My first MRI.
Last Thursday.
I don’t tend to ask medical questions.
I don’t tend “to do” medical things.
After being sick for a decade, medical things and I had a big break up.
So . . . having an MRI, hearing myself say “I’m having an MRI” to some friends felt strange – like I was finally joining the masses of humanity. Growing up and getting reasonable – suddenly.
But still, I didn’t ask any questions.
Just made an early morning appointment, didn’t wear any metal – which if you know me was a bit challenging – and showed up bleary eyed with a bunch of workers comp folks.
I had heard it was loud. Told that if you have issues with being in confined spaces, it might be tough.
I don’t consider myself claustrophobic. Throw my 5’3 and hopefully ¼ frame into a crowd of thousands and I am happy as a clam. I will even lead you taller humans through this crowd.
Put me in a hot elevator with a bunch of sweating people – just fine. Crowded concerts and the T on Red Sox day . . . perfect. I love watching people.
But . . . put me on my back in a confined space with the ceiling a few inches from my eyeballs . . .
TERROR!!!
I was born a Libra with an older brother who was exciting and charismatic, and a mom with the same charms. It never occurred to me to outwardly rebel. You wouldn’t catch me throwing a temper tantrum or chucking my food on the floor. However, a very independent soul was hiding out beneath this serene surface. (Aquarian moon!)
I carefully picked my methods for self-assertion.
When I was an infant, I refused to crawl. I also did not begin walking at “the normal time.” Instead, I devised my own method of transportation: I rolled on the floor, from one end of the house to the other . . . which frequently resulted in trapping myself, supine, underneath the family couch!
And I DO REMEMBER THIS!
I remember metal coils right at my eyeballs – and then being paralyzed!
(I think I had to be rescued.)
(This I don’t remember.)
So . . . the thought of being in some loud enclosed plastic donut was daunting.
Okay . . . terrifying.
But, I didn’t let on.
____ ____ _____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____
They call my name, and a door in the tiny waiting room opens and some tech waves me in. I had imagined this MRI room would be somewhere deep within the annals of this Beverly Hills Office Building, but it seems like it’s just a part of the waiting room.
Tech guy hands me some shriveled yellow earplugs. I ask for the music and headphones I read about online. He shakes his head no. I try to ignore the donut taking up the entire room and put in the earplugs.
They don’t go in.
Tech guy is getting antsy as I try to squish them in my ear and nervously tell him I have weird ears – sorry – most things don’t fit inside me – and realize how that sounds, and there’s nowhere good to go with that . . .
He keeps jerking his head toward the “bed” that he has pulled out for me . . . looks at his wrist. I guess we are on a tight schedule. Shit. All of those worker comp guys just behind the door.
I’m out of time.
I drop the earplugs – shrug and climb onto my hard white palette.
Close eyes.
Close eyes before going in.
I do.
I can do this! I meditate every morning for 20 minutes!
I am a healer.
I am a psychic.
An astrologer.
I CAN DO THIS!!!
In I go.
Okay.
Breathe.
No – don’t breathe a lot.
Not like in PT – where I seem to fail at my breathing exercises.
Breathe shallow or I might move.
What happens then? If I move?
I’ve been told not to move, but if I do . . .
I fail?
I don’t get fixed?
I lose something – or god forbid – I have to do THIS AGAIN?
I focus on breathing not breathing – and keeping my eyes shut.
And then the first loud noises – like some weird mutant Godzilla sized woodpecker.
Ok. I’m doing ok.
I can handle this. No problem.
Wait, my left leg twitched.
I didn’t do it.
It did it – my leg – not my fault.
Does this count as moving?
Oh shit . . . the thing I am on is moving or adjusting.
FUCK!
Eyes almost opened – and then:
ARTILLERY FIRE LOUD!!!
Eardrums freaking out – left one popping.
Oh shit. Not good without noise cancellation.
What if this ruins my ears – and my “golden ears” for producing are shot.
SHIT!
Ok . . . breathe . . . shallow.
Sound stops . . . I see . . . Europe.
Yes, lavender fields, good. I can do this, my own guided meditation.
FUCK!!!!!
ARTILLERY AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!
So loud in eardrums it flutters my eyelid almost open.
Oh shit.
I’m in a trench.
GAS MASK ON!
Artillery . . . fire . . . bombs . .
What the hell? I’m in dirt . . . no mud.
Cold wet mud . . . frightened . . next to other young men . . .
HOLY SHIT!
I’m having some WW1 “recovered memory” or past life flash . . . but where the hell am I? What battle?
I search the scene for clues . . .
Now Godzilla woodpecker is back. I don’t need him.
Silence.
I am finding the silent moments are actually harder than the artillery. The anticipation of that barrage is worse than when it happens. And I want to go back . . . find out what battle I am in . . .
Fuck!
My right toe just curled on its own.
Not me! I swear!
BAM!!!⇒!!!!!!!⇒!!!!!!!!!>>>>>>>!!!!!!!!!!!!⇒BAM!!!!!!
Back in the trenches.
Fuck! I’m going to die here. Blown to bits by the Germans.
I don’t want to die like this!!!
Trench adjusts. Breathe. Remember to breathe. Shallow.
Gasmask is choking me.
Think of my girlfriend back home.
Wait. I don’t have one.
Fuck, I’ve got to do this alone.
!!!!!!!>>>>>>>>!!!!!!!!!>>>>>>!!!!!!>>>>>>>~!!!!!!!!!>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
BAM BAM!!!!!!!!! . . . ! More Artillery.
This is intense!
I knew about WW2 – when I was a French girl with an American lover who left me in Alsace Lorraine – but WW1?????
I’m an American or Brit guy . . . in a trench . . . with a fine taut body underneath my torn uniform . . . green eyes . . . this is cool . . .
Damn.
Pulled out of trench back to Wilshire. Beverly Hills.
To being a girl.
Shouldn’t the woodpecker be back?
Still silent. Don’t move.
I’m still under something. I can feel the enclosure around me – hard white plastic . . .
I want to open my eyes.
I dare not.
I can’t lose it this close to the end.
I made it through WW1.
I can’t lose it in a cold room all by myself inside a machine – in Beverly Hills!
I feel my body pulling out of a tunnel.
Something touches my right shoulder.
“You’re done.”
Tentatively, I open my eyes to fluorescent lighting and the tech guy smiling down at me. Nicer than before.
“You okay?”
I nod – roll up and off my palette.
Walk out into the lobby with another lifetime ahead of me … and another one behind me.
Recovered.
RECOVERY.
(It is the 100 Year Anniversary of the Start of WW1).