So here’s a question...
Do YOU know what it would sound like if a woodpecker and an Atari 2600 got into a heated debate?
Well thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I do.
Let me back up a step or two here...
Last night I went to the hospital for my MRI. Nobody’s really concerned about my health, or expects anything other than the standard blobs and goo to show up on the films, but all the same, the doc wanted me to go, and I guess there were a couple of med techs who had nothing better to do on a Thursday night, so it was universally decided that spending an hour or so pummeling my cranium with high intensity radio and magnetic waves would be a wonderful idea...
Ok... technically, they exposed me to a large noninvasive device, which utilizing the properties of magnetism, created nondestructive, three-dimensional, internal images of the soft tissues of my body.
But they did it a lot.
And they stuck a needle in me.
And it hurt.
And they seemed to enjoy it.
And I think I heard them giggling.
...but I suppose that’s beside the point.
Here’s the rundown on what happened.
After getting to the hospital and checking in, a young woman ushered me into a small room and asked me to remove the majority of my clothing.
Normally I would consider this an auspicious start to any evening (and would frankly find it hard not to grin and giggle like a schoolboy with a frog in his pocket), but seeing as I was already acutely aware of what they had planned for me, it failed to produce anything other than a shrug and an obligatory smile.
I ventured into my stall, drew the curtain, and began to assemble my wardrobe for the upcoming festivities, which consisted mainly of my underwear (which I made sure to choice specifically for the occasion), my socks and shoes, a thin robe, and a “Johnny.”
If you’ve ever been in a hospital... or been TO a hospital, or heck, even seen a hospital on TV, then you probably know what a “Johnny” is... It’s that big flap of floral patterned fabric (looking disturbingly like wallpaper you might find in a Nantucket B&B) that you’re supposed to use to cover your abhorrent nakedness. It’s purposely left open in the back, with two comedically-designed ties that theoretically allow you to secure both it, and... ahem... your dignity.
Now the hospital was nice enough to give me a robe to wear as well, thereby eliminating any possible drafts that might arise due to my inabilities to properly secure my “Johnny” (that sounds dirty), but my question is this... nobody was going to be poking around with any of my real squishy parts... or looking to examine anything I don’t normally show off at parties... in truth, the only part they were really even going to be messing with was my head, a part of my anatomy that I already keep more or less out in the open on a pretty regular basis... so why did I need the “Johnny” and the robe?
“24 of 46 MRI facilities responding to a survey in 1999 (52 percent) reported the occurrence of MRI-related injuries and/or deaths resulting from undetected or misplaced metal objects either in the room or on the patient’s person”
Ok, so I guess I understand the need for the special, limited engagement, standing room only performance of “Flarf Nude,” but still... couldn’t somebody design some sort of getup that’s appropriate for this type of occasion? Did I really need to bundle up like a mentally challenged sherpa mounting an ill advised trip to the top of mount crazy?
Oh well...
Sheepishly walking beside the med tech (who I noted, didn’t seem to have any reservations about turning me into a living science experiment), I tried to imagine what lay ahead. I had heard all sorts of stories about what MRIs were like. Everything from tales of claustrophobic fits and nausea, to cold sweats and panic attacks flooded my brain. As we made our way down the hall, I came up with countless scenarios as to what my future might hold (one of which involved a stethoscope, a poodle, and an Armenian circus geek named Tullio). But I can honestly say that I was not in any way, shape or form expecting what greeted me as we turned the corner...
A trailer.
That’s right... a run of the mill, hook me to a big rig, east bound and down, jerry reed and floppy eared dog, “where’s the bandit” trailer...
My MRI machine... the piece of equipment I was about to get uncomfortably intimate with... the pinnacle of modern medical achievement standing before me... was housed... in a trailer. All I can say is, it’s not exactly comforting to realize that the set of “E.R.” has more advanced medical surroundings than the ones I was currently being asked to subject myself to. And to make it even better... the only way I was allowed to get into said trailer, was via a small motorized loading platform built into the side. Apparently, stairs are far too hazardous for someone in a “Johnny” to take on. Instead, I got live the life of a crate of peas being prepped for delivery. I stood on the platform and watched the tech press the magic button that began my 17-second (yes, I counted) ascent into the trailer.
...lifting me a grand total of three feet off the ground.
And then... there it was. A hulking behemoth in beige with a miniscule little hole in the middle (which was presumably, where they were going to try to stuff my pudgy little frame)... It looked a little bit like a bloated bagel, and for whatever reason, that thought kinda comforted me... until that is, I suddenly had the revelation that when one also took into consideration the table/conveyor belt that was emanating from said hole, it bore more of a resemblance to something else entirely...
...in short, a smaller version of every crematorium I had ever seen on tv.
That thought... not so comforting.
[to be continued]
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