One thing that I didn’t mention earlier about my first MRI scan was my weird anxiety over the ear protection. Since I was already lying face down with my arms above my head, it didn’t occur to me – until it was too late – to touch the sides of my head to check the ear defenders were actually covering my ears. Unfortunately, it felt as if they might just be on my cheeks instead. As my face was pressed into the padding around a hole in the table, I couldn’t quite distinguish between the padding of the hole and the padding of the ear defenders. The reality was that I didn’t have the physical strength to lift my body up, out of my three slots in the table, and then on to my elbows to do this anyway. Or the time, for that matter.
I could hardly believe that I had been so careless. I admit I began to feel a tiny bit sorry for myself as I slid into the MRI machine, wondering if I might emerge deaf on top of everything else. Frankly, it was a sort of nightmare. I could imagine people needing to have a quiet (or very loud) word with me afterwards about the benefits of thinking through such important details beforehand. But even so I managed to remain calm, outwardly. This is thanks to the cheerful, confident, professional staff around me. I ‘reassured’ myself that the MRI operator would surely see (and hear) my heart racing, if I was in the process of losing my hearing.
Very recently I started learning sign language. Ironically, this was because I have a fear of going deaf (and not being prepared for this). So I was suddenly mindful that I have only got halfway through lesson one of a beginner’s course. This means that my communication skills with (or as) as a deaf person are extremely limited. For example, I do know how to sign all the letters of the alphabet and the numbers from one to twenty which is extremely useful. But apart from that, I can only actually say: “Welcome!”; “Fingerspelling” and “Number”. This is not the sort of vocabulary that would come in handy in an MRI emergency situation (or any ‘likely’ emergency situation that I can immediately think of). If I were to use any of those three gestures, I think it would perhaps cause more distress and complications, not less to anyone – whether trained in signing or not. For example, the gesture for ‘number’ involves knocking gently with your fist on your chin and that might be wrongly misread as being ‘I am going to take this on the chin. Bring it on.’ For this reason, I am motivated to try and get to the end of the sign language course as fast as I can now.
In the meantime, there is comfort in knowing the wonderful internationally recognised hand signal for ‘Help me’. You just have to hold your hand flat, then turn in the thumb to your palm, then fold your four fingers over the top to form a fist. You can even do this behind your own back, if the person that you hope will save you (or vice versa) can only be seen from that particular angle. Just remember to avoid knocking with your fist on your chin afterwards, please. Then some potentially tricky situations should have a far better chance of getting the ending they deserve: a happy one.
