I Have A Pretty Brain.

For those of you who just spewed coffee all over the screen, my apologies. That’s why there’s no print version of this blog: too much coffee on paper makes it useless. That and some of you would subscribe just to use it in the outhouse. I quail at that image, but it’s the truth.

Why would this face make anyone nervous?

Why would this face make anyone nervous?

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Why is my brain pretty? It’s obviously not the content, the picture above should disabuse you from that notion in a flash. I’m told it looks like one belonging to Abby Someone

As some of you may remember, I’ve been part of an ongoing study at the V.A. Medical Center for several years. They’re studying PTSD and Schizophrenia. They gave me a letter saying that I’m normal and they need me for a baseline. Some of you have suggested that it’s actually because I’m nuttier than a Snicker’s Bar. I’m on the fence.

Anywho, the joy of having long term research subjects is that you can mine that information, stack new tests on the old data, and have a pretty good idea of what’s working and what isn’t. With the testing, not me. I’m an enigma.

Last week I got back from the Athanatos Christian Arts Festival (see this space Thursday for more info) and proceeded to immerse myself in all things V.A. On day two, I was at the University of Minnesota for an M.R.I. study. Again, layered on top of the tests I’d previously taken.

We found out several important things during the study. (I consider myself a part of the research team, versus glorified lab-rat.) The first was that when you cram anything as big as me into the MRI tube, you should probably spray PAM over all the surfaces involved.

I’m not claustrophobic. But I surely understand that a bit better after the test. I was shoved in there so tight that my shoulders scraped the sides as the tray pushed into the tube. I didn’t really care, but I’m sure that’s a panic attack inducer for a lot of people. I was simply warm and cozy. And deaf. The earplugs you wear to protect your hearing block out most everything.

So, there I was, taking tests while they zapped my melon with magnetic waves. Or, so they told me. It could have been any kind of radiation and I’d be none the wiser. I managed to stay awake, think mild thoughts when so instructed. Prayed, actually. Seemed like a good time for it. Then I mashed buttons when that was the gig.

The test resulted in some very spectacular images. All of which were perfect. Active to the max, no tumors, good responses, and very pretty. That’s what the young lady running the machine said. As in, textbook.

Now take a second look at that picture above. Textbook what…

See you Thursday!

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