Tedx Manoa

So, Shani and I went to the Tedx Manoa conference this past Friday which was held at UH Manoa.  It's a shame more of our classmates and friends couldn't make it, we remarked, especially with three of our Kamehameha 94 graduates were speakers.  I was also interested to hear 'Umi Perkins speak because he happens to be my Political Science teacher, and I was hoping to meet him.  That landed up not happening, though, because I hadn't even realized it was him.  His picture on our class website didn't quite match up with the guy I saw speak.

Anyway, this is going to be a quick blog, but I just wanted to touch on some points.  Each speaker had something I could relate to or something I could take away with me, whether or not the subject at hand was of any interest to me or whether or not I necessarily viewed the subject matter from the same or similar perspective.  You'll see when the videos are eventually posted that most of the presenters were enigmatic... all were passionate.

Brandy McDougall was beautiful, her dulcet voice highlighting the haunting melodies of her poetry.  Perhaps I wax dramatic, and perhaps it's because she's a classmate whose laughter I specifically remember from English class, but it doesn't make it less true.  You'll see.  It was lovely.  Aaron Sala, yet another classmate, presented us with the lesson that I most related to and took the most from.  And it wasn't just the relatable Karate Kid summary.  Mele and Maile Meyers imparted upon me, albeit unintentionally I'd wager, the second most relatable lesson for me, and it was about forgiveness.  It wasn't even part of their larger purpose, I think, but the word jumped out at me and wouldn't let go.  It still hasn't.

But that's it in a nutshell.  There's more I can add about how I feel when I attend these kinds of events, but I'll save that for another blog or another time.

Not Like House

"Are you claustrophobic?" I heard 3 different people ask me yesterday.  How do you answer that if it's never really been tested?  So I answered them all with a no, but grinned and admitted, "But I don't really know."  Because that's the truth.  And even with that pinch of wariness, I was not prepared at all for the confining pressure of the MRI machine.

As soon as I started moving head-first into the machine, even wearing the TV goggles and headphones (and earplugs), I instantly felt a surge of panic.  I could still see a bit around the goggles and the "ceiling" of the tube was visible.  I ignored it as much as I could and focused instead on The Great Food Truck Race which was playing on Food Network.  After a minute or two of calming myself down, after just passing the desperately thinking that I couldn't do it part, the TV goggles went blank.  If you think that was better than not having anything over my eyes at all, you're wrong.  I was plunged into a semi-darkness that I couldn't escape by simply opening my eyes.  But even still, I told myself I could do it and luckily after a few dark minutes the visuals came back on.

What you've seen on episodes of House or ER is nothing like real life.  I've seen nearly every episode of House and whenever someone is having an MRI, you never get the feeling that it's really LOUD.  Because it is.  Really.  Loud.  Even with the earplugs and TV audio being piped in through the headphones, it was almost painful.  And stifling.  I'd heard that the noise could shake the bed, but I didn't feel much of that going on.  My friend told me earlier in the day that the MRI machine at Queens didn't have the TV option, and I don't know how those people get through it.  I'm glad my brain wasn't being scanned.

It also gets really hot fairly quickly.  The technician warned me about this and had covered me only with a light sheet.  She said if it got uncomfortable I could press the button and she'd come and pull the sheet off.  But I dared not move to press the button.  No matter how sweaty I got, no matter how nauseous it was making me (I hadn't eaten dinner for fear that I'd have to poop while on the table!), I would not move.  I don't know if I could bear to touch the ceiling with my hand.  All illusions of being in a wide open room would be crushed and the reality of being pent up would instantly be solidified.  I could not bear that so I didn't move.

But just as I was thinking "I got this," it was over.  The first part, anyway.  She pulled me out.  I got to stand up, change positions... and then she reinserted me and that feeling of dread, of "Don't put me back in there" crept up.  Fortunately, they were only scanning my knee and my head didnt' need to be inside the machine.  It was totally bearable and much less warm.  I'd made it.  Not surprisingly, of course, but your mind, I don't know.  It can be tough.

I'm glad it's over with, and I realize as I'm writing this that I sound like a panty.  But I want to tell you that I drew strength from those of you who mentioned enduring this before.  I thought, "If you can do it, so can I."  I didn't move, I didn't scream, but it certainly seemed appealing.  And now that I've been through it, I can say that I guess I'm not claustrophobic.  Just not with any real certainty.