Unknown number. Who could be calling me on a Saturday morning?
HELLO, MRI BEROUN. Fuck, they found something and they’re calling because every day counts.
I’M VERY SORRY, BUT YESTERDAY I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO TWO EXAMINATIONS FOR YOU, AND WHEN THE DOCTOR WAS WRITING THE REPORT HE NOTICED THAT I FORGOT TO SCAN THE CRANIAL ARTERIES. WE’RE HERE ALL WEEKEND. COULD YOU COME BACK? ANY TIME… WE’D TAKE YOU STRAIGHT IN. ONCE AGAIN, I’M SORRY.
She must know. She saw the state I was in when I came out of that tunnel. Sweating, gasping, as if they’d pulled me from a grave. That’s why she’s apologising so much.
NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK THERE. I’m almost surprised by how uncompromising I sound. It really was awful.
I KNOW IT WAS HARD FOR YOU. YOU CAN BRING SOMEONE TO HOLD YOUR HAND. OR HAVE SOMEONE DRIVE YOU AND TAKE SOMETHING TO CALM YOU DOWN.
Right, and kill half the weekend for both of us. I’M NEVER GETTING BACK IN THERE. Have I ever been through anything worse?
I UNDERSTAND. IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, PLEASE CALL. ONCE AGAIN, I’M VERY SORRY. WE’RE REALLY BUSY. GOODBYE.
THESE THINGS HAPPEN. GOODBYE. Damned, these things happen—but why to me?
They’ll never get me back in there. Never. Not voluntarily. It feels as if I’m in there again right now; I’m going to be sick. Quick. A song. One where someone screams. JEFF BUCKLEY. GRACE. NPA LIVE.
Yes. I scream with Jeff, cry, scream, cry. Again.
I feel better now.
But the examination without those cranial arteries is totally crap. Yesterday was for nothing. I have to go back. But how? What would help?
I know exactly what would help. But I can’t. No, that’s too much. TOO MUCH.
Well, it isn’t usual, but they’re the ones who screwed it up. The nurse who called owes me. She made a mistake. And she knows how badly I don’t want to go back. And that I have to. Because of her. And it’s a hospital. Everyone there has seen much stranger things. Ohh, this could work. No way. In my mind, I clutch my head. No way.
Really?
HELLO, MRI BEROUN? IT’S ME, WE SPOKE THIS MORNING. ABOUT THE CRANIAL ARTERIES. I’LL COME TOMORROW AROUND ELEVEN, THEN. AND I WANTED TO ASK ONE MORE THING: CAN I HAVE A PACIFIER IN MY MOUTH DURING THE SCAN?
Silence.
One second, two, five.
YES, YOU CAN. AS LONG AS IT ISN’T MADE OF METAL AND YOU DON’T SWALLOW IT.
ALL RIGHT, THANK YOU, GOODBYE. GOODBYE.
Yes, yes, yes! Yes.
YOU’RE AWESOME, DARLING, I hear my wife say, and I’m proud. Of myself.
— Sunday —
I’ve set a good trap for myself. Now I’m more afraid of what will happen with my pacifier than of the tunnel.
I already know where to go; I’m there at eleven. I sit in the waiting room for a while, imagining how it might all unfold. Then I hear my name and go into the changing cubicle.
GET UNDRESSED, LEAVE EVERYTHING METAL HERE AND WAIT UNTIL I CALL YOU. YOU DON’T HAVE A PACEMAKER, DO YOU? Okay. I wait for the woman before me to finish her scan. Right. Now I can’t back out. Actually, I can. But I don’t want to. I know I can do this.
TAKE YOUR PACIFIER AND COME WITH ME.
This is it. I take the pacifier and hide it slightly because I’m passing the woman who went before me. She’s just leaving. I lie down on the bed and put the pacifier in my mouth.
The nurse is a professional. She behaves as if it were a standard part of the examination. Then she puts headphones on me and covers my head with something that resembles a plastic cage. There’s no escape. That was what finished me last time.
I know what comes next, and I’m calm. She also gives me a switch to hold. If I press it, the scan will stop and I’ll slide back out. Just in case. The pacifier is in my mouth and I’m content. I feel good. Safe. I close my eyes. I put my hands on my stomach so they won’t scrape against the walls as the bed slides into the tunnel.
If I didn’t focus on it, I’d hardly know I was inside a fairly narrow tube. It begins to shake and make a racket. I’m almost smiling at how good I feel. How long am I supposed to be in here? I don’t care.
After about five minutes, the noise and shaking stop. I slide out. Is that it already? Before the nurse arrives, I pull the pacifier from my mouth through the plastic cage.
SO, HOW DID IT GO?
BRILLIANTLY. ABSOLUTELY FINE.
SO NEXT TIME YOU’LL KNOW HOW TO DO IT… She’s wonderful. ONCE AGAIN, I’M SORRY. WE REALLY ARE VERY BUSY.
I UNDERSTAND. THESE THINGS HAPPEN. THANK YOU SO MUCH.
GOODBYE. GOODBYE.
I feel light, almost airborne. How little it can take. The beat of a butterfly’s wings.
