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MRI: Anxiety Machine

I feel like MRI machines were invented by someone that knew my specific fears and tried to cram as many of them as they possibly could into one thing.

 

The room is always freezing cold and the gurney/bed thing is less comfortable than some rocks I’ve laid down on. I can’t wear my glasses so I am blind and extra anxious. I can’t wear a necklace so I think everyone is looking at my freaky long neck. Also, I can’t wear a bra in there so I know everyone is staring at my chest. Plus I am wearing clothes made from paper that are ill fitting, rustle loudly, and are scratchy.

 

Sometimes they even to run an IV which means we’ve wasted an hour and I’ve been stabbed with a needle 10+ times. Sometimes they make me eat pudding. Which is nauseating. I have to hold it in my mouth without swallowing, letting it get all warm and repulsive, and then I do have to swallow it. That’s a special torture for me.

 

Then they slide me into this tiny tube where the ceiling is less than a foot away from my face. The lights are always a dim yellow which casts a creepy glow. The inside of the tube is far from high tech. It’s kind of depressing and always seems to need a paint job.

 

I have foam ear buds in (which the nurses insist on putting in). Touching my face and inserting something into my body, thank you total stranger. And yet, the noises the MRI machine makes are still the loudest god damn thing in the world. It makes an unusual variety of bizarre noises with no warning and in no particular predictable pattern.

 

My arms are trapped at my sides. I can’t get out without help, even if I tried. I am not allowed to move or twitch or shift positions. I’m not even supposed to cough or clear my throat. And I am somehow supposed to keep my heartbeat and breathing at a normal, regular rate the whole time.

 

And all I can think about are the three worst case scenarios running through my mind.

 

One: Zombies are going to come in, kill the nurses, and turn them into zombies. Then they are going to come over and bite my legs (which are still protruding out into the room) before I can even protect myself or attempt to fight back. Also, I’d still be stuck in the tube so I’d die of starvation without even getting to “live” as a zombie.

 

Two: Some killer/rapist is going to come in, kill the nurses, and torture me for an indeterminate period of time. I will be completely helpless to stop him, or get away, or even to see him. Which means if I somehow did survive the ordeal I wouldn’t be able to positively identify him at all later.

Three: The roof is going to cave in, killing the two nurses (see the pattern here? Never be a nurse). I’ll be trapped and will have to spend the next few days soiling myself and trying to painstakingly inch my way out like a worm. Even if I did manage to get out I would still be screwed because my glasses would be crushed and useless under a fuck-ton of rubble and building materials. I would eventually find one to steal off a corpse, but the prescription won’t be strong enough and I’ll get horrific migraines for weeks.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what an anxiety disorder looks like. I think I was minutes away from freaking out and having a panic attack. I was about at my breaking point.

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