Yesterday, I had an arthrogram. My doctor thinks my hip/groin/butt/life pain is being caused by a torn labrum, and apparently, an arthrogram is the best way to diagnose this sort of thing. When she explained the procedure to me, it went something like this, “MRI. With an injection beforehand. No big deal.” I’m going to go ahead and say that this description falls somewhere in between extremely and wildly inaccurate. But I get it, healthcare providers are stretched thin these days. They don’t have the time to tell patients unremarkable details like that injection? Goes into your groin through a giant needle. It’s going to make your vagina very sad.
But fear not, dear readers! Because I love you, and because this here blog has always been about bettering people’s lives, I’ve put together a handy patient guide so you’ll know exactly what to expect at your next hip arthrogram!
Things That Would Be Helpful to Know: About the Procedure
- You will start your arthrogram by laying on an X-ray table. Your overly-chatty-but-not-quite-English-speaking X-ray tech will not explain why you need to be on an X-ray table, but trust me, you need to be here.
- Then a doctor will come in, and you’ll think to yourself, really? I need a doctor to do a simple injection? That’s strange.
- The doctor is here because…surprise! It’s not really a simple injection at all! They basically have to put a line in to pump you full of anesthetic, contrast dye, and some lidocaine (just for funsies)!
- And you’re on the x-ray table, why? So the doctor doesn’t puncture your femoral artery! Duh!
- Then you get the injection. In your groin. Through a large needle.
- Before it goes in you’ll ask, “So, how much is this going to hurt?” And you’ll get that dumb doctor response of, “It will feel like a bee sting and then some light pressure.” And that’s bullshit.
- As the injection is going in you’re going to start to feel like you need to pass out and barf on yourself at the same time, because they’re injecting anesthesia medication into your body. Wait, did they forget to ask you if you’ve ever had an adverse reaction to anesthesia? That’s ok, they forgot to ask me, too! Heh. Whoops. Well, that’s why you’re feeling like shit at this point! At least you’re not dying, right?
- The injection is pretty fast. Maybe 30-60 seconds. You’ll spend that entire time trying to convince yourself that this gonna-lose-consciousness-y feeling will pass. It won’t.
- Your overly-chatty-but-not-quite-English-speaking X-ray tech will then ask you to stand up so he can walk you to the MRI waiting room.
- You’ll stand up quickly like NBD, it was just a needle. Why am I being such a pussy?
- You will promptly lose consciousness in the hallway and be dragged to a chair and given some water.
- You’ll be told, “It’s ok. This happens all of the time during this procedure,” and you’ll think to yourself, gosh, it would have been helpful to know that before I jumped up from the table like an orthorexic who just saw a fire sale on flaxseed.
- When you’re finally able to stagger to the MRI waiting room, you’ll realize that your hip and thigh are partially numb.
- You will begin to walk like Tiny Tim (no, not the “famed” ukulele player).
- Next, you’ll go in for the MRI. It’s not bad. They’ll wrap you in a blanket, and put you in that little tube, and everything will be great. Unless you’re claustrophobic. Then it’ll suck. Sorry.
- You should just take the whole day off of work. You’re going to spend three-plus hours in the hospital, and even when you’re all done, you’re going to feel like a faint-y, nauseous, ball of garbage. Which brings me to my next point…
- You’re going to want to take someone with you so that they can drive you home afterward. What you’re not going to want to do is walk to and then ride the seediest train line back to work, thinking to yourself the whole way, I wonder if I faint if people on this train would call 911, or just steal all of my valuables and leave me in a heap. You will then see a large, crazy woman, shouting at her baby-daddy on the phone, board the train, alongside a man that is feigning blindness in order to bolster his case for pan-handling and you will think, yes. I would come-to iPhone and wallet-less, laying in a corner.
- You will feel like shit the next day. So go ahead and take that day off, too.


That… sounds… awful.
I didn’t even like the MRI. It was a last minute thing when they did it for me and basically had me strip down, get in a tube, and lay still for an hour within 15 minutes of telling me I’d need one. I spent the entire time in that thing trying not to cry because I seriously had no idea what was going on.
Oh and I’m not a big fan of small spaces. So that was an issue, too.
I think you should take tomorrow off. Tell your employeer you’re still suffering trauma from the incident. Yeah…
Yeah, I can’t imagine that a knee arthrogram is much fun, either. I think the worst part is that my doctor didn’t really give me much perspective. Like, had she said, “Yes, it’s going to suck a lot,” I might have been prepared to feel like total dog shit.
That sounds TERRIBLE. Never want to have an MRI. Ever.
Doctors really do try to sugar coat it/leave out terrifying details, and I guess I get why they do. All of that hysteria would probably make everything worse. When I got a spinal tap (thought I had meningitis, that was fun), the doc called it a ‘lumbar puncture.’ I kind of had a feeling it was a spinal tap, but really didn’t want to ask because… well I would probably freak out since I was in the ER for 10 hours totally alone to begin with. Anyway, he also told me that it would be a little pressure from the needle, but not much pain. The numbing injection honestly hurt more than the actual tap, but he didn’t let me know that I would be able to FEEL my spinal fluid being sucked out of my body. Sick. He also didn’t tell me that I would feel like I had a metal rod in my spine that didn’t allow me to curve my back without intense pain for about 3 days after. Probably due to the gigantic needle that was used (thank God I didn’t Google it until the next day. Shudder). Super fun to go to work the next day and attempt to sit at a desk.
So yes, agreed, a leeeettle more perspective would be nice before pretty mega procedures are performed, but maybe just enough for us to be able to brace ourselves! Hope you’re doing OK now, though!