Welcome, to the Machine

I had an MRI this morning. I have been near MRI machines before and knew all about them, or so I thought. The concept of Magnetic Resonance Imaging is awfully cool for a techie kind of guy like me. Essentially, the patient is placed in a tunnel like machine whereupon magnets spin about the circumference of the tunnel at fantastic speed, returning small points of data back to the operator upon each revolution, thus providing a medical professional with a detailed 3 dimensional image of the patient's insides, while not exposing the patient to X-rays or other carcinogenic means. In my case, I was having a Cervical/Spinal MRI, meaning I was in the machine for several scans, each presumably targeting the various areas of my C-Spine area.

That's the science. Here's the reality.

After check in, you go to the changing room where you are asked for the third time if you have any metal on or in you... are you sure? Well, I was was sure the first few times they asked, but I do believe I got a metal shard in my left eye once. I'm sure it's gone... right? I mean what's the worst that could happen? After explaining the gruesome possibility that any metal below your skin, including even the iron in your blood, could and will be ripped forth at unbelievable speed from the bleeding carcass that used to contain your soul, you are led down a public hallway with that gown that hangs open in the back. I can't tie it, as reaching behind me to operate my hands is one of the many things I cannot do, which is part of the reason I am here today.

The technician throws you gently down onto a board that they call 'the table'. For a guy of 230 pounds, it was more like balancing on the fine edge of a popsicle stick at which point the tech asks you, while trying not to laugh, if you are comfortable. Then after a little pep talk consisting of more questions about metal, (Did you eat any metal this morning for breakfast? Is your soul made of metal?), the tech places a device over you meant to immobilize your neck. It also obscures your vision and places a weight very strategically on your chest, making breathing impossible. Asked again if you are comfortable, just on the off chance you believe they give a shit, some headphones are placed in the approximate vicinity of your ears, through which poorly reproduced music from a bygone era is pumped at you so loudly your ears now need their own MRI.

Now is when things get bad. You are in your spot, you can no longer move as the table is being inserted slowly into the tube which is about 1/2 inch smaller in diameter than your body. I kept my eyes closed in a vain attempt to look calm for the tech, who was now snickering openly. I said in measured tones, "wake me up when it's done..."

Now, I am neurotic, (shocking, I know), and all of my neurosis come out to play at once. I am immediately itchy, everywhere, but cannot scratch. Not prone to liking small places, but not afraid of them, I suddenly develop a keen sense of claustrophobia as the weight on my chest and the heat of the room suddenly get to me.

I opened my eyes.

Big mistake! Huge, terrible, awful mistake! It was like staring at the door of an airplane's overhead bin... from inside the bin! I am not sure what I expected beyond the great precipice of the tube, maybe a 2 room apartment, or a Pink Floyd laser light show... something other than grim colorless plastic alarmingly close to the tip of my, ahem, ample nose.

Through the earphones now "The scan will take three and a half minutes. It is exceedingly important you don't move. Are you comfortable?"

Before I can answer or move or adjust or anything, there is a klaxon. I wonder if we are under attack, as we are apparently being called to general quarters. I was not made aware that this noise was to be expected, and I wondered if a pre-scan had noted some metal in my soul, or worse, my genitals. The machine then begins making a terrifically loud noise. I imagine this is what the sheets feel like when the washer goes out of balance. The Muzak being piped through my headset, once so uncomfortably loud is now all but completely drowned out the the buzzing, vibrating, chuffing and revving of this machine. I'd rather listen to the klaxon, or the muzak, or my Sophomore Anthropology professor... anything save for Glenn Beck would have been an improvement.

I count to 210 (which is three and a half minutes), but I do it about a year before the machine does. I am getting desperate. All my senses tell me to run. I itch. I'm hot. I can't breathe. And my insurance is only covering 25% of this... Fuck.

The machine winds down and I smile inside, (not daring to do so physically), because I beat the soul sucker. That's when the voice comes on and says, "You're doing great, (news to me, lady), the next scan will be three and a half minutes... don't move now!"

Oh my God, how many will there be?

The answer is three more. Each an eternity meted out in three and a half minute doses. The problem was I played it so cool, the tech stopped informing me or admonishing me at all. I was alone. I would have given anything just to hear her lie to me again, just to dull the pain.

Finally, the table began to pull me out and I saw light, bright wonderful artificial light. I felt like I was being born, but like I was being born at the direction of Stanley Kubrick circa 2001, the white room like the world and the hell behind me the womb.

I didn't get a lollypop. I didn't get a high five or a pat on the back. I didn't get a medal (get it, metal? Nevermind, I thought it was funny). I got a walk back down the hall, my backside on display for all the world to see. My life had just been changed, and I didn't even get a hug.

I kept the little booties I wore as a memento of my day in the machine. I feel like a changed man. I don't have any super powers, or unnatural strength, but my cell phone batter is wearing down awfully fast since I took the test. And I smell like steak. I came home and did a little research and found out that MRI technology is not unlike radar and microwave technology so the the steak thing was explained. I also found out MRI doesn't stand for Magnetic Resonance Imaging as I thought it did. The letters MRI are from the Latin Mortide Regularus Impendium which roughly translated means 'You are going to die.' Since I lived through the test, I guess they mean when I get the bill.