Thursday, April 9, 2015
I have woken up on the other side of yesterday and on the cusp of tomorrow. It is quite illogical that this transpired in such a non-woo-woo way, though there are magical sprinkles on this awareness cupcake.
At 6 o'what-the-hell-am-I-doing-up in the morning I am scheduled for an MRI. Some of you reading this are cringing in fright, while a few mighty souls are already yawning in boredom.
They're the ones who sleep through horror movies.
I go at this believing it will be slightly uncomfortable in the tiny tube, but will rely on my stellar meditating skills.
And if Zen Land fails I'll close my eyes to shut the experience out since this works well when I'm naked near a mirror. But a larger than average body stuffed in a tiny tube is not the same thing. In fact it is more terrifying than I am able to put into words. Never the less I will attempt to plop you into the excruciating 22 minutes.
For background music let's begin with that cheerful Andy Griffith Show tune. Imagine a half-asleep woman, anticipating a nap serenaded by loud banging (older mother's of twins can sleep through anything, we're playing catch up), is led to a meat slab in a refrigerated room by a twinkling girl.
I believe MRI techs take a class in facade building in med school.
As per usual, I have no clue I've overestimated my endurance abilities, thus I hop on board with nary a worry other than whether my bladder is too full to proceed. It is and instead of emptying it I should then have headed to the escape car, without the requested image of my brain. Just in case you're concerned, we're checking for jack-a-lopes, the MRI is merely a precautionary adventure. In other words, I'm fucking myself up for no good reason other than checking in dusty corners for imaginary friends.
Just behind the sweet whistling tune of the deceased Andy Griffith, please provide the low tone of the soundtrack to Jaws. The sugar plum, otherwise known as "the tech girl", swaddles my head tightly like a newborn, adding in a large plastic vise. My stomach gurgles a bit (perhaps if I'd noticed it was actually hollering a warning I would have vaulted the small woman), but I remain convinced in my ability to be tubed for such a short length of time. Smiling over my form the woman hands me a soft squeeze button in case I need her for something. I have enough sense to grip it as the ride begins sliding me into the narrow chute. Mayberry fades from view as my warm, moist breath settles in the narrow crevice between me and the machine.
Holy Christ I'm going to freak.
And freak I do, madly squeezing the soft testicle, picturing it sending a siren of piercing splendor into the room. It does not. Silence greets me when I pause my loud screech-breathing to listen.
Oh my fucking God where the hell is that little shit???
Minute hours pass as I come to the horrifying conclusion there is no way out. I cannot unstrap myself to shimmy out the tube on my own. I must trust a fallible human to retrieve me when or if she hears my pleas for help. When the woman is set to begin she turns on the microphone.
"How are you doing?"
"GET ME OUT OF HERE. NOW. RIGHT NOW!"
This only brings more agitation as the air heats against my face. I restrain myself from thrashing uncontrollably. Eons later the slab slowly edges out of the tube. When my head hits the room I fly up, shedding MRI paraphernalia in an effort to be upright. Wheezing I wonder about strokes, heart attacks and instantaneous death. The young cherub smiles hesitantly at me, not sure what I'm about to do.
"Are you okay?"
Not able to respond, I continue breathing, figuring oxygen is more important than beating the crap out of a stranger.
"Not everyone can handle being in the tube. Did you consider an Open MRI?"
She goes on to describe the "open" version which allows the subject's hands to be out the sides of the tube. At this moment that sounds just as hideous.
"Would you like to reschedule at a later date?"
I picture the week or two in between where I get to walk around my life knowing another of these lurks around the corner. The tech keeps jabbering in the sound void.
"You know a lot of people take something to relax them so it isn't so bad."
Now I imagine being doped up with warm moist air draping around my somnolent form. My breath rasps in tightly.
Holy fuck, I'm gonna freak again.
I pray this young woman loses consciousness and drops to the floor in silence. She doesn't.
"Well, let me take you to pick up your things."
"I'm going back in."
She smiles exuberantly.
"I'll listen more carefully for the call button."
She doesn't. I hail her fruitlessly on another occasion as we play "in and out the MRI tube" but I manage to drag myself through the ordeal because of a chance encounter the day prior with an open to dispute coyote/wolf/coywolf.
This magnificent creature (pictured above), sat for fifteen minutes watching nature perform it's unorganized dance. I in turn memorized it existing nearly in stasis. Almost crazy inside the cramped quarters of the tube, one moment from a lost cause, the calm vision materializes in my mind. I gather myself in mimicry, becoming a peaceful predator on an overlook. The Voice settles in to add wisdom.
This bit of hoo-ha had previously dropped in my lap in November when my $150 friend and I determined something big was heading my way.
How we do this isn't a trade secret but too long for this blog.
She reminded me that I have an inordinate amount of trust in The Universe and that would come to my aid if the something big was difficult.
The screaming in my head abates to whimpering. The ability to endure comes and is enough, just enough to outlast the experience. Afterward my body quivers off the effects of adrenalin jet fuel, while underneath something new emerges. It is a tender shoot of something I am curious to see materialize. It doesn't involve trusting fallible humans, prone to ignoring a life tsunami as it unfurls in front of them. This new Spring growth is the newly rooted trust in IS. The tree it will be become is sure to be magnificent.