Had you ever had an MRI before? I found myself in a state of panic as I walked into the imaging room at a hospital standing face to face with that long, narrow, tight, MRI machine. It was too late to take sedation medicine, I would have needed thirty minutes before it kicked in and lost my place in line. My mind raced and heart beat 90 to nothing. Strapped down, the gurney began to move and I could feel a panic attack taking over as my body slowly disappeared inside the machine. I pumped that little bulb they gave me in case of an emergency like it was no tomorrow. The technician didn't move fast enough I started yelling for someone to get me out of there!
Oh ye of little faith. I felt like a fool sitting on the edge of the gurney hyperventilating my head off. The tech looked down at me and asked in a firm voice tinged with a little amusement, "You know it's a mind thing?" "What do you mean," I asked truly puzzled. "You can think that you are on vacation or you are being buried alive in that machine, it is what your mind say it is," she said matter of factly.
"You are only as weak or as strong as you think you are," I said. For a second I thought about the mind set of people that had survived horrific ordeals like slavery, the holocaust and p.o.w. situations. I'm going back in I told the tech, this time put a towel over my eyes. It seemed the machine totally and tightly wrapped around my body as I nervously prayed three Hail Mary's. Sweat trickled from my brow as my heart pounded and I labored to keep my breath steady in my tomb of technology.
Become what you fear a voice said from within. I fear suffocating I answered the voice. I thought about drowning and how much it scared me. I am under the water and there is no way out. I can't hold my breath any longer. I exhale and watch all the bubbles rush over my head. Then it happened. I inhaled. Air filled my nostrils. I am in control. What a surprise, I can control my thoughts. I am swimming under the ocean and it feels good. So good that I stretch out on the ocean floor and fall asleep. Soon I float to the surface of the water, squinting at the brightness of the sun as I reach the water's surface.
The test was over in a matter of minutes and the tech removed the towel from my eyes revealing the bright lights of the room. "Why are you getting me out so soon ," I asked? "It's over," she smiled at me. I had been in the machine and hour and fifteen minutes.
Have you ever lost faith in your ability to endure? How did you find it?