Before going to get my first MRI this morning, I got a lot of advice. Most commonly: "Whatever you do, do not open your eyes." Why, I wondered. Was it because the gargantuan magnet used in MRIs would cause instant and irreperable damage to my corneas? Would I be able to resist opening my eyes after having been warned so vehemently by so many? The do not open your eyes advice was not about damage to the corneas, but a way to stave off the extreme claustrophobia laying in a tube only a few centimeters wider than your own diameter might provoke. We're talking eyelash-touching closeness type of claustrophobia. My chiropractor's advice, a man who does not believe in prescription meds: "Pop a muscle relaxant right before you go in." The other thing I was told was that it's loud. Bang bang bangety bang. Really, really loud. What was I getting myself into and did I need to carry a shot of cyanide in case things went really badly?
I arrived early, changed into the blue gown and even remembered to put the opening in the front, though there were still two ties at the neckline of the gown that had me stumped. (Tying them like a necklace was all wrong.) Muscle relaxant in stomach, I shimmied myself onto a stiff metal tray and tried not to focus on the large white tube behind it that I was about to be shoved into head first. I was surprised that everything was so white. For some reason, I thought there would be more black and chrome and glossy paint, like a sports car.
The nurse offered me a pillow for under my knees, covered me with a blanket and handed me a set of earplugs, but no mask. (Whatever you do, don't open your eyes!) She said it would take about half an hour and that I should try not to move at all. "If you can sleep, sleep," she said, then rolled me into the machine. Could it really be that loud?
"We're going to move you under the magnet now," she said and I was rolled further into the machine. Eyes still closed, everything okay. First I heard a tom-tom thump, a wood knocking on wood sound. Tock, tock, tock. An African drumbeat, a clock, a dinner bell. The tocking stopped and then the industrial music kicked in, like Nitzer Ebb playing a single note, buzz of metal on metal. It was a vibration so constant and single, I thought I could detect words in it, some sort of repetition. A message? Tommy-tum, tommy-tum, getmeout, getmeout, getmeout. But I did not feel all that claustrophobic and managed to twitch very little. The half hour went by quickly and I resisted the temptation to open my eyes.
When the nurse rolled me out, however, I did finally open my eyes. I saw a clean white surface about three inches above my head. Close, but not eyelash-touching close. I wondered if I had opened them sooner if I would have had a very different experience. I got dressed, hailed a cab and ran off to Chinatown to visit the Lin Sisters. Special Chinatown acupuncture. Except all that took about forty minutes, every ounce of energy I had left and a good deal of grimacing. This back pain thing is for the birds.
