I had an MRI the other morning.
It was early. 7:30am.
The only people in the waiting area were me and, sitting across, a mom in her forties and her son, a wiry kid with glasses who looked to be about 11.
He was still in his pajamas, squished into the chair playing his Nintendo as his mom filled out her forms.
I guessed she had nobody else to watch him that early, so she dragged him down to play video games while she went in for her scan.
The tech came out, called my name and theirs. We all got up and followed him inside.
Walking down the hall, the kid asked how long it would be.
About an hour and a half, came the answer.
Well, that’s better than 2, said the mom.
The tech handed me a gown to change into and I entered my room.
Minutes later, I stepped out wrapped in hospital blue.
The boy was in the room next to mine.
His mom whispered to the tech.
“You don’t ask him anything about what’s on the forms, right?”
The tech looked at her. Confused. “Excuse me?”
Even more quietly…
“I don’t want him to know what he has.”
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