"MRI Machine"

I was scheduled for an MRI at the Fremantle Hospital in 2024.  I have moderate to severe claustrophobia.  Challenging.  Daunting.  Fearful.  I need this MRI.  My passion is open ocean sailing.  The MRI is scheduled to take a detailed look at my injured shoulder (tore 2 tendons) and to see if surgery is an option.  To fully be involved in ocean open sailing, I need full use of my arms to raise sails, tie off ropes, haul lines, etc.  I must have the MRI. 

I have spent my life avoiding "ins".  You know, "shut-ins", "close-ins" any type of in.  Heck, I won't even stay at a Vacation Inn when I travel.  It is time to be brave and do what I do.  I arrived for my MRI, stripped down, removed all my metal and put on the very sexy gown.  I'm going to have to see if I can have one to take home.  My wife will love it.  Love it! 

Anyway, as I am wide through the shoulders, they will have to put me in a harness and fold me up like a taco to get me into the MRI machine.  They explain the procedure, the loudness of the machine, the bulb they handed me to squeeze if it gets too much for me.  I believe the staff are really quite extraordinary.  They put on my goggles and headphones and proceeded to roll me in the machine.  My mouth immediately went dry.  I could feel my heart beating out of my chest.  I am on the verge of squeezing that bulb to let me out.  My worst nightmare is playing out before my eyes.  15 minutes.  I need to endure this for 15 minutes. 

Okay.  Time to be brave.  I want this.  I need this.  I'm going to do this.  Job one, say a prayer.  Job two, relax my hand and forget that bulb is there.  Job three, recite poetry.  Excerpts from Ulysses by Lord Alfred Tennyson.  "It may be the gulfs may wash us down, it may be we shall touch the happy aisles" So on and so forth.  My breathing is now regulated.  My blood pressure is going to normal.  I can now think until the whoop, whoop, whoop of the MRI machine starts. 

With eyes tightly closed, I found a memory of when I was in the Navy on a small ship in the Persian Gulf.  This was the most exciting 3 days of my entire life.  I grabbed a whole of that memory and tried to recall every site, every sound, every smell, every emotion, every everything.  Whoop, whoop, whoop.  In the belly of a SH-60 Seahawk helicopter flying from ship to ship.  Bang, bang, bang.  Being strapped in backwards to be catapulted off of the deck of a U.S. Aircraft Carrier.  Buzz, buzz, buzz.  Tracking around a foreign country being covered by a sheet to hide my uniform.  Bam, bam, bam.  Being in a patrol book being taken to a ship that was stationed over the horizon.  Whoop, whoop, whoop.  Being winched up to a double-bladed CH-46 Sea Knight helicopter.  Landing back on my ship.  Back with my friends and shipmates.  3 of the most exciting days of my life have come to a close. 

Silence.  Quiet.  Peace.  Being rolled out of the MRI machine.  Done.  I can feel the tears rolling down my eyes.  I am brave.  I have done what I needed to do in spite of the fear.  This is the fourth time in my life that I remember crying.  This one feels more like tears of victory as opposed to tears of defeat.  Thank you Fremantle Hospital staff.