Headspace

A couple of years ago I had an MRI scan on my head. This wasn’t to check if I actually have got a brain, as you might reasonably expect.

A letter explained about not wearing clothing with metal in, so I swapped my leather underpants with the metal studs for conventional ones and arrived feeling slightly smug.

After paying a fortune for the car park, I found the appropriate department where any lingering smugness evaporated. Everyone in the waiting room looked at me with a sad gaze that hoped forlornly that I might be about to tell them they're fine, and it's nothing to worry about. It was either that, or they couldn't believe my woolly hat and scarf combo.

A form asking all the same questions I'd already been asked was completed, and  I sat with an elderly gentleman who, after shooing his wife away, said "They do fuss, don't they?". We then did the very British thing of not talking to each other and avoiding eye contact.

Finally a nurse came and told me to remove all my clothes except my underwear. Luckily, before I got started, she did point me to some changing cubicles. I then had to put on a hospital gown. They're one-size fits all, but with Giant Haystacks in mind just in case. After making myself look like a circus big top I was show into the scanner room, where HAL from 2001 eyed me up tetchily. Before I knew it, I was lying on a tray with a frame around my bonce, and my legs raised up on a cushion to make me "comfortable".

The tray slid me inside the machine. Here's a suggestion if you ever have to go through this... CLOSE YOUR EYES. It's bloody terrifying. It's very noisy, so I had ear defenders on too. It's a bit like a child trying to play assorted musical instrument by repeatedly bashing or strumming. After keeping my eyes closed for the first five minutes I finally opened them. Mistake. The tube is about an inch from your face. You have a teensy mirror above you angled so you can see out of the tube. Unfortunately, I could just make out the top of the door frame, and that was it.

I began pondering a Day Of The Triffids scenario where everyone suddenly went blind and how I might get out. Suggestion number 2. Don't do that.

After 15 minutes I was extracted, felt like a prat and wondered if my underpants were on show.
 
Afterwards I got a cappuccino to cheer myself up from the lady in the WRVS shop, where H&S regs dictate that you must put the lid on the cup before leaving the counter. I knew there was too much froth, but attempted it anyway. Amazing how far milk foam can squirt vertically out of the drinking hole in the top.

Turns out I’m not a danger to the public after all.

Have a good weekend.

If you can.


(This post first appeared in my 'Thank grumpy it's Friday' column in the North West Evening Mail on Friday 25th May 2012. This is the unedited version - you can view the printed/online version here: http://www.nwemail.co.uk/home/2.4887/opening-my-eyes-a-mistake-in-scanner-1.958100?referrerPath=home/columns where it was retitled 'Opening my eyes a mistake in scanner' by their sub-editors, in a stunning bit of literal interpretation of the text. My continuation probably depends on comments, so please go there and leave one. A nice one, if you like. Or a bad one. It's a democracy, after all.)

(Whilst contemplating heading out for fish/pie and chips from The Big Chip Cafe in Arnside, I'm continuing my maudlin Lightnin' Hopkins listening. He's currently saying "I've Had My Fun If I Don't Get Well No More". Cheery.)