The Tale of the MRI

As a poor almost-graduated student working a variety of part-time jobs, when I heard about the subject studies list for the psychology department here at my university, I thought it was wise to sign right up. I've participated in one study already, and earned 20 dollars an hour for my efforts. A few weeks ago I received another phone call, this time for a study in which I would perform a few memory tasks while in an MRI machine. This one would be 3-4 hours and pay 25 dollars an hour. It sounded like a great solution to at least a few of my monetary worries.

As per the instructions, yesterday I forewent my daily caffeine, wore a wireless bra, and showed up to the MRI in comfortable clothing. After listening to and reading a variety of warnings and privacy information for about half an hour I signed that I was giving permission to be used in this study.

The building was freezing cold. I was greatful to have thought to bring a sweater, I thought, as I walked into the room with the MRI. The machine looked interesting, not very imposing. I was intellectually intrigued with the thought of participating in these two experiments, and also excited about having an MRI, since I had never had one before.

The two nice young men who were running the experiment asked me to lay down on the machine's table. I complied, shivering slightly. They began to position my body, asking me to move an inch to the left, an inch lower, and put a freezing bolster pillow under my naked legs.

"You did promise me a blanket?" I urgently reminded.

"Of course," they said, "Just a minute."

Because the MRI machine can be incredibly loud, they gave me a pair of earplugs, which they instructed me to put in my ears right away despite the fact that they would not leave me alone in the room and start the machine for another ten minutes. This produced a slightly disturbing effect in which they continued to give me warnings and directions as I was lying almost deaf on the MRI table. After the earplugs came a huge pair of 1970s looking headphones in which I was supposed to hear instructions for the experiments, and an attached mouthpiece that would allow me to communicate answers.

Once the headphones were in place, they put the blanket on my goose-pimpled legs, and began tucking it around my body. Soon they were bringing out other pieces of cloth, much like small towels, and packing them around my head. "I feel like I'm being packed for burial," I remarked. This feeling should have probably tipped me off that this was not a good perception to be having outside of the machine. A piece of tape was placed across my head to help me to remember to stay still for the MRI.

The piece de resistance was a plastic dome fitted with a mirror that they placed over my head. The mirror was angled so that I could see a screen inside the machine. So far, so good. I felt a little constrained, with all the packing and gear around my head, and with the dome which was surrounded my entire head and was not six inches away from my face, but I was okay. They told me to roll my shoulders in a little as the machine moved me inside. I was told that my entire body would not be in the machine, mostly my torso. They left the room as the table moved slowly into place.

Inside the machine I could hear each beat of my heart, and it was moving almost faster as I could count. Over the headphones they asked me, "Can you hear okay?"

"Umm, yes." I said. I took a deep breath. I can do this. I'm not claustrophobic. I've never been claustrophobic. I need this money. All I have to do is lay here. I'll be just fine.

"All right- take a minute to get into a comfortable position," one of the young men said. "You're going to be there for three hours."

I tried to take another deep breath. Three freaking hours? Three hours and I don't have enough room to sit up? I can't move, and I'm packed in handtowels with this plastic thing enveloping my head? "I don't think I can handle this," I said as calmly as I could.

"Are you sure?" They asked. "Do you want to come out now, or would you like to stay inside for a few minutes to see if you can do it?"

I couldn't even form coherent thoughts to answer the question. I could only continue to take rapid, shallow breaths as I heard my heart race. The only thing I wanted to do was to sit up.

"We're getting you out," the voice said.

They came in and let me out of the machine. I felt humiliated and poor. I needed the money. It was supposed to be easy money. I will have to work at blockbuster for almost 11 hours to make up for the same amount of money. All I had to do was lie still.

The young men tried to make me feel better. "This happens to about one in ten subjects," they said. "And this is a small machine. The one next door is bigger, and we've had people have four or five scans in it who haven't been able to handle a scan in here."

I smiled weakly. I went home.