Square Peg in a Round Hole

That is the best description I can come up with for my experience this afternoon.  I have had off and on pain in my neck for a few years now.  My dad has a history of neck issues and has had surgery to correct bulging discs, so I wanted to get things checked out to be on the safe side.  About a month ago I called and made an appointment with a neurologist.  I met with him two weeks ago and he ordered an MRI.  I went in this afternoon to have this done and will meet with him tomorrow to get the results.  No big deal, right?  HA.... Little did I know.  I thought I would show up, lay down, have them do a quick scan of my neck and be on my merry way, but as most things turn out for me, what I expected was not at all what happened.  First of all, I was escorted by a nurse back to a small room where she instructed me to get undressed.  "Uhmmm, hold up. I am here for an MRI.  I think you have the wrong person."  Before I could say this, she handed me a pair of scrubs to put on and then told me to leave all of my belongings in the locker and then take a seat in the maroon wheelchair at the end of the hallway.  "Again, I am here to have an MRI.  Is there a reason why I would need to be seated in a wheelchair?"  I followed her instructions and took my seat in the wheelchair and waited for the technician to come get me.  While I was sitting there I started thinking, "She did tell me to take my bra off, right?  Why are there needles on this table next to me?  Have these scrubs been washed?"  Terry, the technician, comes out and informs me that my doctor has ordered some of the scans to be done with contrast, so she will need to give me an IV.  "For the love!  I am here to have an MRI.  Why didn't someone inform me that I would have to strip down, put on questionable scrubs, and then get a needle jabbed in my arm?"  I am 30 years old.  I am 6 feet tall.  I ain't no tiny girl, but when it comes to needles I suddenly convert to a 3 year old.  So far, this whole breeze in, lay down, breeze out plan of mine was not happening.  Terry finishes jabbing me and leads me into the room with the previously mentioned "round hole" that the "square peg" (otherwise known as my 6 foot body) would soon be rammed into, kind of like a cannonball.  Terry ushers me over to the table and tells me to lay down on my back.  She then informs me that the machine is quite loud and gives me some earplugs to wear.  She puts some cushions on either side of my head to hold it in place and then tells me that when I hear the machine running the scans I need to try not to swallow, clear my throat, or move at all.  "Uhm, okay.  Hey, Terry, you're kinda starting to freak me out a little."  Breathe in, breathe out.  Then she places a metal shield over my face (which of course in my mind looks like the mask Hannibal Lecter is forced to wear) and then tells me she is going to slide me into the machine.  First she hooks a chord to my questionable scrub pants and tells me that if at any time I think I need out I just have to push the button.  She slides the table in (and by slides, I mean rams Spongebob Square Merts into the cannon).  As she is pushing (ramming) me in, she casually informs me that my arms will be touching the side of the machine (cannon).  I open my eyes to see the top of the machine roughly .002 mm from my face.  I am pretty sure I could have kissed it had it not been for my Hannibal mask.  I hear the machine cut on and give it about 3 seconds before I begin frantically pushing my "emergency evacuation" button.  I break out in a sweat and feel like if Terry doesn't get me out of the cannon stat I am going to suffocate.  Terry comes over the speaker and asks if I'm okay.  "Uhm, NO!  No, I am most certainly not okay."  She pulls me out and removes my Hannibal mask.  I gulp air and begin to plan my escape, but Terry is not willing to let me go without a fight.  She finally convinces me that I can do it.  She turns on a fan at the other end of the machine and gets me set to go back into the cannon.  I take deep breaths and then declare that I can do this.  It is 22 minutes.  I can do it.  I squeeze my eyes shut and she slides (rams) me back in.  About halfway through I squint out of one eye and quickly realize that the key to my successful MRI is keeping my eyes closed.  And the next thing I know, it's over.  Terry comes in and pulls me out of the cannon, yanks the tape off my arm, slides the IV out, and sends me back to my changing room.  I get changed  and stagger out of the office wondering what Terry might be blogging about tonight.