I have a dream.

Better yet, I have dreams – plural. I’m not talking about profoundly inspiring dreams like those of Martin Luther King or amazingly prophetic dreams like Joseph, the son of Jacob, had. Unfortunately, I’m not that deep of a thinker.

Maybe it would be more accurate to say: ‘I have daydreams.’

My daydreams seem to launch themselves at times of boredom, extreme fatigue, or when I need a diversion from a task at hand.

Like when I am in the middle of an MRI, for instance.

About a year ago, I traveled back to the Myeloma Institute for Research and Therapy (MIRT) in Little Rock, Arkansas, for a myeloma check-up. I was undergoing yet another MRI scan, but instead of concentrating on the matters at hand, the following Herman’s Hermits-inspired musical ditty popped into my mind:

I'm in MRI the 8th I am,
MRI the 8th I am, I am,
I’m not frightened as I know what’s in store,
‘Cause I’ve had seven MRIs before,
And every one was an MRI – MRI!,
Not a CT or PET Scan – no Scan!
In my 8th full body MRI,
In MRI the 8th, I am, I am,
MRI the 8th I am!
Second verse, same as the first.

It was at this point that a female voice with a delightful Arkansas accent, emanating from somewhere outside the inner sanctum of the tube, said, “Uh, Mr. Murray, could y’all please stop tapping your foot? It’s affecting our images.”

Yikes! For all I know, I may have been humming as well. How embarrassing! Focus, Sean, before they kick you out of the myeloma program!

Those of you who have experienced a ‘table’ test like an MRI, PET Scan, or CT Scan know that you are expected to be perfectly still when the images are being captured. Of course, it’s easier said than done! Especially if you have fractures, significant pain, a cold accompanied by sneezing or coughing, or, heaven forbid, a tendency toward claustrophobia.

While I have neither gravitated toward a career as a submariner or phone booth stuffer, nor spend my time spelunking in tight-spaced caves, I’m not particularly bothered by the confines of an MRI.  I’m lucky that way.

I know, however, that there are plenty of folks out there in Myelomaville who have a strong aversion to the peculiarities of the MRI procedure.

Whether it is the cramped space of the machine, the raucous noises produced, or the trepidation of getting the results from the test, their apprehension is all-too-real. These patients often need sedation of one form or another, an open MRI option, or some well-placed handholding to get through the tests. I salute their bravery – more power to them. Whatever it takes! I have the same fears about watching the Teletubbies on PBS.

My first few MRI, PET, and CT scan experiences were encumbered by intense pain due to rib, vertebral, and shoulder fractures. While getting up from a PET scan in the early part of my treatment, my sternum broke. No, really. Just like that. I felt it and told the technician. Images confirmed the fracture. My loving wife quipped, “You get all the breaks!” I couldn’t join in the merriment because it hurt when I laughed.

In the months that followed, potent pain medications, healing, and kyphoplasties helped make the tests much more tolerable.

Now I find that my nemesis is falling asleep during MRIs. I’d certainly hate for magnetic images of me snoring to end up on the Internet or in my permanent file. I may not qualify for another good disease in the future.

A couple of months ago, I returned to Little Rock for another myeloma check-up. As usual, an early morning MRI was on the agenda. I hadn’t slept well the night before, and the waiting room was rather warm and quiet.  I hadn’t eaten because a PET scan followed the MRI. Tired and hungry, I settled into a comfortable chair and waited my turn.  And then waited some more. What was taking them so long?

When I finally heard my name called, I walked over to the hallway that would lead me to the MRI suites. I noticed that the technicians were dressed in new uniforms. Snazzy electric blue on black fitted jumpsuits, embroidered with fancy MIRT and MRI patches, replaced the hospital scrubs. Kind of NASA like! Kind of cool.

As I walked through the door, a technician asked me for my I.D., stamped my paperwork, and said that as this was my 14th visit, I should be getting some good frequent MRIer miles! Whatever that meant. Another technician took me from there into the changing room and announced:

“At this time, federal regulations require that all mobile phones, MP3 players, radios, remote controlled toys, laptops, dentures, or any other metallic objects, be removed, as these items might interfere with the successful operation of the magnetic MRI equipment. We will notify you when it is safe to resume using such devices.”

Uh, okay? I changed into my non-metallic sweat pants and t-shirt and was led to the MRI machine. The technician directed me onto the patient table and said:

“Mr. Murray, on behalf of the radiologist and the entire imaging team, we want to thank you for MRIing with us today. We know that you have a choice in diagnostic practitioners, and we appreciate you choosing the One World MRI Alliance.  Our MRI time today will be approximately 1 hour and 30 minutes. At this time, please make sure that you are in the full horizontal position.  As a Burgundy Club Member, I am happy to offer you complimentary headphones, a mini-pillow, and a blanket for the duration of your MRI.”

Although I was a bit confused at this new approach, I put on the pneumatic headphones, accepted the pillow, and declined the blanket. It was then that the deep, airy, deliberate voice of one James Earl Jones filled my ears:

“Sean… I am your MRI… May the Magnetic Force be with you… Shall we begin?”

This was totally different than the MRI I had four months earlier! Having worked in the entertainment business with lots of celebrities, I recall wondering how much the cost of this MRI would be jacked up by using the James Earl Jones voice over.  Surely his career hadn’t tanked, and he wasn't in the control booth with the technicians. The man standing next to the vending machine looked suspiciously like Larry King, though.

I was then transported into the MRI machine via the automated sliding table.  Even with the headphones blaring Bruce Springsteen’s Tunnel of Love, I could hear the somewhat rhythmic sounds that the impressive machine made as it warmed up. If it wasn’t so doggoned, painfully loud, it might have been soothing.

I’ve read all about the causes of the MRI sounds.  How the forces applied between the massive magnet and the gradient coils produce the nearly 120 decibel banging sounds. How the powerful chillers offer a steady two-beat ‘woom-shah’ sound as they help dissipate the enormously high temperatures created by the MRI.

But for some reason, on this day, I wasn’t buying into the common explanation of the noise. In my heart of hearts, I was convinced that the technology was far simpler than presented. That to justify the high cost of MRI imaging and to make the process more mysterious, the One World MRI Alliance used barrels and barrels of over-achieving monkeys with ball-peen hammers to create the ‘pings’ and ‘pops’ and ‘taps.’

I could picture the monkeys rushing into the imaging room after I was deep within the machine. Handlers then signal the hearing-protected monkeys to strike with wild, haphazard abandon.  And then they stop on cue for a treat. And then start again. Over and over.

Before I am yanked out of the tube, the monkeys have scurried through some secret compartment back to their break room, where they watch Tarzan reruns and sip banana daiquiris.

In between the noisy bang-bang-banging of the machine I heard:

“Sponsorship of today’s MRI is brought to you by the good folks of the Metropolitan Transit Authority, expertly transporting you through the 468 stations of the world-famous New York City Subway System. Remember: present your ‘paid in full’ MRI bill to earn one free transfer to the Bronx Zoo and a ticket to the Monkey House!”

They love rubbing it in.

What? MRIs are now commercially sponsored? Celebrities lend their voices to medical tests?  Monkeys have left their comfortable hurdy-gurdy lives to conspire with MRI manufacturers to defraud defenseless myeloma patients? What is this world coming to?

And then I heard my name again as my wife tapped me on the shoulder.

“Wake up! They're calling you for your MRI!”

Bummer. It was just another MRI daydream. No fancy uniforms. No corporate sponsors. No mysterious monkeys.

Yawning and wiping sleep from my eyes, I got up and headed to my plain old, no-frills MRI test. Though I swear that I could smell the faint aroma of Purina Monkey Chow as I entered the MRI suite.

I’ll probably never stop being a dreamer. Or a daydreamer. We multiple myeloma patients have to hold onto our dreams through thick and thin. And we have to keep smiling even through the tough times. I call these well-earned smiles – S’myelomas. May your days be filled with dreams, laughter, great joy, and painless MRIs!

Stay connected out there! Sean