I went in for my MRI, today. It was a
surreal experience. The wait was long, as was the procedure. I got to
wear comfy scrubs and lie on a gurney with an IV needle in my right
arm while the room was being prepared. It was nice, really...I got to
chat with an older nurse about her breast cancer experience. I shared
a little about my previous cancer treatment, so we had a lot to talk
about.
I remember the CT scans I had, fifteen
years ago, and I thought this would be the same. Not quite. The
machine was smaller, more closed in. Because it was a bilateral
breast MRI, I had to lay on my stomach. Getting on the table was a
bit tricky, especially since the IV was making my arm sore and a
little stiff. The techs offered to redo it, but it wasn't that bad,
so I kept it as it was. Facing down, looking into a little window, I
was able to see the wall ahead of me. Very clever of them to place
mirrors to allow for this. I was facing down, but looking ahead. I
saw the machine surround me as I was moved through it.
Suddenly, I felt as if I was out in
space, being prepared to be transported somewhere in some sort of
futuristic capsule. On the wall ahead, there was a picture of a
tropical beach that appeared to be from a calendar. I couldn't tell
whether it was a photograph or painting, but as I watched it, it went
from one to the other, reminding me of how being in a beautiful place
can sometimes look like standing inside a painting...art and reality
intermingling...the surreality of beauty.
The machine was loud, even with
earplugs and headphones. At times, I would close my eyes, listening
to its changing rhythm, wondering if this is where industrial music
came from. When the combination of noise and closed eyes became too
much, I would open them and watch the picture for a while, then go
back to the darkness of my eyelids, letting my mind travel. I thought
about a lot of things. I thought about where this was taking me. I
thought about George, wondering what this had been like for him,
wondering if he was paying attention from his place on the other
side. I thought about what Tuesday means...my first round of
chemotherapy to come. I wondered if I will be strong enough to have
my head shaved preemptively, so I won't have to pull my hair out in
the shower, like I did last time.
The MRI itself took about a half hour.
When I was pulled from the machine, I groggily sat up, had my IV
removed, and made my way to the dressing room where my own clothes
waited. The car ride home was as surreal as the experience I had just
come from. As I watched the sun on the leaves of passing trees, my
favorite Rasputina song played in the stereo. It's achingly beautiful
with a soul-filling sadness. “Do you believe in the signs of the
zodiac? Haven't you heard that the systems for planning always
fail....” And it dawned on me. My body had remained on earth, but
in a way, the machine had still transported me to another place.
Here I am, in that world between worlds. Not dead, and not dying, but
not fully in the world of the living. I walked this dream-scape
before, the last time I had cancer. I did not expect to begin the
journey in an MRI machine, but that's what happened. Now, as I take
this trip, I know to watch the scenery. I know to glean all I can
from it. School has ended for the quarter. Last time I was in this
place, it was in the winter. This time, I'm taking a summer trip, and
I know that the world will be a different place when I return.
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