 - Last login: 4 hours agoMucky
- Jeremiah Scrindleplum is a 41 year old guy in a relationship from Shaving A Beard, England, UK.
- Likes 5,037 pages, 584 videos, 159 photos • 166 fans • Received 63 reviews
- Member since Jul 23, 2006
Goes bright red after being in the sun for 30 seconds and then fades to white. Irish and Welsh ancestry: I wasn't designed to be exposed to the sun. The picture is me in an intemperate moment...
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So, I've been having this problem with my hip... yes, I'm just not cool and trendy any more...
Not that I ever was, you understand. Well... maybe for five minutes in the summer of 1982, whilst listening to "The Smiths", being depressed and dressed in black with pierced ears, inside an adolescent bedroom locked against invading sisters.
Bloody ears swelled up (nothing to do with the music, I think). Doctor had to remove the earrings. Never had anything else pierced.
Drifting back to the point...
On Saturday, went for an MRI scan accompanied by Friend. Hung around in the waiting room for a while, wondering why "Shooting Monthly" appeared to be the only magazine available to pass the time.
A nurse approached and escorted me outside, leaving Friend in the waiting room ("he'll be half an hour-ish") through the car park, to a large trailer, and up some rickety metal steps into a small room filled with two nurses, two computers, and myself.
"Pop through that door please, take off your trousers, and put the gown on so that it opens at the back, then lie down on the bench".
"OK..."
I'm greeted by a large cylinder, some six feet long, just big enough to get a corpse, erm I mean a body, inside.
I get undressed and lie on the bench. Then I get up, put the gown on, and then lie back down again...
The nurse knocks on the door, and enters, fiddles with a few knobs and causes the bench to rise.
She then ties my ankles together and gives me a squeezy rubber panic button to use in the event of "an emergency", and places a weighty padded matting over the area to be scanned.
(An emergency? What emergency? And what's that mat doing over my groin?)
"Put these headphones on please. It deadens the noise. I can play some music if you want?"
(Noise? What noise?)
"Yes, please. Thanks".
Nurse leaves the room and the bench rises further and begins to slide into the middle of the cylinder, so my head is protruding out the other side.
Then the opera music begins...
"Is that OK, sir?", she says through an intercom system built into the headphones.
"Yes", I say politely, "that's fine".
"Right, we're going to do six scans. Each takes around two minutes".
Thirty seconds later the noise starts, kind of like having a cross between a pneumatic drill and a machine gun go off next to your ears... all the while being faintly masked by indistinguishable opera music.
Which then begins to skip and gets stuck, playing the same section of music every five seconds or so.
They don't notice. Is this what they mean by an emergency? I think not... best lie back and think of England.
Being a man, thoughts eventually drift around to sex (after about three minutes) which has an undesirable side effect best left to the imagination - or best left OUT of the imagination...
Thinks: "Oh hell, will this affect the scan?! What if it moves the matting..." (as if...)
In situations like this, lying in a large electromagnet listening to a stuck opera CD and being assaulted by sounds of pneumatic drills and machine guns, whilst attempting to lift a heavy object using the power of the force, I always wish I'd listened to what my Father said...
And that's it of course, the magic thought at any age. Thank God for parents...
And then the sounds stop as the bench moves outside the cylinder again; the juddering opera is interrupted by a voice: "That's it now Sir, all over".
The nurse comes in, removes the immovable, unties my ankles, leaves the room, I get dressed, and am escorted back to the waiting room, hoping Friend hasn't had any ideas from reading the "Shooting Monthly" that she looks up from when I enter.
"How did it go?" she asks.
"Oh, fine..."
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