Tubular.

I am met by a cool rush of recycled air as I enter the oversized sterile room. Sitting prominantly in the middle of the room is the giant tube that looks like a grey Twinkie with the middle sucked out. The tube breathes a constant noise like a blood pressure cuff inflating...

ka-weesh, ka-weesh, ka-weesh

The cold plank I am to lie on is uninviting but the warm blanket provided by the friendly tech is much appreciated. She explains the procedure and asks again if I'm claustrophobic. "Not yet!" I may change my mind but for now that's a safe answer.

The oversize headphones block out the tube's breath and the silence is welcome but short-lived.

crank, crack, whirrrrr...

"Is that it?" I think to myself, "this will be a piece of cake."

clickclickclickclickclick, clackety clack, clickclickclickclickclick...

So far so good. The music gently hums in my ears. Lite Rock. Not bad, not good. I chuckle a bit to myself as "Sister Christian" starts to play. Who writes this stuff anyway?!

ka-RACK, ka-RACK, vrooooommm, chugchugchugchugchug

Ok, that's getting kinda loud. At least I have these handy headphones. A whiny man-boy complains about his feelings in my ears and I start to get irritated.

dadadadadadadadadadadadadada...

Sounds like a jackhammer...on my head. Bette Midler tries, and fails, to harmonize with the tube. For some reason, I want to break things. Must be the music.

wreee, wreee, wreee, CLANK!

Argh, now it sounds like that noise the phone makes when you forget to hang it up.

WREEE, WREEE, WREEE, clank!

Wonderful, the tube is harmonzing with itself. A regular doo-wop sensation. Rod Stewart's voice fills my head and compared to the rest of the soundtrack sounds rather manly. He rounds out the trio quite well. Puts a little shama lama in this ding dong.

ka-weesh, ka-weesh, ka-weesh

Time to flip over and scan my legs. I will be stuck in a rather uncomfortable position for the next 20 minutes but I deal.

clank, clank, whirrrrrrr!

The extra element of the discomfort added to the loud noises and the god-awful music is more than irritating at this point. Now I want to go outside and start punching people. In the throat. Intersting how rageful I get when trapped in a tube and forced to listen to soft rock.

clickety-clackety-clickety-clackety-clickety-clackety

There must be someone out there who uses this as a method of torture. I'm pretty sure I could stand a few hours of this but after that I'd be spilling my guts. Punching people seems too tame, now I want to kick them in the face. Oh wait, I'd rather start chopping down trees with my feet, like Jean-Claude Van Damme in Kickboxer. I'm awesome.

dip-dip-dip-dip, dooo-WAH!, hum-mum-mum-mum, BOP!

Oh these harmonies are fabulous :) I really love doo-wop but this is getting ridiculous. I really don't like lite rock and the combination is beyond ridiculous. "Are we there yet?" I realize every muscle in my body is clenched tight but I'm afraid to relax; I don't want to mess up the scan and have to prolong this madness. Yes, this is definitely a form of torture somewhere in the world.

ka-weesh, ka-weesh, ka-weesh

"That's it, you're all done!" says the friendly tech. I think excessive friendliness is a job requirement for MRI techs. Either that or they should be required to wear throat protection for those patients who come out swinging. By the time I collected myself and my belongings I felt better. My violent urges had subsided and I walked outside into the sunshine and went on my way.

Press on.