I waited almost six months on disability for this MRI. Just when you believe everything is finally going well, something can suddenly turn your world upside down again.
Many of you know I suffer from claustrophobia. Closed spaces make me panic and feel as though I cannot breathe. Yet, during the past two years, I have lost count of how many MRIs I’ve endured—almost every four months before my surgery, and now again afterward.
Today, as I approached Diagnostic Imaging, I could barely feel my knees. Walking through those doors took me straight back to the twelve days I spent recovering in the hospital—trapped in that bed and unable to walk for eight days.
The first part of the MRI consisted of regular images. After about thirty minutes, contrast dye was injected through my IV while I remained inside the machine, allowing them to take clearer and more detailed images.
As the contrast entered my veins, my body suddenly felt hot—and then cold. The coldness spread through me. My lips, mouth and face began to feel numb, and even my forehead felt freezing. Inside that tight machine, with my claustrophobia and all those memories returning, I felt completely vulnerable.
The trauma of his abuse did not end with our separation. It continued in different forms—in my body, my fear and the battles I am still fighting today.
To everyone who stayed beside me, even when I didn’t listen to your advice: I now understand why. You stayed because you truly love me.
Some doors don’t simply lead into a room—they reopen wounds you are still trying to heal.
But today, trembling and afraid, I walked through that door anyway. ❤️🩹
Ira's Blog 