I spent a great deal of my youth having various parts of my anatomy x-rayed. There were a few years in the late 80’s where I pretty much glowed in the dark. However, I’m now deeply into that chronological land where conversations with medical professionals all begin with the phrase, “Well, as we get older…”
I’m not sure if it’s because all my hard tissues have now turned to soft tissue, or because the doctors are simply aware that I can now afford more expensive tests, but in my pre-AARP years I’m finding I’m being stuffed into tubes for MRI scans at regular intervals. And each test involves the same goofy set of safety questions that you have to answer. These span from obvious ones about body piercings, implants, and pacemakers, to the less obvious questions about working with metal or grinding tools. But today I got caught with a question I don’t recall answering before.
Do you have any bullets or shrapnel in your body?
To which I responded,
No ma’am, I’ve never even been hunting with the Vice President.
The girl on the phone gamely headed directly into the next question without skipping a beat. She was about half way through when the time-delay kicked in. She began to laugh, but you could tell she was trying to suppress it. She got the last question out, and then paused to compose herself before taking me through the test-day instructions. She didn’t make it.
My work here is done…