Normally, following my morning martial arts (fighting with wooden poles, in a friendly way), I’d spend the following hour or so playing tennis. But not today. As a ‘one off’ hopefully, and not ‘the shape of things to come’, I instead spent 75 minutes inside an MRI scanner. Nice there. Listened to LBC. Almost drowned out by the whizz and whir and thumping of the machine in which I had taken temporary residence.

I have a bit of a history with MRI. The first time I went inside one I lasted 24 seconds before demanding release. The next time I opted for an ‘open’ version. Which is only as ‘open’ as it needs to be to satisfy the trades description act. In practical terms for any claustrophobic, its the same shit writ different. But I survived it. With only minor panic attacks, not much worse than I endure in every Spurs match.

But today’s was a fucking marathon. Anyone can sprint. And I survived the longest time anyone’s ever spent inside a metal box because the scan was for my hip, and my spine, the parts of which live way below my eyes so I was just kind’a peeking out the end. Which satisfies the enzyme which suppresses my fear of enclosed spaces.

Then I got numbness in my arm. Fingers went numb. Numb and number. I’ve never been very good at keeping still and now I know why. It’s horrible. Blood stops flowing. Everything starts itching. But you’re not supposed to move. So I worked out that minor movements of hand and arm would NOT interfere with photos of my spine and hip, if I did them very carefully and in isolation. Everything we do in Tai Chi is done with the whole body. You pick your nose using your hips. Scratch your arse by rotating your shoulders and shifting your weight from one leg to the other. But not in an MRI. You dissociate your limbs. You unplug your whole-bodiness completely and move NOTHING above the elbow. That way the nurse/doctor/radiographer/Philippino geezer, doesn’t keep shouting at you in the headphones.

He did ask at one point “you go’ pins’n’needle?” FUCK YES!!! “Dat normal, iss ok”.

NO, ITS NOT OK, I’m about to get gangrene in my right arm due to lack of blood supply, there’s nothing ‘ok’ about it. Fucker! Which came out as ‘oh, thank you’.

And the result is…

No idea. Someone has to analyse the photos and then I need to go and get a verdict. Which I kind’a know. Tennis fucks up the soft tissue in my right hip. So I’ll continue to ignore all advice of a ‘rest it’ kind of nature and play on til I die. And enjoy the ride.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx