Most Recent Incident (or MRI for short)

I used to type magnetic resonance imaging technology patents for a lawyer from GE Medical Systems. I never understood the complex mathematical formulas and scientific explanations in the materials I was preparing, but the more civilian descriptions of what these machines are capable of has always been of interest. Today, years later, I got to take my first ride into that loud, cylindrical chamber to experience an MRI from the consumer end.

I actually had two of them: one of my left hip and one of my lumbar spine area, in an effort to determine the cause of the aches in this hip and the often accompanying nerve pain that has been plaguing my left leg for the past eleven months. An x-ray was inconclusive last fall, and a three-month hiatus from the gym seemed to improve things, but a few weeks back into a fraction of my former workout regime and the pain returned. I put off this next test for months, but finally made the call to my doctor, who surprisingly got me in for the procedure the very next day at what I thought was the local defunct hospital, St. Mikes. Turns out their radiology department is still in operation while they await complete takeover by the Wheaton Franciscans.

I was questioned by two different attendants before the test to make sure there were no possible metallic fragments lodged anywhere in my body. “Do you have any surgically implanted plates, screws, rods, shunts or a pacemaker? Have you ever been a metal worker? Have you ever had a tattoo?” No one asked if I had applied aluminum-laced deodorant that morning so I assumed that my armpits wouldn’t rip off my body or burst into flames. I left off my wedding ring and my watch, and even removed the earrings that have become a constant companion since my ultra short haircut last week.

There really wasn’t much to the test, other than lying still for about 20 or so minutes. I was given earplugs as the noises emitted by the magnetic monster were rather deafening. I lay on a narrow table that was raised up to the height of the tube, and then slowly advanced inside it, under the large white GE logo, so that my hip was at about the middle of its length. I took the advice of a nurse friend and began to breath evenly and think about being on the beach somewhere beautiful in a comfy chaise lounger. This was working wonderfully until Laurie Anderson showed up and began a sound check on the sand next to me. She then seemed to start a concert set, but after a minute or so her Moog stalled out on the same note, over and over. You never can tell with electronic musicians, so I simply waited to hear if this was part of the piece or not. Then her amps began to experience obvious feedback problems and I wondered where her audio tech gurus must have wandered off to. How embarrassing. But she didn’t seem to mind and plugged away, changing the frequency every now and then for creative effect.

The concert stopped suddenly, so much so that the silence caused a physical charge to run through my body. My mind wandered back to the sound of beach waves softly breaking on the shore.

Then the Irish step dancers showed up.

Now everyone knows you can’t rightly perform Irish step dancing on the sand, so the troupe set about building an enormous stage on the other side of my chair. They used about two dozen DeWalt D51845 20 Degree Full Round Head Framing Nail Guns and apparently an entire Lowe’s warehouse of ammunition before stopping just as abruptly as the Laurie Anderson concert. The sudden silence slammed into my body once again.

This alternation between Ms. Anderson and the Irish stage builders continued for the next 15 or 20 minutes. Every so often the table would more forward or backward slightly, and then it was over. The noises stopped for longer than usual and I heard the attendant push the door to the room open as he reentered. I hadn’t even known he had left. The table was scrolled out of the tube and lowered and I hopped off while he repositioned the padded sensor thingeys and replaced the white sheet. I lay down in the other direction this time for the lumber scan and was rolled in head first, nearly all the way to the other open end of the machine, though not quite. I guess I’m not really claustrophobic because none of this bothered me.

We began the same scenario again – more beeps, raps and banging as the concert set up, followed by the same electronic set and dancing construction crew and soon it was all over. Between this and the upper G.I. I endured earlier this spring, I have certainly increased my diagnostic medical repertoire to the point that visions of all my hypochondriacal future screenings don’t hold quite as much horror as they once did.