I’ve just stepped out of the shower post-run and now I’m getting ready for my MRI. Well, I’m getting ready for after my MRI because I’ll likely wear some sort of hospital gown for the test, anyway.
My run was nice. I ran it with my running group. I love running with my running group but I haven’t run with my running group in a while… a couple of months… and I’ve missed it. I tell myself it's silly that I haven’t been running with my running group because it’s not that hard to wake up early and the gained endorphins outweigh the lost Z's, anyway. I tell myself I'll run more.
My stomach is grumbling and I love that: how running gives me a hunger I don’t always feel on my own. I smile and open the fridge and tell myself it’s kind of badass to run 13 miles before an MRI because not a lot of people run 13 miles before an MRI (probably) and then I close it and frown. I remember I'm not allowed to eat before my MRI, actually.
I remember some other things too. Like why most people don't run 13 miles before an MRI; why I haven’t been running with my running group; why it's been so hard to wake up early; how I haven’t formed enough endorphins to outweigh those Z's, anyway.
Anyway.
Anyway.
Anyway.
I subway to the radiology lab and walk into the office and lie down on the machine and let the nurses remote-control me inside of it, and then I start to cry. I don’t wipe my tears because I’m not allowed to touch my face so instead I wait for them to inject serum into my veins and stay frozen even when it makes me feel nauseous and dizzy and broken.
I think about what meal I’ll choose after the procedure and decide it will be something better than my current fridge snacks, anyway.
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