Phobia

I hurt my back two years ago and at that time the doctor sent me for an MRI. I wasn't unfamiliar with the procedure. A couple of years back, my father had an MRI  and his doctor asked him whether he wished to be accompanied. I was somewhat surprised that he said yes. So the next day I brought my father to the radiology department for his appointment and the MRI technician gave both of us instructions on what to do and what not to do. My role was simple - I was to hold on to my father's leg just to reassure him that I was there. After the procedure, I felt certain that he needed me there yet I hadn't fully appreciated why.

On the day when I had to go for my own MRI appointment, I didn't think too much about it. I did the registration, answering a long list of questions including whether I had a tattoo or implants. After I had completed the form, the nurse ran through her checklist with me repeating some of the questions on the form I had filled. She explained the rationale for some of her questions, for instance reminding me that magnets and metals have a natural attraction. Then came the question "Are you claustrophobic?" I had responded "Yes" on the form but I thought it was a rather odd question because I wasn't sure of the difference it would have made since this procedure was necessary.  Anyway, I confirmed with the nurse that I had low level claustrophobia. She said they would give me a headphone so that I could listen to music. I wasn't sure how much that would help but what's the harm.

I changed into a patient gown. Sat opposite me was another man waiting for his turn and he seemed pretty relaxed, texting on his phone. Then there was a lady who approached the registration desk to ask what alternatives her daughter had other than an MRI. In her North Indian accent, she explained that her teenage daughter was claustrophobic and there was no way she would be able to undergo the procedure. She asked whether her daughter could be given GA. The nurse explained that patients needed to be conscious as they have to respond to instructions during the procedure. The nurse said that she could consider a CT Scan but responsibly explaining to her the disadvantages of that procedure. I can't remember the rest of the conversation, partly because it made me think whether I had under-estimated my fear of enclosed space. I scanned the waiting area for signs of other anguished patients, but none seemed more anxious as how I was starting to feel. It got worse the more I thought about it. Was the chamber wall going to be 2 feet away from my face or 2 inches? I've seen it on TV and the cavity is like the eye of a needle. What if I had a bad itch, like the ones I am starting to develop?  The rational takes over the over-confidence. Is there an escape? 

After what seemed like a long wait, it was my turn. Noting that I had declared myself to be claustrophobic she asked me whether I would prefer to wear a sleep mask. I was slightly confused - how would being blindfolded help to eliminate the fear of not being able to move, breath, be heard, be seen and to see? It didn't occur to me at that time, but I should have asked if I could test going into the chamber with the sleep mask. Anyway, I decided against the sleep mask. She told me what to expect - it will take about an hour and there will be some knocking sound, but I should not move unless I hear instructions to do so, from her not from myself. She then asked me if I was ready and I reluctantly said yes.

There was a swoosh sound, much like a DVD player, as the platform transported my body into the MRI chamber. It moved a lot faster than I had expected. I hadn't had enough time to transition from the empty zen-like room into this isolation capsule, nor had I had the chance to clear my throat a final time before I had to immobilise myself for a good long hour. I immediately asked the technician to get me out of the chamber. She must have seen this a thousand times before so she was very polite about it. After a minute or so, she asked me whether I was ready to have another go at it. I mustered enough courage for a nod.

I remembered praying for calm and peace as I entered the chamber the second time. I closed my eyes and prayed for all the anxiety to leave my body and that God's presence will be with me. I moderated my breathing and adjusted my sense of space around me. The technician did a sound check and the fact that we could communicate with each other was somewhat reassuring. Soon, I settled down and the rest of the session went by fairly quickly. It wasn't as bad as I had imagined it to be. But it left me with this very raw impression of how death and dying may be like. Isolating and completely out of my control. Once they put you in, they don't pull you out again. The only thing that makes enclosed space fearful is that I can't get myself out and I think I will have to be there for a long time time. Death seems deadly claustrophobic.

Many outcomes conjured by our imagination are not real, but the sensation of fear, although irrational, is very real. And then there are many outcomes that we had been fearful of that turns out to be real. Life can be full of hard knocks, unpredictable. False alarms and our active imagination have a way of asking us the "what if" and the "when if" questions in life. I learnt that for me, I can only overcome real fear with a sense of God's presence - that He is interested in my life and has made a claim on it, and that He is in my boat and will get me across to the other side of the lake.

Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? 

If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. 

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. 

If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. 

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  ~ Psalm 139: 7 - 13