If you've never experienced an MRI, let me tell you: the machines are noisy. They look like a big doughnut, with a conveyor running through it. I know this for two reasons: 1) I've had one before and 2) I work for a b2b publishing company that pumps out a trade magazine on medical imaging products.
The noise is hard to describe. It's comical, in a fashion. Click. Click. Click. Bang. Bang. Bang. Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm. Whooooshhhhhh. Software. Software. Software. Software...
That's what it sounded like to me -- repeating the word software. Either the machine is odd. Or I am. An argument could be made either way.
I keep my eyes shut and count. I don't know why. I never get to a specific figure, because I usually begin anew somewhere during the count. It's just something to do.
Nothing invasive. Nothing painful. Just boring. But, the results were good. While Flopsie, as we all knew, had been compromised, Mopsie remained pure. Nothing in the left breast. And it appeared the right underarm area had also refused to get involved.
Short of hearing, "Oops, look at that! Talk about a gaffe -- there's no breast cancer at all. Our bad," this was as good a report that old Click Click Bang Bang Software Software could generate.
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