The ugly tube beckons,
drawing me in
'Be still' a voice says,
'Moving's a sin.'
With a hum it starts up
and I'm filling with dread.
It crashes and bangs,
looks into my head.
Deep into my brain –
are my thoughts now on show?
Can it see through my heart?
Are my feelings all known?
The focus now switches
down onto my spine,
searching and scanning;
what hell will they find?
An aeon has passed
when they pull me back out.
All that awaits
is the torture of doubt.
How far has it spread?
How long for results?
Are lesions now plenty?
Consultant, consult!
I started composing this last week as I lay inside an MRI scanner, checking on the progress of my MS. This is maybe the sixth scan I have had over the years. They never get any easier. Thanks to 
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