MRI

On Friday I had my second MRI since this whole thing began. It was at a different facility than my previous one and the experience was just as bizarre. Even more so. The MRI was in a trailer out back which you got to by a lift in a big cement warehouse. Then to get to the machine you had to climb a step ladder and maneuver your breasts into a basket while stretching your arms forward. You also had to go into the machine feet first. At least this one had music coming through the fairly useless headphones.

Towards the end of the test when my nerves were just about shot from the banging and the straining not to move, they played Rachmaninoff's Prelude in C Sharp Minor. The prelude has a special meaning for me. During my youth, I tried for years to master the piece until I finally acknowledged that my fingers were just not long enough. In this instance I was transported back to my piano and imagined struggling with each of the notes that, unlike my feeble attempts, were played so expertly in the headphones that did little to block the crashing sounds of the MRI.

The tech's who had administered the test pulled me out and praised me for my patience and fortitude. I didn't want to admit that it wasn't me but Rachmaninoff and his prelude.