POV inside a Coffin

"Oh, oh... what did I get myself into?" I wondered as the nurse clapsed a cage across my face, locked my head in position and began to press a button to slide me into the MRI tunnel. All around me were crackling and buzzing noises. I was strapped to the sliding table, hands and feet unable to move. Can't even scratch my nose or slide my bangs. Felt like a science-fiction movie gone terribly wrong.

"Don't worry about the noises inside, ok? It's normal" the nurse coo-ed in her most reassuring tone. *Sure, now where have I heard that before?*

"How long am I supposeda be in there?" I asked.

"Thirty minutes."

What? Thirty minutes immobilised inside a coffin contraption? What kinda nonsense is this? Why wasn't I told this earlier? I waited three months for this appointment, and in between that the hospital called me twice and made me wait another 90 minutes in the waiting room prior to the procedure and no one told me it would be like this???

Somehow I didn't think the nurse / radiologist would be jumping in eager anticipation to hear what's on my mind, so I kept quiet, swallowed hard and hoped that my nose wouldn't itch for the next half an hour.

"Hold on to this," she said, pushing a call-button device into my hand, "press if you need anything."

It was so cold. Sterile. The nurse spread a blanket over me. I started to slide into the sinister machine that opened up to swallow me whole. The examination room disappeared into the far horizon at my feet. I was totally inside the belly of the machine. Tunneled-in. Trapped.

Man, if I were to ever have a first-eye POV (point of view) of what its like to lie inside a closed coffin, this would come really close. It is deadly silent. For a moment. Then a buzz pierced the air. Then humming. Crackling. Then all at once there were noises all around me! It was deafening, and I admit, unnerving.

I started to think about being inside a real coffin. Death is a reality for all, but no one really cares to think seriously about it. It is a certainty that we move closer to everyday, whether we like it or not.

I thought about death that day inside the MRI machine, and I am thankful that I know for sure I could still crawl out of that tunnel when the 30 minutes are up. But what about those who may not even have the 30 minutes to live?

Life is too short. Like vapour. When it is my turn to lie in a real coffin, I don't want to be leaving behind a trail of regret and sorrow of what might have been. And I am really grateful I still have the time to play my cards right.

The results of the MRI came out.

Everything's normal.