Sixteen Tons

The routine CT scan showed a small lump in my liver. ‘It could be a capsular deposit or a metastasis’, said the oncologist. I looked quizzically at her. ‘A tumour’, she said, helpfully. I nodded. She smiled, ‘so I’m sending you for an urgent MRI scan’.

At the Cancer Centre, I filled in the MRI questionnaire. They wanted to know whether I had any metal in my body. I could safely say no to the questions about body piercings and shrapnel wounds, but I had to acknowledge the sternal wires and surgical clips from previous operations.

I took off my clothes, then my necklace and bracelet and put on the hospital gown. I sat in the cubicle and waited, naked apart from my underwear.  A knock on the door and I was called.

The MRI scanner is a long slim tunnel surrounded by a huge magnet. I lay on the narrow bed in front of the machine. A curved panel was strapped around my midriff. Then headphones were put on me. Because MRI scanners are very noisy, the radiologist speaks to you through the phones. But most of the time music is playing very loudly.

Move closer...

I began to slide into the scanner feet first.

Move your body real close...

I was right inside the scanner; its grey walls just a few inches away.

Feels like we’re really making love...

I was entombed. The scan started and loud pulses roared around me. My midriff began to get warm. But, despite Phyllis Nelson, I wasn’t feeling a great deal of love.

‘Hold your breath’, said the radiologist. And the pulses began again. They sounded like a deep thumping siren.

People say a man is made out of mud.

A poor man’s made out of muscle and blood...

Again I was told to hold my breath. The pulsing reverberated around me.

 

You load sixteen tons and what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt...

I was trapped, like at the bottom of a coalmine. I panted, allowed to breathe again. Tennessee Ernie Ford boomed on.

St Peter don’t you call me because I can’t go

I owe my soul to the company store.

My mind raced ahead; what would the scan show? A third bout of cancer?

When the night has come

And the land is dark

And the moon is the only light we'll see

‘Nearly finished’, said the radiologist, cheerfully. ‘You alright?’

No I won't be afraid
Oh I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me