I have an appointment to get an MRI tomorrow morning. My doctor wants to have a look-see at my brain. My memory loss is a real problem. I don't think it's just inattentiveness due to my ADHD. At least, I don't think it's entirely that. There's definitely something going on. Some pouty, reluctant synapses aren't firing. Or they are, but at the wrong radio frequency (clearly I don't know how brains work). I imagine a million little spark plugs in our brains, all sending electric messages to other parts of the brain (clearly I don't know how spark plugs work, either). But mine aren't all doing their job. Some are taking naps. Some are playing video games. Some are on an infinite doomscrolling loop. Anyway, maybe someone looking at pictures of my brain can see what's up. I had an MRI years ago. Everything was normal (I was just as surprised at you are!). No dead spots, or tumors, or brain cells with pickets saying "Hell no! We don't know!". But, I'm telling you, something ain't right.
I gotta be honest, I'm a little nervous about the MRI. For two reasons: One, they need to give me the contrast, which involves an IV. I dislike needles. Especially when they're actively poking me. I hate getting flu shots, I hate getting blood drawn, and I hate IVs. I'd make a lousy heroin user. I always warn nurses that I'm a big baby when it comes to needles. Side story: I nearly passed out when I held Trish as they gave her a needle in her spine before her c-section. It was too much for me, and it wasn't even in my body! Someone had to take over holding Trish just in case I passed out, injuring her while they were stabbing her spine. No pressure, right? Back to the present situation, I'm also nervous that the contrast flowing through my veins will make me hot or cold or something. I don't know how to explain it. I'm worried I'll feel it. The whole thing is so invasive. And did I mention I hate needles?
Two, I'm worried they will look at my brain and realize that I do have a tumor. Then, the ultimate invasion; brain surgery. What if I wake up and I'm blind, or deaf, or paralyzed? What if I don't wake up at all? What if I do wake up, but it's forty two years in the future and AI has taken over the world?
So, that is my task for tomorrow morning, and I'm stressing out about it. I should be sleeping right now, I need to be there for 6:30am. I'm so tired, but I wanted to write this down. I needed to document my feelings before I disappear from this world for forty two years.
Twelve hours later...
Well, I survived. I went, I put on the scrubs, I lied down on the MRI table. They gave me the rundown; lie still, don't move, you'll hear some noises, put these plugs in your ears, do you get claustrophobic? Normally, I don't. But as I look down the gullet of the MRI beast, I think it's never too late to develop new phobias.
I lay down and attempted to find a comfortable position on the table (was that a bed of nails under the thin sheet?), I explained to the man with the clipboard that my real anxiety comes from the needle and the contrast. He assured me that the contrast they use now is far superior to the old stuff, and hardly kills anyone at all these days. He also told me that they are using an extremely small gauge needle, and tries to convince me it'll be just a tickle. Well, dress me up in a furry red costume and give me some helium, because I'm down for "just a tickle". We both laughed at my silly joke. I, nervously. He, with eyebrows drawn and fingers steepled.
Without warning, he swung a cage over my face and locked it into place. He then placed a squeeze bulb attached to a cord into my right hand. "For when you feel distressed," he explained. I noted that he did not actually say he'd come to my rescue if I squeezed it. I had a suspicion that he wanted to know the moment I started to panic. Not to rescue me, no. He just enjoyed a patient in distress.
I say all of this in jest, of course. The fact is, I was treated quite well. The nurse was patient and kind, and answered all my questions. This still didn't change the fact that it felt like I was being slid into a body drawer at the morgue. As the procedure began, I discovered he was not kidding around about hearing some noises. The only way I could describe the sounds would be to compare it to rave music, but without all the good bits, and without a coherent beat. The violent bursts of buzzes would repeat for a minute or two, then pause before changing into a different pitch and tempo of violent buzzes. Not only could I hear the sounds despite the earplugs, I could feel the vibrations through the table. And every so often the table would shift further into the morgue drawer. The smooth white surface of the tunnel I was in was mere centimeters from my nose. I kept my eyes closed throughout the procedure to reduce the disorientation.
Three quarters of the way through the set of buzz songs, there was a pause. The nurse had re-entered the room, and was preparing to inject the contrast. I told the story of an experience I had about twenty five years ago while getting blood drawn. They had trouble finding a spot on my arms that would consistently give blood. I would give up a few drops, then the flow would stop. After wriggling the needle under my skin and tapping on it (still inside my arm) several times, they gave up on that spot and stabbed my arm in a different location. This process was repeated fourteen times. Let me throw that number at you again, folks. I was stabbed FOURTEEN TIMES by incompetent people attempting to get two small vials of blood for routine testing. I told them that was enough and walked out. I couldn't do it anymore. It was traumatizing! The nurse in radiology said he could understand why I am not a big fan of needles nowadays. He promised me that he'd do this in one go, and he lived up to his word. And he was also right about the new contrast. Other than the momentary discomfort of the needle, I couldn't even tell that a substance had entered my bloodstream. I was very grateful for those two details.
I was slid back into the morgue for another five minutes of disjointed buzz beats and then it was over. He helped me sit up and told me I was free to rejoin the world. I thanked him for being gentle with me and wished him a good day. Then I changed back out of the patient scrubs, stuffed them in the pockets of my cargo pants, and left the hospital. Don't worry, it's like hotel soap. They expect you to take them home. At least that's how I justify acquiring my next zombie apocalypse Halloween costume.
And now we wait. Someone, somewhere, will look at those images of my brain, fingers idly caress a chin (hopefully their own), and decide my fate. When that happens, I will attempt to tell an amusing story about it. Until then, I recommend listening to Aphex Twin's song, "Bucephalus Bouncing Ball" while imagining yourself lying inside a morgue drawer. It'll be fun!
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