What does my brain look like? And other questions I asked my MRI today
Recently, I’ve been a little wobbly, they assure me it’s nothing but just to be sure the Doc ordered an MRI. Never had one before. Now I have. And can I say that it was some freaky shit.
I have always had a compulsion to make medical professionals giggle. Humour is my equaliser. So I said those exact words to the nurse when I slid out afterwards; limp like an eel.
‘That’s some freaky shit.’
She looked at me uncomfortably and commented on my pedicure.
Half an hour in a toothpaste tube is the perfect condition for a chat so I decided to converse with the closest subject. My MRI.
I started with a biggie.
What does my brain look like?
Is my brain like a freshly sliced truffle? Does it bleed delicate red? Would your fingers stain with its imprint?
Would you you need to wear gloves like I do whenever peeling roasted beetroot? Would it slice just as easily? Is that what you’re doing right now Mr MRI?
Are you slicing through me?
Is my brain a florid kaleidoscope of colour? Does it look pretty when I recite Shakespeare?
“To give away yourself, keeps yourself still”
I know that that is exactly what I’m doing. I’m giving away myself to you MRI.
Which side of my brain is firing right now MRI, with the Bard swirling up in there? Are you enjoying the show?
Now I’m going to remember a poem. Are the colours deepening? I can imagine a magic to them now, because I’m really feeling this stuff.
Perhaps the words are swirling like those mesmerising silk ribbons on the end of batons that leggy gymnasts twirl?
They’re making a swooshing sound. That must be a great thing for you to see.
You’re getting persistent now. The zapping and zinging are right inside my brain. They’re scanning, probing; they’re in the abyss.
They told me to go to a ‘happy place’ so that’s what I’ll do now that I’ve finished with the poetry.
I’ll go to the last place I was experiencing that. Bali.
I’m on a bean bag on the sand right now. I’m pretending that your syncopated drone is a beach band playing chill out tunes.
What do you see now MRI? Now that I’m in a happy place?
I imagine that my brain is yellow now. Does it look like a field of long grass spun with the golden threads of afternoon glow?
I can hear the rush of happiness like a low-swooping swallow.
Where does my kindness sit? Maybe it’s in the form of a young girl on a swing. She might be singing.
She would say hi, when you passed with your electric searchlight. She’s like that.
There are a few corners that you may want to avoid. There’s an ugly little chap who looks like a leprechaun.
Just ignore him. I have been. He’s not worth it and seeds don’t grow without sunlight so I’d prefer if you don’t glare at him for too long.
We are about twenty minutes in now Mr MRI.
I’d imagine there are a few parts that you’re seeing right now that even I haven’t.
What do those bits look like? Obviously I don’t know so I’m relying on you but I imagine that it’s a little like that film ‘The Abyss’. You know the one?
Well if you haven’t seen it, it’s a film about the darkest parts of the ocean’s depths. You have to suit up in some pretty high-tech gear and blind, translucent amphibians slide around.
Perhaps that’s where some special thoughts are brooding. I’d like to think they’re just safely hibernating and ready to pop to the surface one day when they get hungry.
Surely that’s half an hour now? MRI? Can you hear me?
Have I convinced you that I’m not just grey matter?
I’m swirling gymnasts, grassy fields and fireworks. I’m little girls on swings and oceans of untapped genius. I’m yellow and red and purple. I’m a leprechaun of doubt. I’m poems and music.
My brain is pretty special actually, so I’m hoping that all is well in there.
It was nice to meet you. They’re sliding me out now and I’m about to make an inappropriate joke.
But you probably knew that.