9:06 a.m.,
May. 06, 2003
So last night I had an MRI.
When it was over, I walked into the lobby and Keith asked me how it was.
"Kubrickian," I responded.
It really was.
I went into a room with what appeared to be a giant space pod in the middle. The technician made sure I wasn't wearing or holding any metal and explained the procedure to me. Then I laid down on a bench and was given ear plugs and a sponge for my knees, as well as a panic button in case I freaked out while inside. Then the technician put this plastic cage over my eyes and I entered the machine, rolling backwards inside it until most of my body, up to my knees, was inside.
(This would probably be the waist for most people, but I am freakishly short, so it was up to the knees for me.)
I'm laying in this white plastic bubble, staring up at a plastic cage two inches from my nose and I notice that there's a greenish glow inside. So basically, the MRI machine appears to be designed by the art director of 2001: A Space Odyssey.
Then the machine starts. Most people know this, so I don't mean to be condescending, but just in case, an MRI is a detailed picture of your brain. I had one done because I had my first migraine a little under three months ago. I've continued to have tension headaches since then, and my doctor just wants to make sure it's nothing serious. The mechanism that takes the pictures makes a lot of noise, so that's why I wore earplugs.
What the technician didn't tell me is that the noises the machine makes sounds like a Philip Glass score as performed by Kraftwerk, a blender and a couple robots.
The final five minutes or so sounded like a call-and-response performance by a tiny robot, tapping on a window, followed by a huge robot, screaming "BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP" in response to the tapping.
That was really the worst of it.
All told, the procedure only took about 25 minutes. I kept my eyes closed most of the time because the plastic grate was too close to focus on, so my eyes hurt. It was a lot easier to close them. Later, Keith asked me where I would rate on a 0-4 scale of life experiences, with 4 being great sex and 0 being shoving pointy objects in your toenails.
I said 2 1/2. It's not something I'd actively seek out, but as far as medical procedures go, you could do a lot worse.
The most silly part about it all didn't even really have to do with the MRI. I went to registration to check in at about 7:30. As we left the registration area, the clerk, as if he'd made some grievous social error, suddenly shouted "Happy Cinco de Mayo!" to us as we walked out.
Indeed.