In the film Soylent Green, the world is an overpopulated dystopia. In one scene, actor Edward G. Robinson discovers an appalling secret and decides life isn't worth living. So he checks into the neighborhood suicide center. There he's given a lethal beverage, placed on a couch in a darkened room with his choice of classical music, and slowly dies.
That scene kept running through my head during the MRI. When the technician slid me into the machine, my head looked up at an array of lights and LED readouts, counting down, resetting, counting down again. Whirrs, clicks, extended buzzes sounded from the machine while the surface I rested on moved subtly forward and back. Throughout, I wore head phones pumping my ears full of New Age and World music: soothing Celtic tunes, steel drums, very relaxing. (They're going to kill me!)
But I survived just fine and now await word from the orthopedist. In the meantime, I'm meeting TNT chums on Monday at the pool. They train for a triathalon, while I train. But watery misery loves company, so it should be fun.
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