Wishing well

Bit weird to think of an MRI as a wishing well isn't it?

A clangy-bangy tube of claustrophobia, I understand - although my hospital has started putting small mirrors in the machine to help you see out - and sometimes, unnervingly, your own face. 

But wishing well? Perhaps not the first thing springs to mind.

Nevertheless, it's the comparison that keeps popping into my head as my next (and umpteenth) appointment with the machine is this afternoon.

Only instead of loose change, it'll be me delivered into the magnetised well to make my own wishes for oooh, a good hour or so.

And I will be wishing. Wishing that:

• that whatever is found impacts as little as possible on my family
• that the new lesions that I'm sure I have will help determine what drugs are next (while being immensely grateful those drugs are available to me)
• that all the research is getting us closer to a cure
• that everyone affected by this stupid disease has access to the support they need to live their lives as well as possible

Outside of the MRI we can put on a brave face and a happy smile. We can keep calm and carry on because there really is no other option.

But inside it, there's just us and some motionless time to think about why we've been put into that tube in the first place.

To consider how our lives might have been different if only we'd not woken one day to find we couldn't see out of one eye, or couldn't feel our feet or couldn't find the words we used to know.

How we've sacrificed some of the things we might have wanted, how we've reset and redrawn our parameters and how we may have lost friends, family, workplaces or opportunities.

I'm pretty sure MRIs have seen their fair share of confessions, of negotiations, of whispered prayers and of silent tears.

And I'm equally sure that they have seen quiet resolve, internal pep talks, gallows humour and stiff upper lips.

I know I have wished for just a bit more time, for just a few less symptoms, for the chance to make the best of what I have.

I've also asked for help to keep finding the strength to cope. 

I can't always see it but I know that strength is in there somewhere. And I really should learn to realise that I can be proud of that.
Maybe the enclosed tube with its teeny, tiny mirror is the best time to reflect on that.

So wish me well. This afternoon, I will be my listening to some very loud magnets while hoping to also hear the sound of my own pennies dropping.

:: Wishing well by Terence Trent D'Arby