I Never Thought To Ask

I had an MRI scan last week. 

MRIs are part of my life. 

An active imagination is also part of my life. 

The two are not a great combination. 

I’ve had at least 30 MRIs over the years.  

Sometimes, a mirror is attached to the head brace I wear during the scan, to enable me to see out into the room. In actuality, it generally means I can see my feet.  

Two hours of contemplating my toenails. 

Once, beyond my feet, I saw the radiographers behind a window (they’re not in the room with the scanner). They were eating sweets. And they did not offer me one.  

Two hours watching people eat so-near-yet-so-far sweets. 

More often, in my experience, there will be no mirror. I can see the top of the machine through the gap in the head brace, inches from my face.  

And that’s it. 

I sing to myself a bit, I think, I pray….time goes on. 

Usually at some point, I will become convinced that the world has ended, there is just me left, the radiographers have gone AWOL, and it’s up to me to work out how to slither out of the tube-like machine that is encasing me. 

Just after that point, the scan tends to be over, the very much not AWOL radiographers pulling me out of the machine. 

Last week, I asked my radiographer – Mustafa – a question I’ve never thought to ask before: 

“What will you be doing while I’m in the scan?” 

I’ve always assumed that, once the scan is in process – when ‘play’ has been pressed – the radiographer can just relax with a cup of tea (and sweets). Perhaps glancing every now and then at me/my scan on the computer screen. Maybe even leaving the room. 

Mustafa answered, “I’ll be working the scan. Eyes on you all the time. Don’t worry.” 

“I’ll be working the scan.” 

I’ll be aware of everything that happens to you. 

“Eyes on you all the time.” 

I won’t look away. 

“Don’t worry.” 

During the MRI last week, I did not become convinced that I was the only one left in the world. 

I did not assume Mustafa had gone AWOL.  

Because I knew what he’d be doing. 

I knew, because I’d asked. 

Why, in all the thirty-odd scans, have I never asked? 

I never thought to ask. 

Which is a shame, really; I’d have saved my imagination a lot of aggro. 

What about with God? Do I – do we – ask Him? 

What will You be doing while I’m in the scan, or at work, or going through a tough time, or cooking dinner, or driving, or……? 

“What will You be doing, God?” 

“I’ll be working the (e.g.) scan.” 

I’ll be aware of everything that happens to you. (Psalm 139) 

“Eyes on you all the time.” 

I won’t look away. (2 Chronicles 16:9a) 

“Don’t worry.”