As I continue my thinking about “a dreadful inconvenience,” I’ve been given additional opportunities to explore such situations.
Last week, Dr. John decided that it would be a good thing for me to experience an MRI on my head. The reasons for that are another part of this whole journey. But suffice it to say that I’ve been dreading that MRI for a week. In fact, I started thinking back about two previous MRIs I had suffered through that were focused on parts of my body below my waist. And I started tying those events to a recent revelation — or apparent revelation. I’m claustrophobic.
The dictionary says that claustrophobia is an “abnormal dread of being in a closed or narrow space.” My everyday guide to the universe says that having an MRI is “being in a closed and narrow space while loud noises occur.” The footnote to that entry indicates that “many people have an abnormal dread of this.”
There you go. Another “dreadful inconvenience” — a subset of a much larger dreadful inconvenience.
Having thought about my upcoming time in the tube, I decided to appeal to Dr. John for help. I called and left a voice mail for Nurse Carol last Tuesday morning. Having faith that some sort of medication would be forthcoming to soothe my fears, I was standing in line about 6 p.m. that night at the pharmacy. My phone rang and Nurse Carol told me that the prescription had been called in.
I think. It was kind of loud in CVS that night. Regardless, the pharmacist had no record of a call. And the next day was July 4. The doctor’s office was closed.
Thus, I found myself in the outpatient waiting room on July 5 armed only with my copy of the orders for the MRI and an abnormal dread of what was to come. Yet, as I sat there, observing the other patients, a great calm washed over me. These other people were really suffering. And they were bravely facing whatever was scheduled for them.
Within the hour, I was lying on my back with my head encased in a cage that the MRI technician referred to as a “football helmet.” I think that she thought the metaphor linking a common object to this contraption would be calming. My initial thought was, “Football players wear helmets because of the overwhelming potential of brain injury.” But, remembering the brave people I had seen just a few moments earlier, I shook it off.
The moment came. I shut my eyes. I could feel the sides of the tube brushing my arms as I was rolled into the belly of the beast. I gritted my teeth and waited for the abnormal dread to become outright panic.
It didn’t happen. There was nothing here to fear. Loud noises. Narrow space. I’m thinking I’m really not claustrophobic. Could it be that if we look beyond our own worries and view the plights of others — and have compassion — that we can be lifted above the pain and fears of our own lives?
A dreadful inconvenience is transformed into simply an inconvenience. And inconvenience merges quietly into the stream of life.