Here I am, lying on the weird little shelf, table, ledge wondering how I’d gotten myself into this mess. Probably anxiety again. It’s been a rough few months selling the house, renovating the new house, moving some stuff here and there. All stress, all day. Piling up. And now, even with all I’m learning and testing and practicing I’m here. Staring down the barrel of an angry MRI machine.
How did I get here? I know exactly how, mechanically. The wheelchair rolled me into the room. But how did I end up in the emergency room observation floor with a scheduled MRI on the calendar? I could keep walking backwards, but I won’t. Not yet.
So I find myself on this table, looking up at the ceiling tiles as the MRI techs go through the checklist of “Do you have any piercings? Tattoos? Smuggling silver coins?”. And “Are you claustrophobic?”. After enough “no”s, they’re satisfied and begin to send me into the mouth of the beast. Just before full immersion, they tell me that there will be some really loud noises, and that I’m going to be wearing some noise cancelling headphones playing whatever kind of music I want.
So they put the headphones on my head, and I think the noise cancellation is on the blink because it isn’t super noise cancel-y. And the music sounds like it’s coming from an AM radio in the other room. And that’s fine, I guess, because they then put these wedges, maybe foam, maybe some other non-magnetic material, between the headframe my head is resting in and the headphones. Now they’re nice and tight against my head, providing all the lackluster noise cancellation and AM radio sound they can provide. Then, the techs put this frame over my head and push it down tight. Okay, I’m still okay. I’ve ridden rollercoasters and I’ve ridden motorcycles and, well, I haven’t skydived, but I know people who have. I’m not scared. I’m fine.
They tell me they’re starting. The table starts rumbling. Well, maybe it’s just vibrating. No time to think about that, I see the machine’s gaping jaw start to move over my field of view. I’m in the mouth of the monster. It’s a few mere inches above my face and this weird head frame they put over me. Eh, it’s child’s play. A few more clicks and sounds and then “Oh, my, God” what is that sound? It sounds like a drill. Or a whale. And then there’s Don Henley playing “Boys of Summer” on the AM radio in the other room. And the sound is being swallowed by the MRI monster’s growling and gnashing of teeth. And about now is when I’m really thinking I need out of this thing. My breathing is elevating, I’m starting to feel real panic. And why do I need to scratch my forehead right now?
I remember the techs gave me a rubber bulb attached to a tube that presumably causes a flag to wave, or a whistle to whistle, or some other signal when I squeeze it. And I re-adjust my grip on it as I’m about to squeeze the ever loving sh….Wait. I don’t want to chicken out in the first 30 seconds. Let’s think this through.
But since you’ve been following along, you know the thinking part of my brain is not listening. I’m pure fight-or-flight at this point. I can feel myself circling the panic drain. And then, I breathe in. And then I breathe out for about twice as long. I remind myself to try it, to try the breath thing I’ve been talking about. And I do it. Breathe in and count. One, two, three, four. And out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. And in, two, three, four. And out. And I can feel myself coming down from the edge. After about ten cycles, I’m okay. I’m in control. I did it.
Now I go back to normal breathing, knowing I’m actually in control, I’m not in danger, I don’t need to scratch my forehead, and I can do this. And then, it’s back. Sudden and more forceful than last time. I’m about to rip the cage off my face and bust my way out of this machine. And I think, in, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. And after a few cycles, I’m back to calm.
Thirty minutes, and many breathing cycles, later they brought me out of the machine. The tech asked how it was. I told them it was the worst experience of my life. Nothing prepared me for the sounds. It wasn’t *just* the sound, or the level, or being strapped down. It was all of those, and Don Henley singing in the other room. It was a real sensory overload and with the background anxiety I’d been carrying around for weeks, it was too much for my rational brain.
---
I’ve been learning these techniques and practicing them a little. I’m working my way up to full-scale meditation. One thing I learned recently is that you can’t get much out of those things if your alarm bells are going off. Trying to sit zazen while you’re facing down a sabertooth tiger just makes your body *more* anxious. Your body starts to think you’re crazy to try to “become one with everyone” while a tiger is trying to make you lunch. So step-by-step, I’m finding my way from the fire into the place where the fire isn’t so hot, doesn’t do so much damage, and is much easier to control.
What I did in the tube, now that I’ve learned more, was really the second thing I would’ve done. And I’m not only learning how to do these things, and when to apply them, but I’m learning what to call them. I call it the *double exhale*, but it’s more of a *doubled* exhale. You’re not breathing out twice, you’re breathing out twice as long as you breathe in. Doubled. And another cool technique I learned is the physiological sigh. Which is actually a double inhale, followed by a long, slow exhale. You inhale as much as you can, then take another quick breath in on top of that. I call it *overbreathing* because you’re breathing more than you can, normally at least. Then you hold it, then release through your mouth, slowly. Let the panic and terror and bad stuff slide out gentle. No need to throw it out into the world, let it escape on its own.
Wait, “stress”, “anxiety”, “terror”, “panic”. Aren’t those all the same thing? That’s what I thought, too. But as I’m learning, I’m wrong on a lot of things, and I’m learning the differences between them all. I’ll tell you all about it when I know more.
For now: four in, eight out, four or five cycles. And now, after experiencing it in a real world situation, I’ve got this. Together, we’re figuring it out.
Slow down. Be quiet.
— R