I had an MRI this week, and it has to be one of the most amazing diagnostic tests ever. Magnetic resonance imaging is a modern way to see highly detailed views inside the anatomy through radio waves and magnetic fields. Maybe the best way to describe it is using echolocation like a bat in the form of taking pictures, since the scan actually reads the details inside the body and, unlike bats, captures them in print. It’s a different kind of zap and less of a long-term health risk than x-rays.
People with claustrophobia are cautious of some model MRI machines, because they can be cylindrical and enclosed, which may give a coffin-like feel to patients, but today the devices are much less confining. The device I was exposed to was a gigantic ring resembling a science fiction time travel portal, with sounds emanating from it like some futuristic dance club.
Nothing like being diagnosed to a nice beat.
I had to be sure I had nothing metal on me, so I had to remove my watch. Many people either have no watch or a fitness tracker; mine is the dull, durable, legacy watch with twelve numbers on a round face. Shows how old I am and how long I’ve managed to go without needing a diagnostic MRI.
After getting an intravenous port (for one portion of the diagnostic process, a contrast die agent is injected to help the readings) and donning a gown, I had to lie down and be fitted with headphones into which music was provided; I also got a squeeze button in case I needed to call the technicians for any reason. Sometimes people find it hard to be still in a horizontal position for some time, but I felt I could almost fall asleep in there. The music was relaxing, with Bill Withers’ original classic “Lean on Me” and Stevie Wonder’s “Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing,” though when “Night Fever” by the Bee Gees played, I wished I could’ve gotten up and danced. I still remember the line dance from the movie, and perform it mentally in my head so as not to embarrass myself in public. Or inside an MRI. I was still as a corpse, even if the MRI didn’t look like a coffin.
The most disturbing thing about the experience for me was not the being still or being confined, but the noise. The machine puts out several different noises at any particular moment, and they’re loud, but rhythmic, and explain the reason for the headphones and music: it’s hearing protection and distraction. Some procedures take considerable time, since the readings come in individual slices of your body, in thin segments, but mine took about twenty minutes.
The technicians said I did extremely well, and I left with a gift bag as a reward. It’s nice to be at an age where one still can get free swag for lying down in a machine. Plus there was no prep, no aftereffects, and life went on as normal afterwards.
Except I still want to get down with the Bee Gees.
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