In the Arms of Love

The MRI machine is two inches from my nose. I go cross-eyed trying to focus on the 3x 5 lights implanted in the machine ceiling. My arms are not only pinned awkwardly to my sides but pinching my skin on the moving walls on the side away from my body. "Now get comfortable and lay very still," comes the technician's voice over the LOUD speaker. RIGHT, I am thinking sarcastically. Next come the hammers. Clunk, clunk, pound, move clunk, clunk, pound, move, over and over again. Silence, I release the breath I didn't know I was holding. Rat-a-tat, tat, tat,tat, the jack hammers have proceeded to assault both my ears at once. These tiny orange sponge ear plugs are about as useless as bridal veil in keeping the sound out. My fingers are twitching and my big toes on both feet are trying to escape the LOUD, too-fast-to-be-music, rhythm.

My mind is tossing up pictures of miners trapped in underground caves, of victims of Haiti's earthquake unable to move because of crushing rock. I feel panic rising into my throat. I have to get control of this. For me it's only 20 or so minutes, I will survive the experience.

I force my thinking into times when being held this tightly felt better. The times when I was in the arms of love. Probably as a baby bound in a receiving blanket I surmise. Or when I skinned my knee and was held in comfort while I cried. Or those times I sat on the rug when my mother's family gathered at Grandma's house to share the weeks news with each other. I felt so comforted being seen but not heard. Letting the white noise of sisters sing-songy talking lull me into light but restful sleep. And now I'm remembering Sunday afternoons in winter, my children playing together or separately on the living room carpet, my husband in a chair across the room, me swaying in sleepiness on the couch. In the arms of love.


Rat-a-tat, tat, tat, tat, back to the moment. It's still going on. Did the technician forget me? Does anyone know I'm here and I can't move, can barely breathe? How long has it been; am I almost finished. I have to lead myself back to mind meditation, my only saving grace to not going all claustrophobic and panicky.

OK, God, come on speak to me. Yours are the arms of love I need right now. You've promised everywhere I am YOU are there. Come on in I'll make room for you. The rocking motion of the MRI is changing positions, I can imagine that is YOU God. Moving me gently in your arms to bring the rhythm back to a lullaby instead of unplugged RAP. Ahh, yes. That's better. I sigh, peace returns, my fingers and toes noticeably relax. We talk awhile YOU and I, I almost drift into that seen but not heard memory again. And then the words I've been waiting for. "You're all finished, Bonney!" Hallelujah the angels are lifting me out of the tomb that started as a womb, into a room where light steps away from my face toward the windows and the noise has gone on break.

Dreamily the arms of love walk me out to my car and we ride the freeway home.