Damp sense of humor

I am no friend to small spaces. I don't like the feeling of close, the press of near, the stranglehold of tight. I don't mind a large group of people, say in a mosh pit at a great rock concert, but put me in a phone booth and watch me flush and fluster my way out the door. So it was with great consternation that I learned my doctor wanted a complete MRI before my surgery next week.

Fuck.

In case you are not familiar with this type of medical testing, it is done while lying down, in a tube. In a tube. A TUBE! Dammit all to hell.

I had to talk to myself about the procedure for two days before my appointment. No iPod. No book. No music. No one in the room. No talking, except to hear the technician monotonously intoning, "breathe in, hold it... relax." I believed that using deep breathing exercises learned through years of yoga, and singing the same song over and over again, would be my best defense.

The day arrived. I wore comfy clothes. I was ready.

The first mishap occured when they tried to strap me to the table. Umm... no. I said no, no, no. I cannot have my arms trapped. Ok, no problem, they replied. Just keep them at your side.

The table starts sliding into the tube. Wait, wait! I need something over my eyes. If I can see the proximity of the tube to my head, I can't breath. No worries, they said. How about a nice soft blindfold. Perfect. (Now I'm reminded of my last wedding anniversary, but that's another story.)

Table slides in, the machine starts clicking, and surprisingly, I'm still alive. Singing softly to myself between breaths. Is there a line to write that could make you cry tonight, Can you feel the same, Yeah ya gotta love the pain..

Suddenly, I had to pee. It was a need in that sudden, urgent way that prepossess any other thoughts at the time, redirecting the mind to immediately finding the nearest outlet.

Unfortunately, after having a kid, this kind of sensation can be a cause for alarm. Typically when I feel that sudden need, I have this awkward stance that I assume to hold the pee at bay. It involves crossing one leg in front of the other, squeezing my thighs, cocking my hip to the right side and the rapid use of kegel excercises, followed by a rush to the restroom.

I pulled my right leg up, attempt to cross my left. Blocked by the tube. I could feel the panic set in.

Wait. Breathe. Sing. Squeeze thighs.

Shit, I forgot to hold my breath. The tech rumbles in my ears, "Sorry, we'll have to take that set again since you moved."

"I have to use the restroom!" No response.

"I have a rivulet of pee running down my leg." Still no response.

"Fine, I'll piss this table and you can clean it up." Nothing.

"Are you there, God? It's me, MARGARET!"

"I'm sorry, did you say something, Mrs. C...?"

"Um, yeah, I really have to use the restroom."

"I'm sorry, you'll have to wait. At this point, the dye in your blood is only available for a short time. We'd have to start all over again if you get up now."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Ok, I'll hold it (or attempt to)."

I squeezed. Sang. Squeezed again. The machine clicked.

Finally, I was done. The table rolled out of the tube. I was untethered, sat up and a sense of great relief flooded through me. I relaxed.

Suddenly, a bit of warmth bloomed between my legs. I was so relieved at being done, I forgot that sudden urgent need to pee. Unfortunately, my body didn't and I started to pee my pants.

I sprinted for the restroom, skidded to the stool, ripping open my jeans barely in time. But it was already there, that half-dollar dollop of wetness on the seam of my jeans. That subtle reminder that wherever God is at the moment, he is laughing his ass off.