They put a mask over my face to stabilize my head and lay me down on the table. Within seconds, I’m sliding into the dark tunnel. “This will take about twenty minutes,” says the voice of the technician who is now in a booth outside the room.
Inside the MRI it’s even louder and more claustrophobic than I had imagined. The pounding vibrations sound like depth charges exploding around me. I open my eyes to and the ceiling of the tube less than an inch from my face. I order myself to keep my eyes shut until they pull me out of the tube. To forget the walls and ceiling from closing in on me, I try to envision myself as a young boy running across the meadow on my way home from school. I can see the butterflies flitting around me and a startled rabbit bounding out of the wild flowers.