The Last MRI

I believe that even a certain percentage of people who are not necessarily claustrophobic, suffer a great deal of anxiety when going through an MRI. I have no evidence of this, it is just my opinion which I can assure you is colored by a great deal of bias. The fact that those things are the closest thing to what it must be like to be conscious while laying in a casket can go without saying. I have an appointment to have an MRI in exactly 3.5 hours from now.

The last MRI I had was last September. September 8th. I was surprisingly not quite as freaked out as I had expected to be so that automatically made things better, in a strange sort of way. But when I was fully loaded into that thing, I experienced the most god-awful fucking foreboding of death. It went beyond the MRI machine, my claustrophobia and the universal fear of being buried alive. Death was imminent and the irony of the realization hitting me while I happened to be in one of those things – combined with the absolute certainty of despair about to crush me … As it turned out, my absolute most beloved entity in the whole world, my younger brother Thommy died the next day. Although I had enough time to get down to Connecticut and at his bedside the last several hours of his life, I did not know when I went into that machine, that my baby was already in the hospital dying.

This morning is that follow up appointment to see about that anomaly that was intruding inside of my body. Maybe some time I will write about what it has been like trying to energetically manage a tumor while trying to temper the most desperate of rage. . .



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