. Damnit. And I can't bear whingers. Now I am one.

If these all fail, I will be forced to go with my sister's card reader, and fix my head psychologically... I'm not sure quite how, I thought I was doing just fine, thank you. So, that's my excuse for being bit quiet.

Is it manipulative of me to use a sore head as an excuse, when I've quite happily managed to continue doing everything else in my life, regardless of the pain in my pip?

* I do not actually suffer from clinical Multiple Personality Disorder, it's much milder than that. My angel and devil are just both extremely strong-willed.