I’m getting fond of the MRI machine.

I can’t quite remember the sequence of noises, but every pattern is becoming familiar. The noise is so compelling that it takes me away from thinking about anything else.

I get lost when everyone is talking at home, or at work. It’s sensory overload: all the threads have meaning but I can’t keep track of the conversations anymore. The noise in the MRI simply washes over me, one pattern block at a time. It’s all I can do to pace my breathing. I count four seconds for shallow inhale and each exhale, trying to keep my lungs empty and full for the same four seconds each.

I can feel my pulse, usually in my thumbs, neck, and chest. My heartrate is highest at the beginning, just after they clamp the headpiece to the table. I try to take control of my breathing and mind right then and there, so that I’m already relaxed as the table slides me into the machine.

It’s a funny thing to say, but sometimes it’s the calmest part of my whole day.