Keep Talking: #91 MRI: What's Inside There?

Keep Talking: #91 MRI: What's Inside There?: It is time for my annual MRI . West Side Radiology at Columbus Circle. This is my second year at this location. I used to go to Park Aven...

#91 MRI: What's Inside There?

It is time for my annual MRI . West Side Radiology at Columbus Circle.

This is my second year at this location. I used to go to Park Avenue Radiology.

I used to be afraid of them and I'm not anymore.

I will not get into the whole medical thing. I will get into the minutia of the process itself. For example, there is a tiny dressing room and they use a DVD as a key chain. You leave everything in the little room which is like a personal locker. 

"Take everything off except your underpants."

"Can I wear my socks?"

"Yes."

I leave everything in the closet/ locker and sit wrapped in a paper towel robe in an open area. A woman who obviously just finished her MRI looks at me as she opens her closet locker.

"No wedding rings. Nothing."

Why does she have to use that tone. 

I start to pull off my rings and the technician comes back and tells me I can keep them on. I follow her to the MRI room which is freezing. She gives me a blanket and sets me up so they can put the contrast in. She gives me earplugs and then inserts the needle into my arm and then tells me to lie down on my stomach. She places the blanket over me so I can stay warm. Evidently, MRI machines get very hot so they keep the room temperature very cool. There is a place for my breasts to droop down- like two special little boob compartments. Arms straight ahead like Super Man. I rest my forehead on a little soft spongy thing which has a mirror in it so I can see what is going on in part of the room. This nice invention is so we don't fee claustrophobic. It's a really neat addition.

I am prone and relaxed. I feel the tray that I am resting on move into the tube. They speak through a microphone, "first will be 3 minutes."  Clank clank clank. Click click click. Clank. Pause. Clank clank click. My mind wanders to a therapist I had years ago who told me that she loved the sounds of the MRI machine because they remind her of avant garde music. I think of her face smiling with a gap between her front teeth. I remember that she died of cancer three months ago. I imagined her in this machine. Relaxing and smiling as she is absorbed by the music. I envy her freedom to enjoy this. I start to think about why she needed the MRI and if it had anything to do with the cancer that eventually killed her. Then I decide not to think about her.

The machine is like being in the bathtub. Nobody bothers you. You can't do anything except be still and breath. Relax. Time will pass.

Clink clink clink. "Now 2 minutes." I look into the mirror and see some part of my arm reflected. I am tempted to wiggle my fingers. I don't. I see the top of someone's head in the other room and wonder what they are looking at on their computer screen. My boobs? What do they see? Maybe they are talking about what they should order for lunch. That's pretty much what I think. They'll probably do a Seamless delivery. Maybe Mexican today.

"Now we will start the drip." I remember that there is a cool sensation that will start to enter my arm. I get scared for a moment that the line might have a bubble in it and I could die. How long would that take? Will I feel woozy first and then black out? Nobody would even know until the procedure was over and how embarrassing that would be for the technician who inserted the line into my arm. Then I decide that is really ridiculous and that will not be the way I will die. The fact that I have been able to push the neurotic thoughts aside indicates that my years of therapy have been productive. I'm happy about that and then I start to think about my therapist. A good soul. 

Then I push that aside and the procedure is over. The technician comes in and helps me up. I don't care if the guy sees my breasts or not, but I act modest and cover myself up. I go back to my closet/locker with my DVD keychain and pass a woman wrapped in a paper towel robe and socks. I think about her breasts for a moment and hope she is okay.   I know I am. So many breast out there. So many which aren't okay. I silently wish her luck.

Keep Talking: #90 Swimming Pool

Keep Talking: #90 Swimming Pool: There is a lot of intimacy which takes place in and around a swimming pool. There are years and years of memories which add up like an easy ...

#90 Swimming Pool

There is a lot of intimacy which takes place in and around a swimming pool. There are years and years of memories which add up like an easy math equation without powers, fractions and decimals. Memory: It's easily blue and clear. The light will hit the surface in a memorable way which will imprint happiness in your reptilian brain: all children get excited about a pool.  It can be the shittiest pool on earth and kids will love it. Twenty five years after that vacation to the Jersey Shore where your parents couldn't afford a hotel room or a condo rental you and your four siblings slept on the floor of a motel room the size of two double beds and all you could dream about was getting up in the morning and jumping into the pool. Like being in the best cartoon you could imagine being in you can transform yourself as soon as you submerge your head. Everything is blue quiet and slow. Holding your breath for this purpose is an an amazing experience to add to your life. Diving, somersaulting and hardstanding underwater all serve a fantastic function because it is the first time you will understand that you defy gravity. You will always wish you have gills and can breathe underwater.
Always. That will never change.

When you look across the pool and see a large man belly flop dive into the pool followed by two small boys who have the same exact dive and the same smaller version of his body you know they have entered the realm of memory. They look like a school of fish following each other around and they will create this pattern for generations to come. Weird diving belly first with feet kicking into the air. They should all break their necks but they don't. This species has an awkward style of survival. They splash each other and dunk. The smallest one climbs the metal ladder and runs on the concrete leaving a trail of wet footprints. Splatting his way around the pool to grab a giant orange noodle. His swim trunks creep down his backside and his tiny six pack is heaving to grab more air, refueling his lungs before getting right back in.

Splatting wet every which way with snot running out of his nose and a huge grin on his face.

There is another dad with his son between his legs. He is carefully teaching him how to tie the knot around the waist of his swim trunks. They peer down together. Quietly and carefully. Patiently. This boy will remember how patient his dad was: not exactly, but it will remain stored in his heart whenever he sees a swimming pool the remainder of his life. Absolutely, he will.

A mom hates getting her suit on and when she does she hates getting into water that is less than perfect bathtub temperature. Her daughter begs her to get into the pool.
"Mom, you never swim with me!"
Mom eases herself slowly down the cobalt tile steps. You know exactly what this looks like: she is sucking in her stomach and holding her bent elbows parallel to the surface inching her way in to not get cold too quickly. Pretending she has control.
"Brrrrrrrrr!"
"Just get in! You'll get used to it!"

And like the little whale she believes she is she dives in and breaches like her mom did 10,000 years ago. Sneaking below the surface she grabs her daughter who squeals with laughter and sweet joy. Wrapping her legs around her waist she becomes light as a feather. Her daughter holds her big mom afloat on the surface of the pool. Holding her and balancing her as the sun caresses her face.

This will be inside them forever and ever.

Keep Talking: #89 Boat Tethered To Dock

Keep Talking: #89 Boat Tethered To Dock: I am a wooden boat. I never realized this before. I am a row boat not a canoe. The water is rough and the dock is white. I am tethered to th...

#89 Boat Tethered To Dock

I am a wooden boat. I never realized this before. I am a row boat not a canoe. The water is rough and the dock is white. I am tethered to the dock by a thick rope and the waves swell and knock me into the slip and around and around and I bob up and down. I am not seasick, but might be. For the moment I am settling in to my slip yet know it isn't possible to stay here.

I didn't even notice this before, but it is here.

Docked and tethered.

My paint is peeling and I am not leaking. Water isn't coming into me and I don't show signs of sinking even though I am uncomfortable swaying. Up and down; back and forth. I guess it is time to get on and go for a ride.

It's getting dark as the sun sets. The light is lovely on my bow and stern. Not sure which is front or back.

My oars are missing and I know there is a way to locate them. Absolutely. No problem.
There are two life vests: one for each of us.

The rope is attached to the dock and it isn't yet possible to untie the knot that keeps me tethered.

I'm not ready to leave. I'll stay here for now and watch the tide come in.

Keep Talking: #88 Is There An Algorithm For This?

Keep Talking: #88 Is There An Algorithm For This?: There you are on the street. I was sure I passed your building. I knew I would  not see you. I fucking passed your building. I did. Ther...