So recently enough I had to get an MRI scan on my back, an occupational risk that tends to come with generally being pretty gammy. It was quite a strange experience. Ages ago I had to have one on my knee but that only meant I had to go into the machine as far as my knee. This time I had to go fully in. In case you’re not as familiar with these things as I am, the machine just kind of looks like a giant white donut with a kind of platform poking out from the centre.
Anyway, I arrived at the clinic at 8am, as was my appointment and went through to the reception. I told the far too perky looking receptionist who I was and she handed me a clipboard and told me to sit. I sat and looked doubtfully at what she’d given me. It was a list of questions, I’m not going to lie they were pretty random; one asked me if I was ever a metal grinder. A logical question, because as you know, metal grinding is a common occupation for 20 year old girls. So after I filled out the questions and assured them that I was not in fact pregnant and didn’t have any bits and pieces of metal embedded in myself as a result of welding or things like that, they sent me through. The nurse/doctor guy (I’m not entirely sure what to call him) made sure I had no clips in my hair because, and I quote, “if you don’t take them out the machine will”. Always reassuring. Luckily I was too tired to actually care all that much so I just laughed. He got me to lie down on the platform and handed me a rubber ball attached to a wire for “just in case”. I lay there on my back with my hands on my chest and tried to keep really still so that they wouldn’t end up with a series of blurry pictures and force me back.
I was in there for a grand total of half an hour. As I lay there, feeling slowly fading from my fingers. My mind started to wonder. I noticed that there really wasn’t that much room to either side of me, and I’m not very big at all, quite scrawny in fact. So that got me thinking, what would happen if a really big person had to go in for a scan on anything? As I stared at the grey paint on the inside of the machine, all I could picture was a huge, whale of a human, being slowly squashed to fit into the machine. Kind of like how meat in sausages is squeezed into the skin. The machine carried on whirring away, but I really was transfixed on this thought. How would they fit? If they did fit, but took up the entire centre of the machine, what would the pictures come out like? I doubted that they would be great really.
It wasn’t until much later on mentioning this thought to Mark, the ever patient boyfriend, that a fairly reasonable answer was given. They take them to the zoo. At least they did in Scrubs and talked about it on Grey’s Anatomy. So that got me wondering again, how awkward would that be? To be told that you’re too big to fit into medical equipment that was made to fit a lot of people? If I’m honest I’d take it as a sign that it’s probably time to lose a bit of weight really. If they have to take you to the zoo on a flatbed truck just to get a decent scan of your leg or whatever it’s probably about time to hop on the old treadmill. That is to say that you can walk. If not I guess maybe those arm cycle things they have on half ton hospital. Not that I have anything against big people. It must be kind of nice not to have to wear 5 hoodies at a time in winter, but there you go, having a fast metabolism has a price too. I think though, if I was ever told I had to share my medical equipment with Hilda the hippo and Betsy our friendly local buffalo, I would actually die of mortification. All they blood would go to my face and my head would explode with the pressure of my embarrassment.
So I guess I’ve found the root of my recent decision to go to the gym more. Even if only to try to stave off the inevitable metabolic crash that comes with getting older. Although that being said, I would hope that if I ever got to the point where I couldn’t actually get out of bed due to my extreme dedication to eating, that people would in fact stop feeding me.
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