Today I had an MRI
Worst thirty minutes of my life
However, my thoughts strayed
From corner to corner of my agile mind
From the beautiful woman in the foyer who spoke about her life
To life and it's wonders...  
And the statistics of deaths
During an MRI
Irrational thoughts indeed...
But thoughts that are frightening
In that moment of need.
Funny what you think of...
When you don't know what's going on
When you're trapped by a machine
When you're trapped by life...
I wondered...
Will they remember me?
I remember the woman's fascination
With my long, golden locks
That touched my hips softly

Ha, at least they'll remember my hair.
That's something, isn't it?
Being known as the young girl with long, luscious golden locks...
If they don't see my writing.
It's something.

Before the MRI,
They said 'Think of happy things'
And then my thoughts wandered
To you...
Your beautiful smile
The way my heart flutters when you look at me
When you taught me how to dance
And we flowed on the dance floor
When I held your hand
And my heart skipped a beat
When you glanced at me
With such sincerity
And your name repeating in my head...
You, you, you...

My thoughts during an MRI
Are odd
Thoughts of life, thoughts of death, thoughts of remembrance,
Thoughts of long, golden hair
And thoughts of
You.

kn , kn tha mai
Ye mjhe usne bataya
Leke  insan  ka roop
Maano, khuda MRi zindagi mai aaya
Shayad , bhul hi gya tha mai hasna
Lekin tne mjhe hasna  sikhaya  

Bas sans Lena jeena Nai
Ye usne mjhe hai bataya
Bas Dil dhadakne ko kehte zindagi Nai ye bhi ussine ehsaas karaya

Chod Di thi Maine
Jeene Ki ummed
Phir , mjko khudse rubahru , tne karaya

I'm here to spread the news that.
Despite its bad reputation with people
Back surgery works like a charm.

When I was 23, I injured my back lifting weights
I began to have chronic back pain
I researched what was the best thing for back pain
And yoga came to the top

At age 28, I began 8 years of yoga
That I practiced every day
My back pain was reduced until my age of 35

When yoga eventually failed
I moved in to physical therapy
That worked into my late 40s

I was rear ended in a car accident,
With the car entirely totaled.

That was the beginning of the end.

Nothing "alternative" worked anymore
I felt like there were razorblades in my groin

I would fall for no apparent reason
And then could not stand back up
I went to my doctor about it
He said if I got a MRI, that surgery would be the next step
Since surgery has such a bad reputation
I skipped the MRI

I was riding horses at the time
One day, I went to get a horse in the pasture
I kept falling and could not stand
I thought it was due to the mud.
I had to crawl through the mud and horse ****
To get back to the barn.

I thought once I was on concrete
That I could stand
But I couldn't
The stable manager helped me
To the office.
I rested for half and hour
And then drove home.

We were watching TV
In our downstairs family room
I went to go upstairs
And in the middle of the stairs
My legs stopped working

We drove to the ER
I had an emergency MRI
It showed that my disc was entirely extruded
And surrounding my spinal cord.

I went for emergency back surgery.
The procedure was called a microdiscectomy
They just took the gel
Away from my spinal cord
And within 2 hours of surgery
I could walk again.
I noted how easy it was to walk.

After a few weeks of just weird stuff
Like lightning bolts down my legs,
My back entirely healed Within 6 weeks
And that was the end of 27 years
Of back pain.

I often tell young people that
I had an extruded disc that
Was older than they are!!

It's been 5 years now and my back is cured.
If back surgery did not have
Such a bad reputation,
I could have saved myself a lot of pain

Microdiscectomy has a 95% cure for referred pain
In my case, it had a 30% cure rate for back pain
I am in the lucky 30%

Back surgery does work
And every year
There are more advances.

I went to my surgeon
And gave him a present
And a big hug of thanks.

Spread the word!

Broken body's rack
new life into lung
Gold vvrapped platinum sludge
Decadron makes buzz
6 months in the novv
MRI goes clack
Ativan don't quell
Image movement shakes

Jee aur aieee k sadme k mare ** jte h anjne anokhe unvrsts k hawale,nya clg nya jgh nye dost sb kch hta h nw nw,clg k strtng s hr ksi k dil m hta h rgng ka dar....2nd yr m cnr bnne ka hta h sbko gurur,frnds kai grp m bat jte h,hr koi dkhte h nye luks m,3rd yr m sbko ati h apni jimedari ka ahsas aur fnl yr ata h dston m fasle bdhte h...rah dkhe the is din k kbse,age k sapne saja rkhe the njane kbse,sb bde utavle the yhn se jne ko,zndgi ko dusre trke se dkhne ko....pr njane aj dil m kch aur he ata h,piche ja k waqt ko rok k apne andr sare lmhe ko samet lne ka jee krta h....at d strtng f btech kha krte the bdi muskil s y 4 sal bitenge lkn kse pta tha y sb chd k jne ka mn ni krga...na vulne wali kch yadein reh *** o yadein jo ab jine ka sahara bn ***...na jne aj q un palon k yad bht ati h jin baton ko lekar tab rote the ,aj un palon ko yad kar bht hsi ati h....y sch k ankhein nam ** jte h k mri tang ab kn kncha krga,m apne bton s kska sar khaungi,pranks ksk 7 krngi,ab mjhe kn itna jhlga,ksk smne ntnki krngi,jin dst p lakh kurban whn 1 rupye k ly  kn ldhnge,kaun rat vr bina soye bt krga,kaun bina pche 1 dusre ka chj istml krga,kaun nya nm rkhga,bina ksi bt k m ab ksse ldhungi,bina ks tpc k fal2 bt kn krga,bkws q kn krga,xam k ek din phle o tyri o rate,kn rat var 7 jag kr pdhga,kn fail hne p dilasa dlyga,y hasin pal ab ksk 7 jiungi....yad ati h o rec k choti si cntn bar bar jhn kch v ni mlta mre yar fr v na jane q hum gye hnge so bar...tum jse kmine dost khn mlnge jo khai m v dhaka de ayen sale srs mtr ko v joke m cnvrt kr de,par fr tmhe bachane khud v kud jye....mre hrkton se nakhro se jid s prsan kn hga ,ksk 7 brng lctrs jhlngi..bina mtlb k ksko v dkh kr pglon k trh hsna,na jne y fr kb hga....ky hm y sb fr krpaenge....bdy clbrt,ek h rm p bth k 1 dusre s wtsap p bt krna...rat k 3-4 bje khna pkana....bina ksi mtlb k rat ko chilana....mlk pina...pgl jse hrkt krna..mlk ghumna....kaun mjhe apni kabiliat pr vrosa aur jyda hawa m udne pr zamin p lyga....mre khusi m sch m khus kn hga,mre gam m mjhse jyda dukhi kn hga....keh do doston y dubara kb hga....dil m ek kasak hoti h jb hr ankhein nam hti h,fir mlne k wade se hm ek dusre se juda hte h,kv na akle rhne wle dost bas yadon k sahare zndgi bitate h....lkn jb v y clg k din yad ate h ankhon m hasin aur ansu ek 7 late h...engnr bnne k khusi v ansu rok na pai ,q k njr aa rai t doston s judai...ab jo hna tha o ** gya akhir m sbse juda ** h gye....aj v un palon ko yad kr k ansun rok ni pte h ....nkl he jte h...aur yuhi lkh lkh k apko pka rai hn....char sal yu he gye hmri beet..ab khn mlnge wo dost wo mit...dua krt hn sb k ly race y zndgi k jao tm jit....

He doesn't need Intra Ocular Lenses,
To dismember my defenses.
Without a Stethoscope,
He can hear my heart,
He won't have to take an MRI scan,
To know where to start.
He won't need to inject a syringe,
To romantically unhinge,
My every multiplying cell,
Into a palpitating craze.
He won't need a lubricating gel,
To ****** and amaze.
He won't require to operate
Nor investigate,
Me from head to toe,
To plainly know,
That I'm besotted,
my insides knotted,
My better sense clotted,
In deep rooted feeling,
Of immense love.

Where is the seat of psychic pain?
Are MRI's made to trace the vein
To neuron neighborhoods
Sealed, yet synapse connected,
One to another
By chain link fences?

What Dr. Lector devours with fava beans, inside rots. Too much Chianti?
Not likely. Likely, not enough
but there has been much else. Still,
no amounts warranting any shy example of overload. Mild splurges,
done in high style equal
nothing in comparison to toxic
baths taken in industrial grindstone
mortors. And the payback?
Walking papers and abdominal lump.

Poke it and choke on acid reflux. Pop
more pills to keep it down. Downers
prescribed on more downers.
Feeling down? Have another downer.
What else can we do? Your MRI's
and ultrasound, unsound, do not
come with flag from foreign invader,
claiming this new territory for king.

So, blame it on the offal.
Blame it all on the offal for not
having guts and glory
to fight off its own infection.
And eat your chicken livers.

The nurse wrapped a warm toasty blanket
around me as I waited for my MRI.
I wondered how many bodies this blanket
had warmed as folks sat
worrying about their perishable bones.
Then the thought came as clear as a bell
ringing, resounding, echoing from the apex of
a very high Himalayan mountain peak:
"I go on forever...I go on forever"
A gurney carrying a man in
obvious pain shuttled by.
I felt the sun rising over that mountaintop
splashing my face and
all the patients in the MRI room
“We go on forever…We go on forever…!"

this poem didn't come easy. written amidst buffeting emo's, V will not be natural flow, probably flawed. You, self-chosen people, will come along, please, to see the process, and the proceeds too.
But as usual, the poem was write before me, needing only human kindness overflowing to guide the way.

V

V words lord, excluding all others,
phonetic juggernauts,
never met a V word
that had no personality.

victory is the one word that
my/our brains
think of first.

sure there is vortex, victuals, veer
and *valor exam,
the latter,
what ever it means is a gift,
curtsy-courtesy of auto-incorrect.

but it is victory
on top,
victorious in its own way.

try it on another if you must...
what is the word that starts with a V
that first comes to mind?

so let us talk of victories.

so oft, I write in the dark,
even as I do now.

came home soul weary,
face worn-worry,
gotta go out to meet
Peter Bogdanovich later,
to chat about his latest movie.

woman looks me over.
X-ray glance,
an MRI of my heart,
no deductible charged,
but oh yes, a co-pay due, indeed!

Peter will keep,
tonight you're-mine,
to bed I send,
right after we consume
Large Thin Mush,
cause pizza with shrooms contains
mood serotonins,
that erase the
"pain of the day"

that be a victory nonpareil.
a Waterloo, a Normandy landing,
that be a victory where
both sides hug and kiss,
and make with their long,
stubby Churchillian fingers,
V's all night long
with goofy grins,
cigars and bowler hats,
just to go along.

so here I am in the dark,
having been "put" to bed,
one mo' time,
slicing and dicing letters
into a word-salade,
instead of resting.

dreaming of the day
when I can no longer need to
pretend to be a Seuss, but truly,
can be writing poems for all my
children~friends.

one for each letter
of the alphabet,
teaching us to write
upon our faces
laugh lines thin and fine,
mine, ours, yours.

product of pizza poems,
some that come not circular,
but tonite shaped
just like a woman,
just like a
*V.

While waiting for my MRI
And nervous, I will not deny,
The techies then guessed
That a music request
Might calm me, so I did comply.

I naturally chose rock & roll
Since being absorbed was my goal.
With my eyes tightly closed
All the words, I supposed,
Would keep butterflies under control.

So the clanging began, as it must
But the music helped, as we’d discussed
Though the very first song
Made my panic prolong –
Queen’s “Another One (me!) Bites the Dust.”

in 2012 i experienced an incident with a rifle. my friend spinned it around and hit me in the face. the hit was hard enough to break my nose and make me fly backwards and land on the back of my head.
after that i started having seizures. cluster seizures which mean seizures back to back. they have to be stopped by iv or i can go into status epilepticus meaning continued or back to back seizures that can **** people. there have been several times where my heart has stopped or i stopped breathing from it. its hard to live with. soooo many pills, and doctors, specialists to help diagnose me. just about a month ago i was diagnosed with tbi (traumatic brain injury) before i was diagnosed i was so upset with everything. my health my relationship, my family problems. it just piled up so i decided to numb myself with drugs and alcohol. i no longer can do that because the last time i did i woke up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. i have right hemisphere disfunction and it effects my motor skills, speech, memory, decision making, confusion, and at this point the doctors say that my memory and confusion is dementia. sometimes i try to tell myself i don't need help, im fine, i don't need anyone, or that the doctors made a mistake. but they didn't and that was proven to me today when i saw my eeg, and mri.  i have built up white matter in my brain. and it only gets worse . i can never regain anything ive lost but i can learn how deal with it and move on from now. i can never be independent in the part of just living alone. i would like to marry the man of my dreams but i don't think i want to put him through all of this. he would have to take care of me when i get sick, and i get sick often due to my weak immune system. one hit in the face and my whole body went out of whack. we also recently discovered that i have a bundle branch block in my heart which means it is a condition in which there's a delay or obstruction along the pathway that electrical impulses travel to make your heart beat. i have a dog that can smell my auras which are mild seizures like warnings that a big one will come. but he can only do so much . squeeze under my head and bark for help.

i) up the stairs
red scarves and tight skirts
loose slacks and grey shirts
my how the landscape has changed
I can’t say that I love to be dipped into this *** of pretty
where the lipstick liner queens supreme
and the coffee is brewed to mitigate the colostomy retch
so I try a yellowed paper backed beat
but it held nothing to the shoebox diorama
of national care
where the alphabetised gates of ingress
more or less double as departure lounge
for the broken and spent where their god
might sit them on fashionably backed chairs
for the percentile of misplace repairs
or is it me that smells of warm ****?

ii) down the travelator
a troll lives under the MRI,
moved on from the bridge by the gruffest of beards,
now working externally of the fable
beneath the table of the magnetic eye

I walk with a limp now,
Two of them in fact,
When I used to glide,
The strut of youth,
Was on my side.

Pain's now the game,
Moving more slowly
My worn knees are done.
The warranty you see,
has fully, finely expired.

Today they took MRI pictures
Of my knees, sized 'em up
For manufacturing,
A perfect, artificial fit.

Metal and plastic components to
replace my played out natural bone.
They assure me it will not hurt,
(Allegedly)  

Surgery they declare will,
eliminate the pain and put
a spring back in my step.

I'll settle for the absence of  
Pain with every step I take.
But, I'm pretty **** sure,
I'll never ever run again.

Even for we humans,
Built in obsolescence,
Is an unavoidable truth.

Man, getting old is really the *****!

swallowing
melting white
magic to relax me

I am lying in
a tight space in a
large machine

a soft rag
placed over my eyes
to fool me

my head lifted, tilted
and squeezed

held in place

soft songs I requested
playing in my ears

trying to drown out
the rattle and humming

of the invisible rays
entering and exiting me

sending signals to
the machine
that will read me

am I that obvious?

Poems are the MRI's of the soul .

Trapped but I can escape
Loud noise in my ears but it all could end







But if it did I would have to go through it again

Bitter.

Tangy.

Chest poking,
distress...
anxiety.

An orange peeled.

A tomato congealed.

Acid rising,
distress...
anxiety.

laughter.

disaster.

911 on the line,
distress...
anxiety.

Please stay on
until we arrive.

strobing lights.

harrowing ride.

11 hours of machines
distress...
anxiety.

1 year to a MRI.

1 year to live or die?

A Canadian health care story
distress...
anxiety.

Take some of these pills,
and call us in 5 years,
distress...
anxiety.

Quacks.
Waddles.
Going south.


http://www.robross.ca

I can't feel my soul, but I'm certain it's there.
There are no MRI's or CAT scans of it
There are no people that make it glow like it used to.
But before bed, each night,
I put a pen to paper and it pours from my fingertips.

I don't know how else to explain it.
I'm sure it's there.

Blood work. Glucose tolerance tests.
Appointment following appointment.
Cat Scans and MRI's. Radioactive liquids to ingest and fainting spells.

An awful rendition of some woeful soap opera is playing day by day updates on what is ailing my seemingly healthy shell.

Maybe it's hypoglycemia? Maybe it's not. Maybe the oxygen that my brain is writhing for isn't being delivered because options A,B, & C are the direct result of head trauma age 14. Or was it 18? Forgive me; I can't recall information lately.

I'm not even surprised that somewhere within my cells the ATCG format to my beautiful helix strands aren't aligned. I suspected.

Instead I go through  phases of crashing emotions. Each wave more dizzying than the last. Maybe that's my blood pressure plummetting again?

In any case, the most consistent emotional response I experience is not questioning what, but considering the maybe. Maybe I deserve this? Yes. This may be what I deserve.

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As far back as I can remember
I wanted to be a
Paleontologist
Someone who looks at the old, decayed
Bones of creatures that never asked for
Love.
I wanted to be someone who dug through
Inches, feet, yards, miles of dirt
For a charred fragment of bone
that was so far away from
Home that the only
Contact it could make with its family
Was through the wires of the
Telephone
I wanted to be someone
Important.
Then that phase passed.

Later on, I wanted to be a writer,
Because there’s something about
Creation that’s so spontaneous
That it can lift souls higher
Make hearts lighter
If you do it right.
I wanted to write an expansion of
Cliché in such a grandiose way
That could make everything
Seem
Just right for some night when
That rush of creativity spills through
My fingertips
Like water dripping from the stalactites of
A cognitive cave of irrelevance
I just wanted to write.

Well, then that phase passed
And I wanted to be a doctor
Because there was something about
The cure that kept me up at night
Wondering how innocent and pure
That baby’s face is as his mother is
Carted down the hall on a gurney,
Who barely lived to see thirty years
On Earth
Whose constant fear of
“How will they survive”
sat on the first tear she cried
When her doctor diagnosed her.
That woman who had so much time ahead of her
But whose debilitating cancer always kept her from
Home.  
So much so that “home” became an
I.V. bag and a hospital bed.  
So much so that
“Home” went from fireplaces and kittens
To MRI machines and seven minutes
To live,
So much so that “home” became a myth.

And there are a lot of myths
Today.
There are myths today so farfetched and
Filled with hate, like
“It’s a choice, the one with whom you
fornicate” and
“It’s not that you’re a bad person, it’s that you’re
a disgrace, but I’m not trying to discriminate against
you.”
And they say these things with such distaste that they
Forget those with whom they’re supposed to relate
And love.

But now, love has become something
Blurred
Something obscured by religious fanatics and
Old, dusty books
Something regulated by governments and
Followed blindly by people at the risk of being
Burned, something
We’re afraid of.
Love.
The most toxic word
In the English language.
The word that makes and breaks
Empires, the word that lights
Fires in the hearts of men and women
In the most remote places,
The word that connects hearts
Instead of faces,
That fills a thousand vases
On the altars of every church
That allows people to
Love someone for who they
Are, and as each heart races they
Find the real meaning of  
Love.

Because here’s the thing.
“There is no love without hate”
Now that’s one of the few things
You can appreciate,
Your right to hate
Please.
Don’t feed me that line.
Because we both know that,
When you’re older,
You’re just gonna end up
Crying in the corner
Like the spoiled little
Brat you’ve always been,
Like that boulder of hate
Was never lifted off your
Shoulder
And why should it?

So let it fall.
Let yourself give in to
The pressure
Of defeat,
Like that dinosaur
That only wanted
Something to eat
But instead was
Cheated out of every
Chance it had to live.
Feel it burning
Deep inside you
All that hate
Yearning to get out
Let it consume you.

Maybe someday,
Someone will dig up your
Bones.  
Maybe someday, someone will
Remember you.  And
Maybe they will label you.
By your species.

Pale
denim
overalls
cover the bear
waiting for Sarah
to return from an MRI;
polished shoes and white coat speak
to the four-year-old's mother. Child
embraced, parted lips radiate smiles.
In Teddy's ear she whispers, "It's all gone."

The plan was to break up with me at a coffee shop
That’s smart, I think
A public place, entirely neutral.

That didn’t happen
I got sicker
I couldn’t drive
I could barely get out of bed.

You still came over
You still said you loved me
You still said you wanted to be friends
You still walked away while I cried

I didn’t cry because of you, at first
I cried because it hurt to be awake
My body was tearing itself apart
Nobody was doing anything

I got better, not all the way, not yet
I have a plan for my body, now
I had an MRI today and I have acupuncture every week
I use every oil and ointment in the book

I have space to cry over you, now
I have space to be angry
I can tell your friends how you hurt me
I have time to listen and talk

You don’t want to talk
“I want to be friends”
That’s a lie
You don’t want to take accountability or talk about what happened

We gave each other a year of our lives
We’ve only been alive 18
And yet, you don’t want to talk
You just wanted to break up with me in the coffee shop
down the street from my school

All my poems just sit waiting
unwritten impulses of some things
midway between my brain and my eyes

to get one I sit back in my Barcalounger
and pretend my head is in an MRI machine
with the laser scanner looking

I pay the closest attention
silently mindful
of how much I think and feel
about what I see

and then a poem says
you never saw that feeling
you never felt that vision

you just keep running
from one stimulus to another
like a person who cannot write

you need a bigger Barcalounger.

I used to think this a term for athletes
Late in their careers
Past their prime

Yet I sit here now
Looking at the pill dispenser
Filled to the brim each day

Not long ago I didn’t even own one
Until the litany of trials and tribulations began
A never ending trail to doctors

Blood and ***** tests,
CT scan, then MRI, followed by
an endoscopy and an Ultrasound

Now four separate ailments identified
The fifth without a diagnosis
Stealth, planning an untimed attack

No grandparents, parents, uncles left
A dear high school friend gone at an early age
My buddy for many years departed

Now this
My youngest brother passing
Far before his time

A two week cold or flu sapping my energy
Then some bug decides to invade
So I curtail eating, on mostly fluids now

I feel weak
And exhausted
And washed up

Andreas Simic©

The machine
Full of power
And
Strength

The machine
As I lay down my head
And ponder

The machine
Nurses help me lay down
Because they know
My body is weak
Compared to the machine

The machine
Known for only one task
The MRI
For which I become fearful of
The days before

The machine
I know I am fearful
But I am also strong
I step up to this massive creature
With pride and
Courage

The machine
I go into this time vortex
For hours upon hours
Bang bang bang
This life is a battlefield

The machine
Is not silent
But loud
It reflects my past
And my future

The machine
Reminds me of struggles
But also of the future
That I am so lucky to have
In front of me

Down in the valley
Where the times are fast,
Lived a girl longing to be
Where the land is vast.

She was made of wildflowers,
And carved of a little stone.
Out in the wilderness
Was where she felt most at home.

She’d roam through the forest,
And through the tall pine trees;
The beauty of the land
Spanned far as eye could see.

One day the girl awoke
Her wildflowers withered so,
The feeling gone on the left
For what reason? She didn't know.

They told her not to worry,
And “there’s not much we can do,
Just try to get some rest—
All will be good as new.”

She waited and rested
Months went by without change
They finally told her,
“We need an MRI of your brain.”

After all the tests were over
With nine spots found on the scan,
“It’s MS,” they concluded.
And then treatment began.

Back into the wilderness
She fled to be alone,
Mourning her withered wildflowers
Which had once been overgrown.

Whilst gazing at the mountain peaks
She heard nature’s soft decree,
Reminding of the stone in her
Making her stronger than disease.

So back to the valley,
Went the girl made of flowers
Returning to the wilderness
When she was in need of her power

An ordinary visit to the toilet in office
Who knows would bring an ordeal of ten minutes in my life
While turning the handle of the lock to exit
It easily dismantled to come apart on both sides of the door
Foolish was I who pick up the pieces
Trying to find out how to put back the pieces on the door
The door suddenly slipped from my hands
It closed easily and rapidly by the door closer

“Bang” was the sound so impressive
What came to me was the painful realization of being locked
How bad was the door latch which was still in place
Held in captivity I try methods to escape
All failed to work and I began to blame myself
Feeling sudden and helpless I started to worry
Would anyone come around by the time of office off hours
Three minutes, five minutes, six minutes passed

A man’s sound was heard outside the door
The comfort and hope he brought was so nice and sweet
Another nice colleague gave me encouragement and advice
He suggested to force open the door but failed
But I felt I was attended to and that was real
Then he gave me a small narrow piece of metal
Trivial and useless though it seemed
It proved to be my saving stick when I opened the latch without knowing how

Finally free after ten minutes
The feeling of freedom is magnificent and marvellous
I thank God for giving me this experience
Thankful to those nice guys who are so clever and helpful
They are like angels who rescue me from captivity
This is the best present I receive for the New Year
I decide to pay more concern to my patients
Who enter the MRI exam room in a temporary locked environment