How I Time Traveled During My Husband’s MRI
A freezing cold room led me to the 1980s
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As my husband walked into the scan room, I waited to be told “No acompañera,” but instead, I was led into the cold, dark room.
I wouldn’t normally go to the doctor with my husband unless it was life or death, but my Spanish is better than his, so I went as a translator to make certain they scanned his back versus removing a kidney.
I didn’t expect to go into the scan with him.
I was told to leave my purse, watch, and jewelry in his locker because it’s a magnetic test. I’m aware, nice lady, but it was nice to have the confirmation.
As he entered the chamber and was slid under the dome, I was directed to a hard plastic chair in the corner, where I sat and my journey began.
The tech gave him a few instructions, which I translated, covered him with a blanket, and left the room.
Damn, it’s freezing in here, where’s my blanket?
I scanned the room looking for another blanket but found none. Then my thoughts continued.
My phone is in my purse. What the hell am I going to do in here for 45 minutes?
His test started, then stopped. The tech came in, readjusted him, and left again.
Damn, I should’ve asked for a blanket.
I covered my arms with my hands in my best attempt at blanket hands, but it didn’t help.
Still freezing.
The machines here in our Guatemalan town are older models from the US. Not the new-fangled, high-tech kind that are silent and come with your choice of music and light show like a mini getaway to Studio 54. These are loud, clunky, head-banging, noisy things that sound more like what I envision an alien abduction/anal probe to sound like.
As the test began, I stared at my husband’s feet.
His socks are dirty, but I bet his feet are warm. I wish I had a coat.
As the clunking, buzzing, and thumping continued, I looked around the room, scanning for anything interesting to occupy my time.
I was immediately bored.
I wish I had my phone so I could play that stupid block game.
Sigh.
I spotted some large plastic bottles turned over on their sides, random bits that looked like extra parts to something crucial, a crumpled gown, and a large piece of foam that looked like it had warmth potential.
Hmmmm, I don’t know who or what that foam has touched. Dammit.
I continued to be cold and bored while longing for my phone. I didn’t even have my smart watch to look at my heart rate.
This is inhumane.
As I continued to scan the shelves, I noticed an odd oval-shaped piece of plastic.
That looks like the holder for the iron we had on Meadowview Drive.
I closed my eyes and was immediately transported to the utility room in the house we lived in from 1980 to 1987. I could see the iron sitting on the shelf above the washing machine, my mother walking by behind me, heading into the kitchen.
It startled me so much that my eyes shot open.
Shit, I have tears.
As I saw the strange piece of plastic again, I closed my eyes and went straight back to my junior high/high school home.
I was instantly transported to the dining room and proceeded to take myself on a full-fledged tour of the house that introduced me to Texas, adolescence, puberty, my first dog, and dating.
I walked into the living room, where I relived a particular Saturday afternoon. I was sitting on the floor behind the sofa playing Rick Springfield’s Working Class Dog album that my dad bought me at Kmart. I kept staring at the dreamy picture on the back of the album sleeve. A foxy 32-year-old man in a white tank top. It took years to realize how weird it was that a generation of 12-year-olds thought this man was hot.
Next, I walked into the hall bathroom with the ugly wallpaper and gold carpet. The room where I got my first period. My mom was at work and I was home alone with my dad watching Three’s Company. I had a bad stomach ache, which turned out to be my first bout of cramps. In celebration of my womanhood, my mom made her famous baked macaroni the next night. ️A cheesy reward for my menses.
I stepped into the den, which was our TV room and remembered all of the guests who stayed on the fold-out couch. My sister, grandparents, and my parents' best friends. This was also the same room where my best friend and I fell in love with Saturday Night Wrestling at the Dallas Sportatorium. Never did the Von Erichs look so good.
Next door was my bedroom, where my mom caught me hanging out the window one night as my best friend sat out front in his car with the engine running. My mom didn’t buy my excuse of, “…getting some air…,” as one leg was dangling over the windowsill.
The last room down the hall was my parents. They had a small half bathroom but a large walk-in closet. As I mentally entered the closet, I pulled on the sleeve of my dad's wool sailor suit from his four years served in the U.S. Navy. One year, he let me wear it to school for Halloween. It was hot and itchy, but I was proud to wear my daddy’s ill-fitting uniform.
I then flipped through my mom’s side and admired all of her Liz Claiborne separates.
As I drifted back to the kitchen, I heard the phone ringing. I picked it up, and it was my sister Robin calling from Connecticut.
“Hi Kristen, is Daddy there?” she asked. I thought it was odd she didn’t talk to me first since I was her little sister and best friend.
“Sure, I’ll talk to you after,” I replied, handing the phone to my dad.
“Hey Rob…. What? When? Okay, How’s Nana? Okay, okay, okay, I’ll call you back soon. Love you, bye.” he hung up the phone, and my mother immediately said, “What’s wrong?”
She had a keen sixth sense.
“It’s your father,” he said with a sad, sad face.
My mom breaks down in tears and yells, “NO!”
I’m now a confused 11-year-old.
Daddy tries to explain what’s happening. Someone had a heart attack. I immediately freak out thinking Robin had a heart attack, but he corrects me.
“No, Robin is fine, it’s Grandpa,” he says.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh no!” I exclaimed and ran out of the house, got on my 10-speed, and rode fast to my friend Suzanne’s house where I broke down in tears.
The door opens, and a male technician comes in.
The test is over.
As he gets my husband back on his feet, I feel a bit out of sorts but proceed to stand up from my chair, watch the tech throw my husband’s blanket on a shelf in a ball, and we head towards the door.
I wonder if they wash that blanket?
We leave the cold room, gather our belongings from the locker, and head back into present-day Guatemala.
And I’m strangely grateful that I didn’t have my phone.
©2025 Kristen Crisp — Not Even Wine With Dinner
Kristen Crisp resides in Guatemala with her husband and a handful of cats. Our mission, www.feedingfaith.org, helps impoverished and malnourished families in eastern Guatemala. Check us out for more information.
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