MRI

Photo by Anna Shvets from Pexels

I was in a hospital, right? Not the airport.

It began with a temperature gun pointed at my forehead right after I pasted the front doors, as if the lady was determined to murder some spider I haven’t noticed before then a flashback to 1989 fall of communism bounced around in my head suddenly and stuck to a particular moment where a soldier pressed the cold end of his gun to my forehead thinking I was a disguised spy.

“No temperature, follow that line to those blue steps.” All around me, in deafening choir tunes, multiple medical security barking orders to frail old people most likely there because they were about to die not start some revolution. That was the feel I got while waiting in line, so familiar, like back home in mother-land of communism. I got checked through and pointed to my next post.

“Take those blue elevators down to A, as in Apple.” I almost felt her thinking “I’m so bored.”

Down on the A as in Apple floor awaited more paperworks and a half an hour just sitting around and doing nothing but see how many anxiety levels I could build without loosing it completely. It sounded like I was close to the emergency ward. Wait a minute! I was in the emergency ward!

“Code stroke coming from.. mumble mumble to Swedish Cherry Hill.” The sound bounced through invisible speakers as a monitor nearby in some room beeped softly every second or so fighting for attention while a Tv mounted on a wall muttered softly as a news anchor presented yet another biased piece of garbage mombojombo they had the nerve to call it news.

To distract myself I chose to read my library book which just so happen to be called “This is going to hurt”, subtitle Secret diaries of a medical resident by Adam Kay. Well this isn’t helping!

“Carmen McKnight?” A nurse looked at me expectantly and I didn’t want to disappoint so I said “Yes”. It would’ve been awkward if it turned out I wasn’t me.

“Hi, I’m nurse… follow me, please.”

As we walked down the corridors she asked me “Can you tell me your name.” Mohammed Ali I felt like saying. I’ve been asked to repeat my name and date of birth so many times suddenly and only for a second amnesia settled in. Oh great! This whole operation would amount to nothing if I can’t remember who I am, or would it? My memory returned and we moved along the conveyor belt an impersonal system built.

I could stop here since this is really half of the story, but I will not do that to you😉

I was escorted in the most elegant closed the history of fashion has ever seen and asked to change in the most prison like attire one could get around in a hospital. At least my tush wasn’t exposed. My chest however was. Cardiac MRI sexy attire walking through! EKG stickers was the funnest part of the whole experience, I must say:)

By the fourth needle poke I wanted to pull the cozy cover off me and say: “Well it’s been fun, for some of us at least, but looking like a stainer is not the look for this year. Blasted genetic small veins! They ran and hid deep the moment the needle came near them. They were fooled once too many times and I can’t blame them for hiding. IV set we moved down the conveyor belt and into the MRI machine. By the time they stuffed me inside I felt like a tired Twinkie cream. Then the beeping began and I had to go to my happy place- Jordan will get me Thai food after I’m done- Oh did I forget to mention that I was starving and dehydrated per instructions? Well, there you have it.

Thirty minutes later: “We’ll inject you with the -bla,bla, bla, medication name only God can remember – you’ll feel your heart beat really fast and you may feel a little discomfort. They should not be allowed to use worlds such as a little pinch, a little discomfort, small pressure, in a hospital. They should tell you the truth: You’ll feel like your heart will explode, then you’ll get really warm but can’t do anything about it since you’re trapped in here, then assuming you’re still alive your guts will shake, and then twist some, but not too much, followed by a tsunami wave we call “nausea’ but it will pass…three days later, so not to worry. You’ll appreciate life so much more once we are done with you. I was a little disappointed in the lack of participation by the left side of my heart. It just sat there like “Nah I don’t find this fun. You guys go right ahead and kill yourself, I’m just going to chill.” Then the dye came and I imagined myself lit up inside like a Christmas tree, more noise, more breathing instructions and after a total of 90 + minutes I was spit out the back of the building with a confused look on my face.

‘Where the heck am I?”






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