It’s been too long since we had a good old-fashioned, bread and butter medical post, right?  You can’t beat a good bit of medical testing.  Unless you’re a bunny, of course.  Or a cat.  Blimey, our cats got “chipped” the other week, and it seemed horribly traumatizing.  Kinda rammed home the point that vegetarianism was a good choice, when you see how the animals reacted to simply being wrapped tightly in a towel by the nice vet man.  And having microchips fired into their legs.  But human testing?  Now you’re talking!

If we didn’t let daft things happen to humans under scientifically dubious conditions, there’d be no Spiderman, Incredible Hulk or Magneto in real life.  Not that Magneto’s such a great bloke, but he’s the most relevant to today’s post.  Seems like every time I’m subjected to some new test, there’s a new geek-gasm.  Originally, it was when  was getting hooked up to Bioness products for drop foot and motor impairment issues.  As discussed in a prior post, it felt like cyberconversion was the next step.  Now, the Holmesian quest to find out the reason for my historic and historic high blood pressure continues.  Today, I got a new MRI.  This time, a chest MRI, as opposed to the earlier one on my brain.  The first one was ridiculous.  I guess the blog hadn’t started at the time, but here’s a selection of the tweets, the William Hartnell to the blog’s Patrick Troughton:

 

Back from my MRI. Not so bad. Findings: finally, a trait not shared with Paw Broon – no hint of claustrophobia.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

#MRI Gurney is new favourite form of transport. But not along sidewalk to MRI outside broadcast unit.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

#MRI “MRI’s ready.” “Well, tell them not to make their [patient information] form so long.”

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

#MRI I’m calm, but if you tell me to keep my head still 5 times in 12 secs, imma wonder what’ll fall out if I don’t.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

Just found out why the patient information form is so long for an #MRI. If you have a pre-’82 metal implant/bullet/etc., the machine will…

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

… pull it out of you, fucking, in inverse order of importance, (i) you, and (ii) their $1MM machine.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

#MRI So, to distract you from the racket of being turned into Dr. Manhattan (except with magnets – Magneto?), you get headphones & music.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

Can’t pick the #MRI playlist, though. Here’s what I would have picked…

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

#MRIplaylist 1. Not overwrought R&B vocal histrionics2. Not shit Police rip-off.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

#MRI Playlist 3. Not The Eagles. I had a rough night and I hate the fuckin’ Eagles, man

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

Guess the HJD didn’t get the MRI playlist. The source of the claustrophobia complaints is becoming clear.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

On the other hand, guess rehab joints can’t get away with wall to wall Joy Division.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 9, 2012

 

My appointment for this new MRI was set for 1pm, but when I turned up, there wasn’t even anyone there to check me in.  Just a few forlorn patients strewn randomly around the waiting room.  I have to admit, notwithstanding my decade-long love of Brooklyn, it felt like this was going to be a very different experience to the one I’d had in Manhattan.  Similarly, whereas I’d spent almost an hour completing the screeds of impressive paperwork in the cit-eh, this was much more of an “Isthereanymetalinyourbody?  Coolsignhere,” sort of an experience.  And that’s kind of better, isn’t it?  Particularly when I remembered that my last MRI was conducted in the back of a truck parked in the street in the middle of winter.

Eventually, the wee jack for pushing the contrast dye into my system was inserted into the tattered remains of my inner elbow, and it was time for me to slip into the gown.  A little safe was supplied for valuables, and the fella who was conducting the MRI escorted me into the imaging room and totally put me at ease.  Apart from the metal thing, the other thing they like to know before slipping you into the machine is whether you’re claustrophobic.  I’m not, but I can absolutely see how that might be an issue.  When I was in the machine and I opened my eyes, the inside roof of the machine was inches from my nose.  Or, more accurately, inch from my nose.  I closed my eyes again.  I guess this is one of the reasons a thick plastic breastplate fixed me to the table, in case I freaked out.  And they give you a pair of headphones, which is nice, as you can hear the reassuring voice of your technician.  Particularly when, with a chest MRI, there’ much less of a “Don’t move your head or you’ll die!” vibe.  Then, one remembers that the reason you’re receiving communications through headphone is that THEY’RE BLASTING YOUR HEART WITH MAGNETIC ENERGY and tech boy’s sitting in another room.

I have to say though, between the soothing technician, the horizontality of my position, the comfy headphones, and my previous experience at Methodist, I was expecting some relaxing music.  Instead, there was just the buzzing and clanging, nay, the sturm und drang, of the MRI machine, which was doing a pretty decent impression of a minimalist German tekno outfit.  Or…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zs-Fv4BpokE

… the best “song” ever.

But, I kept my eyes closed, stayed relaxed, and followed the breathing instructions at the applicable moments (in… out… hold…), and relatively shortly, it was all over.  The final… indignity(?) was having the jack for the contrast dye removed from my arm (again, just the right amount of blood to look impressive, without looking like an outtake from Reservoir Dogs) and the sticky leads removed from my chest.  By this time, I was sufficiently relaxed to remark to the technician that he could pick up some extra cash by doubling up a cardio MRI and waxing service.  Ah-ha-ha-hah.

So, we’ll see in due course if this comes up as another normal result, or if there’s something horribly disturbing that I can point to as the genesis of my hypertension.  Can’t wait, either way.  In the meantime, let’s pass the time with some stroke humour.  [At last! – Ed.]  It could be construed as pretty offensive, but what with the wicked sense of humour of your average stroke patient, I’m guessing this will fly.  In fact, the best reason not to link to it is that clonus humour has had the chance to go mainstream while I’ve been staying underground, biding my time.  [cf. Chapelle’s Show, When Keeping it Real Goes Wrong]

Oh well…. Skip to 4m 25s and enjoy….

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gzJjsxBCm9g&sns=em