Revertigo: An Off-Kilter Memoir

10. Sway Me Smooth: Soundtrack for an MRI of the Brain

140 10 Sway Me ­ Smooth Sound­ track for an MRI of the Brain I Like to Move It “Don’t move,” the tech­ ni­ cian named Molly says. Then she ­ squeezes my ankle and ­ leaves the room. Move? I’m su­ pine, with a thick white semi­ cir­ cu­ lar cage ­ locked ­ across my en­ tire face. Rub­ ber ­ chocks im­ mo­ bi­ lize my neck and head on a table so nar­ row I think one deep­ breath could top­ ple me. Even if I ­ weren’t still dizzy. But I’ve been dizzy non­ stop now for thir­ teen weeks and six days. When I lie, sit, stand. When I look up or down, left or right. When wind stirs the maple ­ leaves out­ side my bed­ room win­ dow or birds fly by or im­ ages flash on the tele­ vi­ sion ­ screen. I can’t drive, still need a cane, have fal­ len in gro­ cery ­ stores and on side­ walks. And now I’m in a re­ mod­ eled for­ mer cake fac­ tory, about to be drawn into the bore of a giant mag­ net. The mag­ net will force the hydro­ gen atoms in my brain to line up ­ neatly, then bom­ bard them with radio waves so a com­ puter Sway Me Smooth 141 can iden­ tify ­ what’s caus­ ing the prob­ lem in my brain or inner ear. Move­ ment is some­ thing I’m no ­ longer good at, and no ­ longer do with­ out care­ ful plan­ ning. So okay, Molly, I won’t move. Sud­ denly her voice is in my head. “Ear­ phones work?” I force my­ self not to nod, and risk a ­ shallow-breathed whis­ per. “Un­ less I’m hav­ ing aural hal­ lu­ ci­ na­ tions.” “Good. Now what kind of music do you like?” Like most peo­ ple, my head is often ­ filled with music. Broad­ way, 1950s rock, the pop croon­ ers, dance music. A ran­ dom word can trig­ ger a whole ­ string of mel­ ody and lyr­ ics, which ex­ plains why the song run­ ning ­ through my brain now, trig­ gered a mo­ ment ago by Molly say­ ing “don’t move,” is once again Reel 2 ­ Real’s 1994 hit “I Like to Move It.” It was a ­ sticky song—an ear­ worm—for me even be­ fore Bev­ erly and I ­ watched Ju­ li­ anne Hough and Apolo Anton Ono samba to it on Danc­ ing with the Stars. I like to move it, move it. I like to move it, move it. “Music?” “Yeah, we can play music ­ through your ear­ phones. Helps dis­ tract you. Some of the scans can be a lit­ tle noisy.” A lit­ tle noisy. I’ve had two brain MRIs be­ fore, ­ twenty years ago, and re­ mem­ ber feel­ ing like I was stuck in­ side a jack­ ham­ mer. With­ out think­ ing, and over­ rid­ ing the ­ crazed tune in my head, I tell Molly “the old stan­ dards.” That seems to con­ found her. ­ There’s a click in my ear­ phones, then si­ lence, then an­ other click. “Name a ­ singer you like.” I ­ didn’t think she’d know who ­ Vaughn Mon­ roe was. Or Matt Monro ei­ ther. “Well, how about Mi­ chael Bublé?” “That’ll work.” She re­ minds me about the ­ squeeze ball she ­ handed me to use if I need help, and ­ re-reminds me not to move. Then the table is slid­ ing back­ ward and I know ­ enough to close my eyes so I won’t have to see the tiny space where I’ll be spend­ ing the next ­ forty-five min­ utes. A Spinning World 142­ Molly’s view of me now: the pale blue paper ­ shorts I’ve been is­ sued, from which pro­ trude my legs and feet held ab­ so­ lutely still. Feel­ ing Good Goo­ gle the ­ phrase “MRI noise” and you find a range of de­ scrip­ tions: bang­ ing, beep­ ing, buzz­ ing, clang­ ing, click­ ing, grind­ ing, ham­ mer­ ing, knock­ ing, tap­ ping, whir­ ring. But the ad­ jec­ tive pre­ ced­ ing those de­ scrip­ tions is con­ sis­ tent: loud. And, for brain im­ ages, that loud noise is scant ­ inches from your ears. Ac­ cord­ ing to how­ stuff­ works.com...