I’ll be the first to admit that I make a lot of stupid decisions in my day to day life. Whether it be placing risky bets on meaningless games or trusting a fart that I shouldn’t have, often times I fail to completely think things through before I make a decision.
Today my faulty thinking practices resulted in me having one of the worst experiences of my life, and that isn’t an exaggeration. I underwent torture this morning, and it didn’t happen at an ISIS compound or some sadistic kidnapper’s basement; it happened at a doctor’s office.
So what happened exactly? Well to put it simply, I drank a lot last night like an idiot, woke up hungover as fuck, and had to lay in suffering while I got a brain MRI this morning.
To most people it would seem pretty self-explanatory to chill out the night before something like a brain MRI, but I’m not most people. Like I said before, my life is filled with bad decisions.
Let me try to explain how I ended up in this situation in the first place. I think I blogged about it before, but I’ve been getting pretty bad headaches for a few months now completely out of the blue. My doctor said I should probably get an MRI on my head to “Make sure I’m not dying”. I swear to God she said that, and although my doctor is cool and I knew she was joking around, that’s a pretty fucked up thing for a doctor to say.
Anyway, I went out into the lobby to book my appointment. Apparently they only do MRI’s in the morning at this place, so my hands were tied and the only appointment I could get was this morning at 9:45 AM. Thursday Night Football and a Sox/Yanks game was on last night, so after a brutal day in the office I didn’t really stand a chance of staying sober. Alcohol was calling my name like a mythical siren, and despite promising myself I was gonna take it easy, the Sox clinching the division and an awful Jets/Browns game lead to me staying up late and getting drunk out of my mind.
Which brings me into this morning. I woke up with one of those hangovers where you just know the whole day is going to suck the second you open your eyes. The sound of silence was too loud to bear, and I could barely remember my own name as I sat down in the shower. With bags under my eyes, a pounding headache, and a stomach ready to release its contents at any given moment, I defied the odds and made it to my 9:45 appointment in one piece. Yeah I felt rough, but “How bad can an MRI be?” I kept telling myself. Famous last words, and the next half hour of my life would be the least favorite 30 minutes I’ve ever had.
I don’t know if you’ve ever gotten an MRI on the upper half of your body before, but basically they strap you down to a table and put you into a giant tube. Here’s what the machine looks like for reference
MRI stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging, and it’s used to take a really detailed look at whatever part of the body you need checked out. To accomplish this, it makes extremely loud noises, moves back and forth, and even vibrates sometimes while it’s capturing these images. Loud noise and sudden movement aren’t exactly ideal for a hangover, but I remained optimistic and thought it’d still be a piece of cake. After all, I’ve been hungover and gone out and done shit thousands of times, so why would this be any different?
They gave me earplugs, but those fuckers must have been defective or something because I heard every second of it. Ear amplifiers would have been a more fitting name. Sure there’s the possibility that I put them in wrong or something, but for the sake of this blog I’m gonna blame this on the earplugs instead of me because I’m an asshole that doesn’t take responsibility for his own mistakes.
So there I was, encased inside of this giant tube and trying to stay completely still while listening to a series of deafeningly loud beeps and vibrations that are piercing through my head like a bad barber. It sounded and felt like I was in the front row at an EDM concert that was headlined by a DJ that needs a lot more practice. I thought about pressing the panic button they gave me multiple times, but momma didn’t raise no bitch.
Since I was strapped down inside of a weird tube and listening to weird beeps and shit, it actually kind of felt like I got abducted by aliens and they were performing experiments on me. Thankfully an anal probe wasn’t one of those tests. Although it was tough, I was able to make it through the full 30 minute MRI, which might as well have been 30 years because that’s what it felt like at the time. After it was over, I immediately B lined it to the bathroom and violently puked like a bulimic teenager after a big dinner. Talk about a great start to my day.
I’ve been miserable plenty of times while recouperating from a night of hitting the sauce too hard, but this was without a doubt the worst experience I’ve ever had while hungover. I don’t mean to belittle the condition or anything, but I honestly think I might have some minor form of PTSD from what went down this morning. That’s how shitty it was.
Just thought I’d share my misery with you guys because I figured I might as well put my suffering to good use. Everybody loves laughing at the pain of others, so you’re welcome for sharing.
So here’s my final reminder to you all: Do not drink the night before getting an MRI, CAT Scan, or anything like that. If you make the same mistake I did and you wake up hungover, just do yourself a favor and cancel the appointment. Trust me.
And lastly, here’s to hoping I don’t have a brain tumor or something awful like that. Thoughts and prayers for yours truly, Chuck Taylor, and have a good Friday night everybody
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