Miss Cynthia has her brain scanned.

I was a little nervous going in for my MRI, but that was less the test than what was being tested for. I had to take off all my jewelry and, sure enough, I lost an earring back. Woulda lost the earring too, but I found it stuck to a dreadlock.

The Magnetic Resonance Imaging machine is a giant sci-fi-pod-creating-looking machine. I was in the mood this morning to compare it to something from the backstory to the original Star Trek’s Wrath of Khan episode, where you’d ride through the tube on a conveyor belt and come out the other side looking like a freeze-dried Ricardo Montalban; but later on my mood brightened and I was thinking more Austin Powers.

Except you come out the conveyor belt the same way you came in.

The technologist gave me earplugs and assured me that the padding she would place around my head and neck would further muffle the jackhammering of the device. As she tucked a blanket around my shoulders, she told me that I’d have to stay still and not shift or adjust my position. How long would the whole thing take? “25 minutes.” How was I going to manage to refrain from fidgeting for 25 minutes? Whirs and hums, and I started to be transported into the belly of the MRI beast. And it occurred to me: I could, as the Buddhist masters say, watch my breath.

In, 2, 3, 4, 5; out 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10; in, 2, 3, 4, 5 “The first scan will last 3 minutes,” out 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Hard to count a my own pace and not the jackhammer’s. Somehow, I fall into an interesting little counterpoint. “The next one will be 1 ½ minutes,” in, 2, 3, 4, 5… “This scan will last 6 minutes.” Was that a minute and a half already? Cool. Out 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8… zzzz. “How are you doing in there?” What? Fine, 2, 3, 4, 5…

I’d love to be able to tell you that it was a perfect 25-minute breathing meditation performed in perfect stillness. But I cheated. I wiggled my toes. Just a tiny bit.