In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Proud.”
I have always had a tendancy to dislike being confined or in a small space, but not full blown claustrophobia. So when the specialist said I needed an MRI scan I must admit I was scared.
My wife and I attended a long explanatory session with the radiologist who showed me the long, narrow tube in which I would be confined, motionless for about an hour. At least there was no ban on alcohol and they promised me some tranquilisers. But come the day I was shaking like mad.
They wanted to examine my chest and my lower stomach so I was totally trapped in the ghastly magnetic resonance imaging machine. As it started the whole thing made a terrible noise and I was petrified not knowing how I was going to last an hour in it.
When it was all over and I was restored to the real world, my darling wife hugged me and said,
“How on earth did you manage it, I’m so proud of you!” How was I going to tell her the machine broke down and we had to go back the following week!