When people have talked about having an MRI, I have sometimes joked that “they” would need to hit me over the head to get me into an MRI machine.

A couple of weeks ago, I got hit over the head. I was at a breakfast meeting when the vision in the lower half of my right eye went dark. I felt odd. It passed in a minute or so (probably less), but I had lost my appetite and was ready to go home.

I had a doctor’s appointment already scheduled for that afternoon with a brand-new PCP, so I told him about my experience. His mind went immediately to a stroke, and he asked me a series of questions.

“Did you experience weakness?”

“No.”

“Did you experience confusion?”

“No.”

‘Was your speech slurred?”

“No.”

Based on that exchange, he referred me to an ophthalmologist … and scheduled an MRI.

For the past fifteen years, I have been seriously claustrophobic.

When I was younger, I had no fear of being enclosed in small places. I rather liked it. So, I don’t know what happened to change that, but it changed. The first time I experienced it I was on an airplane that had already landed and stopped at the gate. People got up – I wasn’t in the aisle seat, so I stayed where I was – but no one moved for about twenty minutes. I don’t know why they didn’t open the door, but I began to breathe hard. I looked for a way out. I wondered how many people I would need to knock over to get to the door. (I was near the back of the plane). I was having a panic attack, though I didn’t know it.

A few years ago, I had another panic attack. I was in the back of a 15-passenger van in Tijuana, Mexico. I took the back seat to be polite, to let other people have the nicer spots. But then 17 people clambered aboard. When the driver parked and got out (“I’ll just be a minute”) and didn’t come back for fifteen minutes, I had another panic attack. I quoted Bible verses for most of those fifteen minutes, while a voice in the background of my mind kept saying, “You’ve got to get out of here.”

And today, I have an MRI on my brain. Which not only means getting stuck in the tube, but being locked in a helmet. I’ve always heard that bravery is not the absence of fear but doing what needs to be done even when you are afraid. Today, I’ll find out how brave I am.

I’ve declined taking a pill to calm me. I have other things going on today and cannot afford to be loopy. I intend to pray in the MRI machine, quote verses, and praise God.

I’d almost forgotten: the test is happening because something is wrong in me. I suppose that is the serious thing, but I’ll think about that later. For now, “Each day has enough trouble of its own.”