Walking with a cane
For 20 years in December, I have used
a walking cane. This was to help with the pain that I felt in my lower back for
about a decade and there were times I had my much lighter partner stand on my
back just to ease the pain.
The pain was exacerbated by standing
still in queues or sauntering, I needed to be moving well or sitting down not
to experience the pain. At times I have spoken about the pain either in
the chest on my ribcage or in my back to my GP, and they have tried to put me in
the scheme of enduring it rather than treating it. The walking cane gave more than the
support and comfort to reduce or avoid the pain, altogether.
Obviously, when I got my first walking
cane, it was a long black rod with an ivory ball to hold onto, as from the beginning
I had decided whilst the walking cane was not a fashion accessory if you were
to use a walking cane, get a good and fashionable one. Eventually, after trying many kinds of canes I have settled for Derby canes that have a rounded hook
that could be hung over the wrist or the arm, hands-free.
Let’s have a closer look
In a conversation with my consultant a
few weeks ago, we talked about my use of the walking cane which in addition
became even more pertinent when I had cancer in my right foot some 14 years ago
that I could not walk using the leg for almost 6 months. She proposed we have a
scan of my spine to determine why I was having the back pain and if anything could
be determined from that review.
Today, I attended a radiology session
for an MRI
scan of my spine without contrast. The without contrast part suggested I would
not have ink injected into my veins to provide contrast in observing
other organs in my body. I read up on the notes and was sure no adverse effect
was expected as I had no metallic enhancements or augmentations had been done
to my body. At least nothing I have consented to except if one had been
abducted by aliens.
Stillness and noisiness
Having filled out the consent forms, the
nurse invited me to the waiting room before the radiographer called my name
and ushered me towards the theatre. At first, I was assigned a locker to put in
my valuables, watch, love bangle, wallet, and satchel bag. I only had to take
off my jacket and leave my cane outside.
I sat on the MRI gurney and as I was
about to lift my legs to lay on the bed, I was told it might take 30 minutes
when I planned for 10 minutes tops, I had to remain still, and the device was a
disturbingly noisy thing that you needed earplugs and headphones. I had heard
much about the containment from others with claustrophobic tendencies, and I decided
not to be regaled by any more of their sordid tales.
As I lay down and set myself for the
experience, I decided to close my eyes as the headphones belted out Ini Kamoze’s
Here Comes The Hotstepper, certainly not what you want to be hearing in a magnetic
tube, but that was what was on offer rather than the calming strains of
classical music that I suggested might be a better offer.
Slipped out of it and sleep
I drifted off as the three shrill
sounds suggested my insides were being peered into without intrusion, the
wonders of medical science for which a controversial Nobel Prize was awarded in
2003. [The
Lancet: The Nobel prize for MRI: a wonderful discovery and a sad controversy]
There were times I opened an eye, but
I never gave thought to the idea I was in an enclosed space. Then the gurney
slid right out, and we were done with a commendation from the radiographer that I
took the session really well.
I got fully dressed up, collected my
things and returned home, an interesting experience and in a few weeks, I
should get a review of what was seen.
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