Howie, who would have turned 95 this week, made me promise I would never let "them" do another MRI on him. His experience with the test in his mid-eighties brought on WWII foxhole flashbacks. My recent readings of Dad's WWII letters gave me greater understanding of this very post-post traumatic stress.
Now I would have an MRI. On my knee. And I have my own anxiety issues. And my high school Health class teacher drilled those flashback warnings into our teen minds.
"Do you have any metal in your eye?," asked the pre-procedure person from the diagnostic center. wwwww. This totally creeped me out, and it was lucky I didn't faint. I have a thing about eyes.
"Do you have any shrapnel in your body?," she asked. "Do you weigh over 150 pounds?," I heard. Well, yes, who doesn't nowadays? "REALLY?"
It seems the pre-procedure person meant 350 pounds (158.7 kilograms). Okay, not. I will still fit in the foxhole. That's a good personal wellness program goal.
"Are you claustrophobic?," asked the persistent pre-procedure lady. Waaa haaa ha hah! Won't we all just find out!?
If King Tut and Hedy Lamarr had a love child, it would "frequency hop" in an MRI tube. I crossed my arms across my chest holding the crook and flail. Isis, Osiris, meniscus chanted in syncopated rhythm.
© 2013-2019 Nancy L. Ruder
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