It was time to be measured. Or rather, to have my tumor measured. Just a routine MRI albeit one with contrast (ew).
“Headphones with music or earplugs?” Carlos the tech asked.
“Headphones today, I think,” I said before adding, “but nothing too loud because I will definitely doze. Lite FM?”
Somehow I didn’t care about sounding like an old, old lady.
“You got it.”
Once all of the adjustments had been made, Carlos popped some giant headphones over my ears and pushed me into the tube.
The first song? Only one of the world’s worst songs.
It’s well-established that I loathe Train.
I was spared from Pitbull audio abuse only by virtue of the soft rock format. THANK GOODNESS.
Now I wait to see the doctor (October, darn it!). I’ll let you know but assume that the freeloader in my arm is still 8 cm.