Hollowtop Smoke Signals

From across the room, the circular opening looked suspiciously like a miniature submarine’s torpedo tube. My stomach tightened at the sight of it. That’s not to suggest I’m not brave to a fault. However, when suddenly confronted with unsettling situations, my fertile mind sometimes tends to imagine the worst possible outcomes. Still, I was relieved that the long-awaited moment had arrived.

A while back, I underwent a Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) scan.  As explained to me beforehand, I was to be inserted into a cylinder that’s surrounded by a large circular magnet. Then, magnetism, radio waves and a computer would produce images of selected structures within my body. That scenario sounded pretty easy to me. So, in spite of minor claustrophobia concerns, when offered a sedative to calm my nerves, I courageously (naively) declined. Regrettably, additional MRI-associated factors were involved which were only casually alluded to.

To begin, I was required to lie (face up) on a sliding table that looked like one of those benches used to roll a condemned prisoner into position beneath a guillotine blade. While situated at the sharply defined edge of the tube’s dark entrance, the technician fastened a plastic face-guard (ribbed cage) over my face.  As he locked it in place, I couldn’t help but notice how much the device resembled something one would expect to see in a medieval torture chamber.

Next, I was fairly wedged into the cylinder for a distance I conservatively estimated to be the length of two football fields.  Far be it from me to imply that the opening was overly constrictive. However, if the face guard hadn’t been in the way, I’m pretty sure my sizable snout would have scraped the top of the tube for the entire distance. 

Naturally, immediately upon reaching the scanning area, my left ear began to itch. The longer I remained there, the more maddeningly it tickled. Nonetheless, I had to stay perfectly still for the entire procedure. So, I took deep breaths and tried desperately to think positive thoughts.  Just as the itch began to subside, I swear I heard someone bark --“Launch torpedo one!”

At that instant, the afore-mentioned, additional MRI-associated factors became appallingly apparent. A raucous noise, which merited far more than casual reference, suddenly erupted. The staccato-like clatter sounded like a rivet gun at work on the tube’s exterior. Unsurprisingly, I jumped to the conclusion that said gun was fastening a lid to the MRI’s (thereafter referred to as--Mega Reverberating Illuminating) only escape.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more nerve racking, an even more ear-splitting racket erupted within the cramped quarters.  To my, by now, thoroughly agitated brain, it sounded as though someone was drilling a blast hole through bedrock—directly over my head! Thus was I serenaded (talk about a captive audience) for what seemed like hours. When, at long last, the table was retrieved from the hole of horrors, I felt as though I had been pulled back from the brink of an abysmal acoustic abyss.

Ultimately, I have to admit, the technician did his job well. Not a single hair on my head had been disturbed.  Not a drop of blood had been shed  I never felt a twinge of pain. Furthermore, the images taken may well lead to a health-enhancing procedure which could benefit me greatly. Still, if ever I am required to undergo another Mega Reverberating Illuminating scan, I’ll be better prepared for the associated factors. I’ll also take the sedating pill.

Art lives in Harrison, Montana.  His essays, stories, and poetry have been published in newspapers, journals, literary magazines, and on-line magazines.