even on the best of days, 30 minutes of jack hammer and night club noises with your head velcroed into a brace in the "tunnel of love" mri, is no picnic. i am sure my alter ego is a super hero, capable of zen-like peace in the tunnel, for days on end, rich pastoral images floating past her in the style of The English Patient. "Can I stay longer?" she asks. "Did you get what you needed?" she enquires. She looks over at me. "Is it me or is there a lack of air in this thing?" I say.
Hell, no! She is an oxygen-machine, activated upon entry into the tunnel, capable of providing top grade, rain forest clean O2 for an entire village in Peru. I look at her, out of the corner of my eye, with a smirk. You win!
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