It's quite remarkable how we
can live from moment to moment with absolutely no awareness of what will come
at any moment. No warning of, perhaps, impending terror. To go about daily business:
tasks and appointments, planned in advance with no real concerns. Maybe a
little nervous of what is anticipated and even that is purely a worry about
what may not happen. People do tend to think of the worst. Not everybody though
it is a common occurrence. No reason to think the worst, but to imagine the
worst anyhow. It may never happen, whatever it is, but there is a chance that
it might just happen. We cannot know our future. So, the totally unexpected
does not offer a chance to adjust before it happens. No time to even imagine
the worst. To presuppose the future in the imagination is one thing, but to
live through that moment is quite another. If only I had known. What would I
have done? I cannot know, but that will never happen now.
I had entered the building
totally unaware of what was to come. I had taken the time to keep my
appointment. I had arrived there. A friendly atmosphere. I didn't have any
reasons to not keep this appointment. No feeling of trepidation or nervousness.
I had gone there of my own volition. A routine procedure. If only I had known.
Could I have felt so comfortable? I had removed all metal materials that I wore
and ensured my keys were placed securely away from my person. I was dressed in
a robe as I entered the room and was then asked to lay down on the bedlike
platform. A pale blue blanket was wrapped around me with my left arm trapped
beside me. Velcro tabs were brought together and I heard them opened and
repositioned a couple of times for a good tight fit. I couldn't move. I
realised that the bedlike structure must be a sliding platform. I hadn't taken
much notice. That was unusual. Maybe I was more worried than I thought I was.
This was Nuclear Magnetic Resonance Imaging, but I knew there was nothing to
fear from this in itself. It's not nuclear energy in the sense of atomic energy
though it involves atoms of hydrogen. This must be the reason it is called
simply MRI and not NMRI. This could scare some people. The
connection with nuclear could easily be misunderstood. Misinterpreted.
My glasses had been removed
and as I lay down, my head fell back into a holder. The fit of my head in this
holder was snug and ensured a firm grip, but it did not hurt and was quite comfortable.
The first shock came as the cage was closed. The top half of the head cage
swung across my face as the halves were closed together. I couldn't move at
all. My left arm was firmly held beside my body under the blanket and my head
was immovable in this cage. My imagination created a picture for me since I had
no true image of what everything looked like. The next action puzzled me. A
buzzer alarm was placed on my chest. One of those heavy black cables with a
large button at the end. I should press the buzzer if I needed help. What help
might I need? I couldn't imagine. I was soon to find out.
I was completely unprepared
for what happened next. The tray with me atop of it like a spider's cocooned
victim slid inside the tunnel that my imagination showed me was a very narrow
tunnel. With just enough room it seemed to fit me in. This was the image I took
with me into the MRI machine. I
had no other to fix upon. The shock of being moved into this tunnel nearly
overwhelmed me. It was so sudden and without any warning. Trapped inside a
large magnet. A tunnel made with several tons of concrete or so I thought. My
knowledge of the theory of the technology did nothing to help me. I thought I
would scream in terror. It was so sudden and so shocking. The roof of the
tunnel was so close to my face and I pictured it closing in on me. Ridiculous.
But real. This concrete tunnel changed into a concrete tomb and I had been
buried alive unable to move and unable to get out. I wanted to get out. I
wanted to take myself back to five minutes ago. Impossible and irrational.
I heard a voice through a
speaker somewhere saying that the experience would be a mixture of short and
longer pulsed experiments and that they would be noisy. The longest was eight minutes as I recall and there
would be several shorter ones. For a total of about forty minutes. A lifetime. No time
would be too long in here. I was told I would have to endure forty minutes of this terror. I
didn't know what was meant by noisy, but when it began it sounded like the loud
ticking a train makes in a station as the compressor motors start up. And it
was close up to my good ear! As I lay here looking upwards, I could see that a
mirror was positioned like a periscope to allow me to view down the tunnel and
through the glass window of the control room. This control room seemed a long
way off like looking the wrong way down a telescope. My short sightedness made
this mirror just about useless other than to allow me to make out any slight
movement in the control room. Small comfort, but I felt so terribly alone. I
could hardly breathe and I felt suffocated. My total immobilisation, the noise
and closeness of the curved roof all combined to enhance my terror.
I started to think desperately
hard trying to calm myself down. I was aware that my own pulse rate had
rocketed and my blood pressure felt like it must have been off the scale. And I
had been in here possibly less than a minute. I lay here silently, totally
still, as my mind screamed "Let me out!" To abort this procedure. But
if that happened I would have to come back and do this all over again up to and
beyond this moment. I would just have to be here again, but in the future. It
could only be worse if I had time to think about it. I might even never return.
I had to do this. The very reason I was here. I didn't know the reasons for my
growing problems, but this was supposed to provide some information to help
explain symptoms. To help myself, I talked to myself silently. A quiet and
rational conversation with myself in my mind inside this noisy and narrow
cylindrical hole. Steady breathing. A slow intake of breath through the nose.
Deep into the lower lungs. Allow the stomach to rise. Follow this with a slow
and controlled exhalation through the mouth. Stay calm. I kept this up for a
while. I had an idea how long this was for as I was told that the next pulse
sequence would start shortly. I hadn't noticed the first one had ended. I
reasoned that I had become unaware of the pulsing noise so when it had stopped
I hadn't noticed. I was encouraged though I was still nearly overwhelmed by my
fear. The diversion was working though and it had dulled the sharp edge of my
fear.
The loud pulsing noise broke
the silence as the next sequence started. This would be an eight minute experiment I had been
informed. The information didn't mean much though as I had no sense of time.
When this sequence had finished, it would signal that I was eight minutes closer to the end. I
would endure this because I had to. Until the next sequence that followed. One
thing at a time. Stay calm. Relax. Breathe easy. I can do this. This helped to
dull my terror a little more. Moving slowly to the conclusion though still
seemed a long, long way off in the distance. My pulse was very rapid and my
blood pressure seemed to remain high. At least that's what it felt like. I
cycled through a stifling awareness of where I was and my fears then to an
inner calm unaware of anything except my breathing. Oddly, my breathing seemed
very noisy, though that was probably the pulsing MRI
instrument that had swallowed me. The initial shock was over as
I became more accustomed to my new environment. Time had smoothed off some more
rough edges of my fears and every moment I was getting closer to the end of
what I must endure. I can do this. My confidence started to grow even though
the noisy, narrow tunnel still threatened to overwhelm me. I couldn't stop the
image of being in a coffin with the lid closed. Being buried alive in such a
confined place. Unable to move. A sudden wave of terror surged through me. Calm
yourself. Keep breathing. I am not in a coffin and I will be out of here soon,
won't I? Doubts began to cloud my judgement and I began to wonder : have I been
abandoned? How will I get out? I can't move!
Suddenly, I found myself
outside in the room. It seemed as fast as I had entered. A shock? Exhilaration?
To experience utter relief? It was a totally new sensation of total relief. To
be out of there. I couldn't work it out. I was out, but I still couldn't move.
I was told I been brought out of the MRI
instrument to have an injection of a fluid that would help enhance and so
clarify the scans. But I was out of that tomb. Rather comically to me the
nurse-technician couldn't find a suitable vein. They all seemed to have gone into
hiding. They had felt to me like they were motorways under my skin. The pulsing
of my fears. And yet they were not even to be found. Like a frightened animal
gone to ground. I found this terribly funny, but I didn't feel like laughing.
Especially when I saw the needle and syringe. It seemed enormous. Almost the
size of a milk bottle. Of course, it couldn't have been this big, could it? A
doctor was called to do this difficult injection. To try to find a suitable
injection site. To locate a doctor took time and all this time I was lying
there considering my lot. I don't remember what I thought about; it must have
just been the relief of being on the outside of that tunnel. The injection was
done and I was sent back into my tomb just as suddenly as I had been taken from
it. Back into my new home. My own tomb though with a warm feeling circulating
through my body, provided by the injection. This time my stay was quite short.
It was over and then I was out of there. That place.
What I do know now is that an
experience must be experienced to acquire the knowledge of that experience. It
is completely personal. It can never be understood by reading about it or
hearing it described. The value is meaningless to anyone who has not felt such
things. Nothing tangible. Nothing to compare with to even begin an attempt to
explain. I do know now and I can only guess if my reaction would have been
similar to what I actually managed to do. I came through it all. Everything
eventually worked out possibly to the best outcome. I learned a lot about
self-control. About reasoning. About real stress without a crutch to lean on.
Yes, perhaps it could have been worse. Or better? What happened... well, it
happened. I had no control of events, but I did have control of myself. I probably
have more self-control now than before. To have learned. To have developed my
character for the future, which could not now ever be the same. My present
could never have been the same as it is today. This moment.
Much later I tried a
tranquilizer obtained from my doctor since there was a need to repeat the
ordeal in the future. Only this time I would be forewarned. That in itself is
difficult to deal with. That knowledge of what is to come. That it might be
different was difficult to imagine. It may be easier. It may be worse. I
wouldn't know until after I had been there and done it. Again. A half-tablet
did nothing. The next day I tried a whole tablet. This had an effect, but it
was truly awful. I cannot remember feeling so awful ever in my life before that
moment. To be completely bombed. Out of myself. Detached from myself. Somewhere
else. It was worse than that strange feeling of concussion. To exist in a daze.
But this was much worse : to be consumed by time standing still. The next time
I would take my chances and rely on my own will. I had done it before and I'd
do it again. And I'd do it better.
I think I can understand the
terror that must exist for people buried alive under tons of broken buildings
maybe in the aftermath of an earthquake. To be trapped, buried alive. Not able
to move maybe with just enough air to struggle from breath to breath. And maybe
never be brought out. Ever. Only one end. Eventually. All lived through in
absolute terror. Several years ago, when this was fresh in my memory I could
not have written this down. I couldn't sleep on my back. I couldn't bear to be
in closed spaces. To relive in my imagination what I had experienced. An
experience I would never have allowed myself to endure if I had known what to
expect. By not knowing it is too late when it happens. Sudden. No going back.
It's happening. I can only imagine what it might be like when the parachute you
are wearing has not opened. No one can ever describe the sensation. No options.
The only way is down. What terror that must bring. I do not know a word to
describe my imagery. Complete. Absolute. These words do not even come close.
Even infinite is not enough.
I can only imagine what may
happen if we really did know the future. It's paradoxical: I think none of us could
have a future if we knew it. We couldn't have one. Nothing would ever happen.
By not actually knowing the future and maybe imagining a worst outcome doesn't
stop our existence. We do move on. Maybe nervously. Cautiously. Fearfully. But
we do move on. Perhaps that in itself is a learning. To promote survival by not
being reckless. Like it or not we find out more about ourselves by not knowing.
If we did know for certain, then we wouldn't move on. We would more than likely
never have that experience and so never learn. The experience may offer
something that costs nothing, yet has tremendous value. This is our own
perceived value and is unique to the individual. Priceless.
Try describing happiness or
contentment without having ever experienced either.
© Louis Brothnias (2004)