by Joe Paradis

Created on: December 09, 2008

A Claustrophobic MRI Experience

Earlier this summer, my son headed off to Marine Corps Officer Training School in Quantico, Virginia. He was particularly concerned with one part of the training that requires candidates to crawl, on their backs, into a 3-ft wide sewer pipe through which mucky water is continually rushing. With only about three inches of breathing space at the top of the pipe, each candidate must push himself through quickly, protect his weapon, not panic and, well avoid drowning. It seemed a bit claustrophobic, if you thought too much about it.

"It'll be a piece of cake," I told him. "Just focus on the goal." Easy for me to say, right? After all, I wasn't going through that pipe. Thankfully, in the end, it really was a piece of cake for him.

Last week, I had my own pipe dream, of sorts. It was time for my first-ever MRI - for a little shoulder problem. If you haven't taken that delightful trip down life's medical path, I can truthfully say it made my colonoscopy seem enjoyable.

I arrived at the clinic early in the morning and after completing about 368 pieces of paperwork, was advised that the bathroom would be a good next stop before I took my journey into the MRI tube. "After all, you'll be in the tube for about 45 minutes, so you won't be able to go to the bathroom!" chimed the perky technician, in front of a roomful of patients. I smiled at her weakly, wishing just a little that she'd trip or walk into the wall.

The next stop on our tour was out the back door of the facility and into the beautiful sunshine. "Are we finished?" I joked.

"Oh, no!" she laughed, lightly slapping my bad shoulder. I winched. "The MRI equipment is in that trailer." She escorted me to a little elevator lift attached to the side of a huge 40-foot trailer. The lift propelled us all of three feet up, at a snail's pace, until we were flush with a wide metal garage door. I wasn't about to ask why we didn't just use the four steps and the normal door next to the lift. Skeptical already of this MRI thing, I didn't want to tick off the technician. She rolled open the metal door and I felt as if we were pulling up to the back of some suspicious-looking truck inside a Moscow tunnel, to buy contraband electronic equipment. But we merely stood face to face with another smiling technician, squeezed into a desk inside the trailer. I wondered if there was still enough room for the MRI machine hoping there wasn't.

But there was plenty of room... And beyond the desk, at the front of

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