I am here today to offer some helpful medical information. The subject is the MRI. The MRI stands, of course, for many reluctant incursions. It was invented in the 11th Century by Tomas de Torquemada after he woke up one morning during the fine work he was doing with the Spanish Inquisition and said, "You know, I'm a little tired of thumb screws. Why don't we lock people in an airless box for half an hour; while they're in there, pipe in some Black Sabbath at full volume." My history may be a little shaky. In this case, I'm not sure Black Sabbath was around in the 11th Century but I think they were.
Okay, I made that up. MRI, as most of you know, stands for magnetic residence imagine, and though there is some controversy about this (sort of a Thomas Edison, Nikola Tesla argument) the most likely inventor credit goes to Raymond Damadian, who patented the MRI scanner in 1972.
A definition I've seen many times for the MRI is "a non-invasive way for a medical professional to examine your organs, tissues, and skeletal system." Uhh... non-invasive? An MRI is non-invasive in the same way that a crocodile is non-threatening; it might be when you're standing there looking at it, but not when it goes into action.
And as you might suspect, I'm leading up to an MRI story. I'm not proud of it, and it's offered in the expectation that some of you out there may have gone through it, too.
But, first, let me give the MRI its due. It is extremely important in the medical world. MRI scanning produces images of up to 10-30x more vivid, and thus more useful, than an X-ray. The X-ray, in fact, has become the medicine, rather what the quill has become to writing. I'm sure the most familiar phrase offered by your average orthopedist is, "Well, the X-ray didn't show anything, we'll have to get an MRI."
Okay, here's my story. As I told you a few weeks earlier, I am experiencing some hearing loss, and one of the suggestions about its source is an acoustic neuroma, which is detectable by MRI. I wasn't going to expose myself to that until I had a spell of dizziness recently, and I said, "Oh, what the hell, I'll get the MRI."
I was led into the darkened room. The attendant was very professional, but we were so completely isolated and it was so late at night — about 10:00 — that it reminded me of the 1978 hospital movie called Coma. The enclosure to the MRI, never inviting in the best of times, even in those alleged "open MRIs" looked practically microscopic.
I received the usual "remain still" admonitions, but that is apparently even more crucial when your brain is being imaged. When I laid down, the attendant put two cushions on either side of my head to keep it in place, and then, for the coup de resistance, placed a sort-of head coil upon me. I don't want to exaggerate; it wasn't a mask, it wasn't a balaclava like I was a jewel thief, but it was over my face.
He handed me what is called the panic button and I knew, I just knew, I would be pushing it, which I did a few seconds in. I felt chagrinned and embarrassed when he pushed the button that propelled me back out of the machine. He was very professional and not at all judgmental — "Happens all the time," he said. I'm not sure that's true but I was grateful for the comment.
I do have some hope for the future. There is now apparently a stand-up MRI, but as was the case with an open MRI, it might not work for brain scans. Man, if only a good ole X-ray of the brain would do the trick.
