“Isaac… Isaac… Can you hear me?”
Anyone who’s played Deadspace 2 remembers this opening scene. If you don’t already have this nightmare burned into your memory, do so now. See what I mean? Terri-fucking-fying. So really it’s pretty rational that I would have an intense phobia of being restrained, especially in an area where I could easily get lost.
Like in a hospital.
In an MRI machine…
Due to my head injury, I’ve been in the magnet tube far too many times. When talking to Shauna (my new, new therapist) I asked if they made small MRI machines that they can stick just my hand in. “No, unfortunately not.” I asked her how the hell they do MRI’s on gerbils then. “I don’t think they do.” She asks me what scares me about it.
“I feel like those freaky ass alien monsters from Dead Space and going to come out of the ceiling and kill the radiology staff and I’ll be trapped in the MRI forever to die a slow, claustrophobic death.”
“Well I don’t think that’s going to be the case.”
“You’re right. Necromorphs leave no stone unturned. They’d kill my ass to turn me into one of their own.” Pretty sure she wrote an order to have the radiologists put me in a straight jacket at this point.
I wasn’t able to take a Valium before the MRI since I’d driven myself in, so I had to go in raw. Let’s be honest though, you don’t want benzos in you when you’re clearly going to need to run for your life. The radiologist was kind enough to offer me headphones, though. When asked what I’d like to listen to, I told him anything but the Deadspace soundtrack. “Huh?” Nevermind… Got any Big Band?
THING IS… I’d forgotten about the Fallout 3 soundtrack. You know, with that that 30’s hit from the Ink Spots? “I don’t want to set the world on fire” starts singing at me through the oversized headphones, and I feel my heart sink. All the while the machine is brr brr brr brr brr drilling in my head like a SWS Motorized Pulse Rifle and I’m keeping my ears open for Sentry Bots or for the Raiders that obviously disguised themselves as radiologists. Fortunately I made it out of there with minimal causalities and only slightly more crippled than I came in as.
Good thing too, because let’s face it– this is not the last picture I want taken of me alive…
Angela of Introaverted
1991 – 2016
Killed by a Bloatfly