Sunday, February 20, 2011

An MRI awakening

Doctors have stepped down from their angelic thrones. Their perceptual monopoly over the minds of patients has started to blur. The engagement in a Doctor's cabin is now more 'clinical' than ever before. Last time I went to see one I experienced the clinical execution of a well honed consulting process which went through the following phases (1) a review of my file for historic insight (2) a pointed question and answer session (3) a physical examination of my problem area (4) a collaborative review of 5 strategic options for resolution of my problem (5) my formal consent on one of the options (6) finally, at long last, execution of the agreed resolution strategy. Phew! Doctor as a management consultant with specialization in healing is here to stay.

The apparently bipartite discussion around strategic cure options was quite exhilarating. The options elaborated by the doctor were clear as mud and I was reminded of my days in the South when I used to nod my head in complete understanding and appreciation of the menu options announced in Tamil by the zealous waiter. After eagerly listening to the tambi’s enthusiastic recital, in true panju style, I would either order a Dosa or a Thali! In order not to dent his enthusiasm I would add “ put some extra takali”. Thereby leaving the waiter with the false impression that his recital had been well understood and the customer had taken an informed decision thanks to his efforts.

To the uninitiated ‘takali’ means tomato in Tamil – about the only word that I learnt in a few memorable years stay in the South.

Unfortunately, the options presented by the doctor bear no resemblance to Masala Dosa and I did not have a medical panacea equivalent to ‘takali’.

My views on the state of medical science and its undertakers thus honed, I was invited to an MRI scanning session. The invitation was a consequence of problems with my neck, which was probably due to its uncanny habit of popping up, down and round about at even a hint of a pretty damsel in the vicinity. A wise man once said – old habits, Bruce Willis.

Anyways, armed with the strength of a cynic, ready to smell a rose and think of a coffin, I ventured into the MRI scanning center. A lovely nurse with a German hard-nosed ex-pression efficiently ushered me into the changing room. I had to strip off all worldly possessions to gain entry into the MRI scanner’s domain. I tried to maintain an overt composure that belied the inferno in the belly. The drumming in the belly had a stark resemblance to the rumblings leading up to a public speech I did a few years ago. However, I continued to smile like Sanjeev Kapoor after he inadvertently gobbled a few drinks in ‘Angoor’, as the nurse struck two ear buds into my ears (offcourse, where else!) and led me into ‘The Room’.

The beast looked quite daunting with its ugly open-ended mouth waiting in anticipation for its next hapless victim. I felt like fleeing and cursed the neck for its infidel overtures. In keeping with the modern-age ethos of the medical profession, the nurse displayed no signs of compassion. Her KPI was to get me in and out of the beast within a period of 25 minutes and ensure that I didn’t run away with the clinic provided nightie-equivalent I had to don in order to entertain the beast whilst I stayed in its august company. What cannot be cured has to be endured. My neck had left me no other option but to reluctantly surrender myself to the beast.

I lay down on my back, with arms folded, face facing up and the sides of the beast right up against my own. At the stroke of a key, the beast started gobbling me up, slow and steady, into its dome. In a few seconds, the beast had engulfed me completely and I had absolutely no room for maneuver. In order to avoid a feeling of claustrophobic panic I immediately closed my eyes. The nurse announced from another planet that the scanning was about to begin and I should gear up for some high decibel noise. Another keystroke and the silence was broken by a sharp sound piercing my ears - “tok, tok tok” went the scanner at an irritatingly consistent frequency. “tok tok tok” – “tok tok tok”.

I tried to make music in my mind dovetailed with the beast’s toks and day dreamt of an interview with NDTV where I beamingly relate the unique inspiration of my top-of-the-chart musical score. My dream was rudely interrupted by the nurse’s distant announcement that the ordeal was coming to an end in a few minutes. Enthused, I opened my eyes….

Life only needs a few moments to pass you by. As I opened my eyes to see myself completely surrounded by a machine in semi-darkness, I felt the strongest feeling of unease I have ever felt in my life. My heart started racing at top speed as sweat beads swiftly ordained my forehead. I felt impounded, impotent, captured and felt a strong urge to break through the shackles and run for my freedom. In those few moments, I truly understood and appreciated the value of freedom – freedom to enjoy the clear blue skies, freedom to bask in glorious sunshine, freedom to follow what your head thinks and your heart desires, freedom to socialize, to interact, to walk, to run, to debate, to discuss, to read, to write, to chase your fantasies and your aspirations.

Not every fall is into an abyss. Not every opening in a tunnel has a train on the other side. As life punctuates our existence with a few disappointments we develop amnesia towards its highs. On that day, during those few moments, I realized how blessed and lucky I was to be free and my heart bled for those who were perpetually confined to the four walls of their hospital rooms.

As I was released from the clutches of the beast I felt a sudden surge of liberation as well as a sense of calmness in my soul. The scanner had failed to unearth anything unusual in my neck however had succeeding in awakening a new perspective to life.

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