Paradoxically Yours...

Feeled Bad

(prompt: 'field' 11/8/2017)

"I feeled bad, Boss. Bad and sad. Thas' all I ken tell you."

Those weren't exactly John Coffey's words in 'The Green Mile', but they sprung to mind when I considered my MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) test episode recently in a large 'you beaut' city hospital.

You can't 'feel' the field of magnetism that surrounds the target area of your body, but its power is there, nonetheless. You are left in no doubt of its formidable possibilities after completing the exhaustive pre-treatment questionnaire about anything the tiniest bit magnetic in or on your body. I knew there was a good reason I don't have piercings or embedded body jewellery of any variety. My trinkets and treasures are all the old-fashioned variety that come off at the flick of a catch. I silently congratulate myself for this choice.

I'm told there have been ugly stories of those who tried to get away with concealment of extraneous body bits. It seems the person and their trimmings part company in particularly nasty (and opposite) directions, without benefit of the boomerang effect. Such is the strength of the magnetic field. Eww...

I am claustrophobic, but I was determined to 'suck it up, buttercup' in the interests of science and nobility and to scratch that persistent 'need to know' itch that eternally dogs this old girl. So, into the bowels of the awesome MRI machine I slid. You do wear earmuffs, and you are warned about the confined space; your arms are strapped to your sides and you are cautioned not to move. You can watch TV through a cleverly designed 'smoke and mirrors' kind of arrangement. My TV 'getaway from the madding magnetic crowd' was to Australia's Bondi beach and some spectacular surf rescues by a collection of bronzed lifesaving heroes. Nice 'jam' to help the medicine go down!

There were also clear instructions about the voice that would direct you how to breathe (a handy thing to know in your seventh decade!). There would be short periods of having to take a deep breath, hold it and stay perfectly still... then exhale and resume normality. Short? A mere twenty seconds. Not SO long - except it was only the other week I had a chest infection, and the odd tickle still threatens my faked calm.

With great fortitude I mastered my breathing, fears, ticklish throat, boredom, fidgety impulses - even my overactive tongue and vocal cords (no mean feat). Little did the trusty technicians congratulating me after the event know what a close call it had been. The strongest deterrent was the thought of having to repeat the whole sad and sorry process. Ohh no... anything but that!

The whole hospital experience is one of loss of control, autonomy and an appalling amount of respect and dignity. Will it help in six weeks time when I'm in for the next lot, that I know what's coming? Doubt it.

I'm thinking, just like John Coffey, I just 'feeled bad, Boss.'