Do you believe in everyday miracles?

I do.

And I knew it would take a miracle for me to not pass out during my recent MRI.

Why I Needed an MRI

After I turned 40 last year, it was time for my first mammogram. The results were good. Nothing suspicious. Yet, my local breast center strongly urged me to schedule a preventative MRI six months later.

Why? Because my mom’s mom and dad’s sister both developed breast cancer later in life. Even though they survived, the family history automatically puts me in a high risk category.

So, I scheduled the MRI.

At first, I wasn’t afraid. I’ve never struggled with claustrophobia, so I didn’t think being inside an MRI machine would bother me. But then I found out it would be an MRI with contrast.

What Is an MRI with Contrast?

Science was never my best subject, so I’ll explain in basic terms.

Contrast is a dye pumped into your veins through a IV. The dye provides “contrast” for the scans to better pick up on anything irregular.

(How’d I do, science people?)

But here’s the problem: I don’t do well with needles or anything in my veins.

It’s not the pain; it’s purely psychological. And not limited to needles or veins—as I discovered after an optometrist once used liquid drops to numb my eyeballs, and I unexpectedly passed out seconds later.

You see, I suffer from vasovagal syncope.

What Is Vasovagal Syncope?

Again, I’ll stick to a simple description.

It’s your body’s overreaction to a trigger—in my case needles or IV tubes, or anything abnormal happening to my body that weirds me out—that results in a sudden drop in heart rate and blood pressure.

If they drop too hard, too fast, you faint.

Though I’ve only completely passed out two or three (?) times in my life, I’ve come plenty close on numerous occasions. Typically, a trigger makes me severely light headed and gives me tunnel vision till my sight goes completely black.

Laying down helps, and that’s saved me from passing out from a quick blood draw or numbing shot on a few occasions.

But, back to the MRI…

How Getting an MRI Made Me Feel

I won’t go into all the details, but I will admit I almost cancelled my appointment multiple times. I simply could not envision how I would stay conscious for 30 minutes.

Oh yes. I forgot to tell you that the entire procedure would last 30 minutes—and I’d have the IV tube in my arm the entire time. Big NO.

Thirty minutes?! I could barely last two minutes when I had bloodwork done for food sensitivities a few years ago. And what would happen if I did pass out during the procedure? Could it proceed with me unconscious? Would I have to start all over again?

So many questions. So many doubts.

And the whole thing wasn’t even necessary. Just preventative. So yes. I came insanely close to calling up the scheduling folks and saying, “You know? I’m good.”

But I didn’t.

Instead, I prayed.

I told God that I needed a miracle because, in my own strength, I would pass out. It was a given. I know my body. No amount of happy thoughts or mind over matter would suffice. Only God could keep me conscious.

For days, I prayed. Every time the fear resurfaced, I prayed a little more.

The morning of the test, I couldn’t keep from shaking, so I prayed. I got in my car and almost burst out bawling on the way to the hospital, but I prayed.

As I walked into the building, I reminded myself that God is sovereign, no matter what happened next. I certainly didn’t want to pass out and I believed God was able. But I also knew I had to be okay with His way—even if that did mean passing out. While I personally couldn’t see any good reason for it happening, who am I to know what’s best?

Still, I prayed for my miracle.

What My First MRI Experience Was Like

After a kind hospital employee went over a questionnaire with me, I changed into a gown and followed a technician to the dreaded IV room. There, I gave her a heads up. I might pass out. In my head, I believed God would intervene, but I always feel obligated to share this information with any medical professional coming at me with a needle.

Thankfully, she suggested I lay down during the injection, and only sit up and stand up when I felt ready. She also kept me engaged with conversations and questions throughout—which always helps, yet I really wanted to talk with God.

As we walked down the hallway to the MRI room, with the technician kindly holding my arm, I felt okay. But once in the room, staring at the machine as she ran through her list of instructions and what to expect, I felt my consciousness start to slip. Honestly, I’m shocked I remembered anything she said.

My prayers got a bit short and frantic at that point, but I kept breathing. I didn’t lose my vision. After about 1 minute that felt like 10, I climbed onto the “table” that would slide into the MRI tunnel. And then I could breathe. Then I could pray without distraction.

For the entire 30 minutes, I lived 1 Thessalonians 5:17 (NLT): “Never stop praying.” Well, except for the few moments when the technician’s voice came over a speaker, telling me what would happen next. But even then, my own voice went on autopilot to respond as I continued to pray.

I prayed about the procedure. I prayed about my daily life and challenges. I prayed for my family and friends. My job. Challenges in my life and what God was teaching me. God and I talked about a lot of things.

And then…

I admit, my faith waivered for a moment when, about halfway through the procedure, the technician informed me that she was about to start the contrast dye and I might feel a warm sensation or metal taste in my mouth.

Instantly, my heart beat quickened. Wait. What? About to start?!

Mentally, I thought the dye was already in my arm. I thought I was past the worst. But no. This was yet another hurdle.

Breathe.

God, I need you.

I thanked God for creating my body and mind. For understanding all the intricacies and details and science of it all. I imagined God putting His hand on my head to calm my fears. I thought about the life flowing through my veins that only He put there. I knew I would be okay. I believed I wouldn’t pass out.

And I didn’t.

Even as I exited the machine and waited for the technician to remove the IV in my arm, I didn’t feel faint.

Even after I changed back into my street clothes, I didn’t feel faint — and let me tell you, there have been times in my past where I have blacked out up to ten minutes after a needle was in my arm.

So when I say this was a miracle, it truly was.

I left the hospital in awe of what God did for me. Yes, I needed to stay connected to Him. I had to choose that. But therein lies the lesson.

God is always able. Always capable of infinitely more than we can ask or imagine — everyday miracles included.

All we have to do is believe. Trust. Keep our eyes, minds, and hearts fixed on Him.

It’s not lost on me that I worried more about not passing out than I did about the results of the test. And in case you’re wondering, I got the all clear a few days later. The MRI found nothing, praise God!

Does this mean I’m healed from vasovagal syncope? Probably not. My next invasive medical procedure will likely still produce anxiety and fears of passing out. Yet, I know I can face anything with God.

I know I can’t get through this life without Him. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.