MRI is magnetic resonance imaging and it’s quite basically a giant and incredibly loud magnet. What MRI does is takes internal pictures of your body by aligning the hydrogen atoms in the water in the body to provide a contrast between tissues. This means that tumors, broken bones or other abnormalities can be detected. What it also means is that by setting the MRI for a brain scan you can study how the brain is responding to certain stimuli. Of course, research like this is invaluable. Being able to see what part of the brain is most responsive to word problems over math problems (to give a simple example) could be a step towards understanding how to communicate with people who’ve had brain injuries to these parts. I’m been considering becoming a MRI technician myself, and because I love all things brain, I was especially eager to participate in this study.
When I make it down to the MRI area, I’m asked to sit in a medium sized room and fill out a questionnaire. It asks me such varied questions as “Do you have a pacemaker?” to “Have you ever had an accident where metallic flecks have penetrated your eyes?” I stumble over the “Do you have tattoos or piercings?” question and my researcher Rachna gives me the day’s fun fact in that war era tattoos may have a metallic component. I am then asked to work on a series of syllogisms on a laptop. These are pretty basic philosophy of logic questions:
All animals are mortal.
All humans are animals.
John is a human.
John is mortal.
But instead of asking anything that could distract you into deep thought, they use made up words like ‘flobs’ and ‘scafs’ and therefore everything has a Dr. Seuss feel to it. When the statement is true, I’m to press the left button and when it’s false, I’m to press the right one. In addition, there are occasionally X’s on the screen. When those are blue, I press the left button, but when they’re any other color, I leave it alone. Mixed in with these questions, I am shown pictures of what look like one letter, repeated of sometimes Thai, sometimes Hebrew and sometimes Japanese, descending, ascending or going straight across. This appears and then a moment later another image appears and if I think that they went in the same direction, I press the left button, but if not, the right. There are similar questions where I am shown one group of dots, it disappears and then another and I am to figure out which image had more dots. All these questions by themselves are very easy, but when you switch back and forth, it gets quite challenging, not knowing what to expect. After I ask (for the second time) if my dental crowns are MRI safe (they are), I am given a pair of scrubs to change into and asked to wait while the last person is finishing up.
I’m told that I’m more than welcome to use the computer but I don’t because I’m worried that it’ll be another layer of the study and that I’ll be barred from future studies because of some inane Facebook activity. I also notice a camera in the corner of the wall and after giving in a smile and a wink I study the room. It’s comfortable and cozy and something about it feels strangely familiar but it isn’t until I notice the gaily colorful carpet that I realize that this room has the exact same Ikea furniture as my own front room, albeit in leather instead of fabric.
After about twenty minutes of waiting, Rachna comes in and asks me to follow her to the MRI room. So, in scrubs, without the comfort of my bra, engagement ring or shoes, I follow her. The MRI technician is a tall Eastern European man with thinning hair and fashionable glasses. He has an assistant who might be Latino but who doesn’t say anything. The sociologist in me begins to wonder how many people in the sciences, in universities in the United States are foreign born and what this might mean for the American future.
The MRI room is spacious with comfortable lighting, but I begin to have second thoughts when I am asked to lay down on the bed that will eventually slide me into the magnet. My legs are on a sort of pillow that keeps them elevated and my head is on a flatter pillow and smaller pieces of something that looks like Styrofoam are packed around my neck so that I can’t move. My heart starts pounding and my hands start sweating as soon as I hear the platform rise and begin to slide me into the giant magnet. I’m given a rubber ball that I am to squeeze in case of an emergency and a remote with two buttons to answer more questions. My mother had to take an MRI years ago and hated it, but my best friend had to take one recently and loved it because it made her feel like an astronaut. I, unfortunately take after my mother.
Even with headphones on that are used to communicate with the researcher, the sound that the MRI emits is fast, high pitched and furious and makes me think of a bomb about to explode. With the use of a few mirrors, I can see the laptop of the researcher behind me while I’m in the machine. The point of this is to see what my brain is doing when I’m answering these types of questions, but I can’t help but think that I’m skewing the results. For one, I’m terrified. I’ve never thought of myself as claustrophobia before, but being in this small machine with my head packed in so tightly, I can’t help but think of the worst. If I were to vomit, I would choke on it, being unable to move my head. If I were to sneeze, I would undoubtedly smack my face into the surface of glass, breaking my nose. I also can’t help but to think that if I were to have a seizure right now (for the first time ever in my life) I would throw my head back into and against the restraints, thus breaking my neck and either killing or crippling myself. They probably even know this and that exact scenario was in the form I signed and I have thus waived all my legal rights. Even the idea that there might be a fire and I’d be stuck in here crosses my mind. In short, if they were looking for a picture of how my minds energy was focused when it was answering syllogisms, what they got was probably more about how my brain looked under stress and packed with fear.
Later on, after I’ve calmed down and my arm has fallen asleep, they are probably receiving a picture of what my brain looks like when it’s bored. I try to focus all of my energy on the tests, but having just completed them on the laptop beforehand, I know my way around them enough to let my mind wander. I think of a movie where a woman gets left at the altar, I think of different scenes from different TV shows. I wonder what people at work would think if they knew that I spent Super Bowl Sunday in a Neuroscience lab.
I make it through about 90% of the test, retaining dignity and sanity when in the last section of syllogisms which are also spoken aloud, the tape begins to play the wrong number, inserting completely different names and the entire effect is disorienting. There is already a steady vibration that goes along with MRI, so this; in combination with seeing one name and hearing another begins to make me feel very sick. When the researchers voice comes through the headphones and tells me that it’s just two more tests, I no longer care about getting them right or wrong, or even trying to concentrate so that the researchers get the information that they need, I just want so badly to get out of the machine.
Recently I have decided that I want to seek a career in something medical, although I don’t know what yet. I’ve been considering MRI technologies because of my fascination with brains, and I had intended to attempt to stay a little longer to ask some questions, or if possible (and I was really, really had my heart set on this) even have a print out of my brain scan. By the time I get out of the machine, however, I feel so awful that I head straight to the changing room, putting my head in my hands for several minutes before I’m well enough to change back into my clothes. My sympathy goes out to people who actually have to take MRI’s, whose ability to sit in that machine is literally a matter of life and death. Interestingly, my uncomfortable experience doesn’t sour me on the idea of being an MRI technician, but somehow makes it more reasonable. I like the idea of looking into a patient’s frightened face and telling them that I know how much this sucks, but that everything is going to be OK.
