I enter the cold stainless steel cocoon and press B. The doors creek as they close. The panels split open and I step up to the receptionist’s desk. A sharp staccato directs “ID, doctor’s referral, insurance card” to the messy pile of papers in front of their torso. Neurosis and compulsions bordering on obsession prompted me to neatly gather all necessary documents in one place two nights before, paper clip and all. I plop them down on the black counter top. Impossible of making eye contact, Jeanie (my eyes quickly glance at the name tag) tells my paperwork to “take a seat.”

As I shift uncomfortably in the seat my sweaty hands fumble to retrieve my AirPods. Just as the smooth melodies of Mr. Sun (miss da sun) begin, a groggy tenor croaks, “Peguero, Esther.” My feet shuffle towards the nurse. We walk down a dimly lit corridor and make a sharp left. I find myself in a room with fluorescent lights burning my pupils.

“My name’s James and I’ll be your technician this morning. Now before we get started I’m going to ask ya a few questions. First, have ya had a MRI before?” At the end of the last syllable a deep yawn escapes from the stout, wooly man. He mumbles “sorry” with kind, apologetic eyes.

“Yes,” I answer plainly.

“Do you remember when?”

I immediately respond, “Um, last month.” My indifference shakily drifts into nervousness.

James’ thick eyebrows travel upwards on his forehead, as if they are announcing damn that wasn’t that long ago.

Nervousness stumbles into worry.

James sighs and follows up with, “Well, then you’re familiar with the steps…”

*

My head slowly enters the spherical mouth of the tube shaped magnet. As I lay supine my eyes are greeted by a familiar beige ceiling. The exam begins and my ears are bombarded with aggressively loud computer generated radio waves. That’s how scientists describe it.

My restless mind creates a brisk list on how to better describe the wretched sounds of the magnetic resonance imaging apparatus:

  • a life support machine on its last breaths or an obnoxious, grating siren
  • a malfunctioning pumping device tirelessly continuing its sole purpose while simultaneously bellowing at the top of its mechanical lungs that it can no longer continue
  • a locomotive stuck in place, engine heaving, heavy
  • a teeth-grinding inducing distress signal

The wails cease and my body suddenly jerks. This causes my haphazard list to dissipate into the ether. My feet and legs begin to slowly slide out, rejoining the outside world. Just then, the gliding abruptly stops.

James’ voice floats out from the felt covered headphones. “Uh I’m sorry, Ms. Peguero. There seems to be an issue. Gimme a second I should have this fixed in no time.”

My lungs begin to expand and retract in quick successions. My thoughts frantically jump from statement to question to inquiry, back to declaration.

Ofcoursejustmyluck. whatifinevergetout? isitpossibletocrawltosafety? i’mgoingtodiehere.

My being swathed in a plastic cylindrical medical grave.

Here is where her body lies.

“Thanks for your patience,” James intercepts the dramatic eulogies plaguing my contemplation. “I think I’ve cleared the problem.”

The table begins to move again allowing my entire legs and some of my torso to be bathed in bright light. The victory is short lived, however. The machine lets out a menacing crackpopclank. I start to re-enter the greedy synthetic mouth. James’ voice, thick with anxiety, becomes warped and distant.

Disappearing deeper into the scanner I close my eyes. I hope my limbs swiftly evaporate, joining the ethereal plentiful particles in the vast unknown.