6. Scans

January 2016, Preston

"Fear is only as deep as the mind allows." Japanese proverb

This fast-track process was fear-drenched; hopping from one appointment to another.

I had only ever seen an MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) scanner on TV or printed page. I recall feeling it looked futuristic Space Odyssey equipment. 
As I was led, in my hospital-issue gown, to the MRI scanner I felt like I had dropped into a new world; unfamiliar, white, with hard edges.
A huge donut-shaped machine presiding over an otherwise empty room with a viewing window not too far away. Radiographer and technician huddled behind the window of the control room and used an intercom to communicate. Was I to be interviewed for a crime I didn't commit?
As instructed, I lay down on the scanner bed that ran through the huge donut. A cannula had been inserted into my left arm ready for the contrast dye. The technician placed a couple of white rectangular weighted pads over my legs and pelvis. A panic button was placed near my left hand. I can understand how some people get claustrophobic. I went in legs first. Headphones with music for my enjoyment and to drown out the noise. 
"Here we go. Keep still. We'll be finished in about 45 minutes. Just lie still and follow our instructions."

I am at your mercy. Helpless and not for the first time.

Sounds of a concrete mixer full of bricks, pneumatic drills, with high pitched backing screamers filled the space and drowned out the classical music from the headphones. Instructions to breathe in, hold, breathe out; next scan is for 3 minutes, 2 minutes, then 6 minutes punctuated the session.
Felt kind of ambivalent towards the MRI scanner and yet happy it was over if only to swiftly exit yet another hospital appointment.

Next up on this macabre fairground ride was the CT (computerised tomography) scan a week later.

I was feeling more entrenched in the system. 
I had been truly sucked into the huge NHS vortex. 
Anonymised in a month. 
Disempowered.

The CT scanner looked like a vintage version of the MRI scanner. I approached it with a sense of indifference. I had developed a coping strategy since December where I was simply breathing in and out, disregarding everything except this very moment. To go beyond that was too overwhelming.

"Can I read my book while it does its stuff? "
"You'll only be 5 to 10 minutes."
Injected once again. Contrast dye. 
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.  I'm good at that now.