Transparency

            “Just stay very still. Don’t move. The machine is very sensitive to any movement. I’ll put you in now. Remember, don’t move.”

            The technician then proceeded to send me into the big MRI machine for the shoulder scan I regretfully needed (long story).

            I felt akin to sausage meat being stuffed into casing, and as I scrunched my broad shoulders in and up towards my ears, I felt grateful for my slim body since it didn’t take up too much volume in the insufficient, restrictive and claustrophobic space of the machine. I contemplated how accurate pictures of my shoulder could possibly be obtained when the machine walls were pushing in on the outside of the shoulder itself, and most likely distorting the photo. I was sure the radiologist would report that my shoulder capsule appeared flattened and buckled due to some unexplained external compression. Have they ever been in that machine? Does Mr. Radiologist know that my arm may only look like a squished donut due to the positioning against the giant magnet, and that the true reason for my pain is from something altogether different…that can’t be seen…because it’s being squished into a strange formation not normal in most shoulders? And then I wondered how a large person even gets into the machine? I must have had a mere 4 inches of space from my nose to the top of the cold inhospitable unit, and with my shoulders and hips pressing against the sides, I was not the most comfortable. And I’m skinny! Jesus. Even a moderately obese person would fill that hole like a pimento in an olive. How do they get them in? How do they get them out???

            Trying to find the position I would have to commit to for the next 45 minutes, I shifted and repositioned until I miserably accepted that nothing would feel as comfy as my down quilt and featherbed at home. I gave up….and reprogrammed my mind into thinking of the test as an experiment in tolerance, patience and meditation. ‘I’ll see how much ‘suffering’ I can take until I feel the irrepressible urge to push that comforting little help button and scream’, I thought. So, I pretended that I was in a life or death situation and I wasn’t allowed to move….and I was completely uncomfortable….and there were loud banging noises all around me. I pretended to be in the jungle in Vietnam, hiding for my life. I pretended to be hiding from a gangster….under a bed that was very low to the ground. I pretended I was paralyzed….but then why could I feel my random spasms? I pretended I was Buddha meditating. I counted. I thought about Sartre and his views on Existentialism, free will and human consciousness. I was aware that I felt trapped, not free, but willed myself into choosing to accept my choice to be there….ultimately reflecting on something that was itself already pre-reflected upon…thereby causing anxiety and limiting my experience. Huh? And was this machine indifferent to my experience anyway…or did it imbue reason for my existence….?

            In any case, no matter what thoughts I had, I could not force myself to relax. On top of the confining and unpleasant circumstance, being told to relax and not move…several times….just made me more tense and hyper aware of every little movement in my body. One would suppose it would be easy.…not to move….providing the lack to space in which to move…. but as I was lying there my leg twitched uncontrollably, my stomach gurgled and bulged like hot pots in Yellowstone, and my breathing was causing my diaphragm to expand and contract at an unusual range. 'What if I have to spend more time in the bloody machine because I can't control my bodily functions?' I thought.  'What if I go through all this and then the pictures are so difficult to read that I have to go through it again? What if when I swallow, I cause ripples of movement through my neck and shoulders that disrupts the precise camera slice which then surfaces as some strange redundancy in my shoulder?'

            “How you doing in there?” the guy asks? “Only about another 20 minutes. Continue staying absolutely still. How’s the music?”

            ‘How’s the music? You mean that faded sounding ancient 90’s crap being piped into the poorly placed headphones on my head? Stop talking to me and just get the goddamned thing over with.’ I thought. There’s only so much stillness a person like myself can take….and I’ll have to scratch my cheek or burp here in a moment…’

            “All is fine. I’m going to sleep so you don’t have to talk any more.” I said, hoping to speed things along.

            So, as I tried to focus on something other than the accumulation of saliva in the back of my mouth from fear of swallowing, I thought about the new body scanners that will undoubtedly dominate all airports. Maybe if we were given a little printout of our bodies (fetal ultrasound style), it could prompt us to make some great changes; like correct our posture, work on our muscle tone or lose some weight… Maybe this could be the key to getting Americans in shape! Then I kind of wondered if they could make a scanner that not only scanned through clothing, but through skin too, so that we could get a mini-medical check up every time we traveled. You know, it might show a tumor in someone’s stomach, an enlarged appendix, or even a tooth abscess…

            Besides, I don’t think the current scanners are sufficient for security anyway. What about body cavities? Eh? Those soulless nutcases aren’t beyond stuffing and packing, I’m sure, so why not just get a simple version of a MRI-type machine to the TSA? Then, we could get a print out of our scan as we exited the screening area, and examine our bodies at our leisure.  It could be the key to preventative medicine as even those whom are uninsured would get a quick check.  Wahoo. Imagine how much money our government and hospitals could save! Heck, eventually the brave and honest could use the images on Internet dating sites….or as those photo Christmas cards… Instead of fighting the idea of body scans, let’s embrace it!  I don’t mind if someone notices that I have on cute undies or that my spine is pretty crooked. And let me just tell you, if you’re worried that someone will notice your weenie is small or that you have fake boobies…believe me….people already know. And who cares anyway? Do you really mind that some boring screening agent can see through your clothes? Hell, let them print a life size version of my scan for all I care…and post it in Times Square.   I’m all for transparency!

 …And less uncomfortable and tedious MRI’s....