I Was Blind, but Now I See.

PROLOGUE:

My husband often tells me I have a fault, that I don't know how to say, "No." Example: I'm asked to play the piano for many people and I always say, "Yes." I say 'yes' because I feel that if I ever say 'no' that I am burying the talent God has given me. I have a service missionary that is a vocal music major at BYU and I asked him to sing at the graduation of the English 2 class he teaches. Of course he said, 'yes' BUT he chose the song. He chose Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me that he had previously sung for a BYU recital with a professional pianist. He asked a sister missionary to accompany him, but she said she couldn't play it, so he asked me.

"Oh, it's easy. You can play it," he said...so I agreed.

Oh, my goodness. The accompaniment was mimicking the rolling and crash of the waves all the way through. The right hand was playing s series of rolling triplets all while the bottom hand was playing a series of eighth notes, punctuated with octave crashes up and down the keyboard and accented notes that urged intensity. Then it breaks out in total 16th notes at one part. It was so beautiful that when I actually played it well, I could feel the wave action that accompanied the lyrics and I cried, but before I got there, I was near tears because it was sooooo difficult. 

He sung it for both his classes, in Spanish. I was so glad when we were done. A month later, one of our students was being baptized, and she wanted him to sing it in English. He asked me again. I said yes... again. It took a bit less practice because I had played it before, but I was so glad it was over. I was ready to throw it away...and I think I did.

But, once again months later, a lady in his home ward was getting baptized and he was asked  to sing. He thought he would choose another song, but last minute said he felt he should sing Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me. One day to practice and I couldn't find the music. I searched for an hour and never found it. Luckily, I had downloaded it from his text, so I copied it again. We couldn't practice until right before the baptism, so we both headed to the church 15 minutes early. 

THE BAPTISM:

I walked into the stake center and it was dark inside. I hurried past a mass of unknown people, including a crippled black lady who greeted me, and hurried into the room to turn on the lights. They didn't turn on. "Why won't the lights turn on?" I asked.

"The power is is out in the whole building," the crowd of missionaries, standing around a dark table of goodies, answered in the baptismal room.

The baptismal room had every curtain open, but it wasn't very light in the room because it was cloudy outside. It turned out there had been a tornado early that morning, and many members' homes in that area, as well as the stake center were without power.

After a quick run through of our song in another room with windows, I sat down and waited for the baptism to start. There were several African-American ladies sitting up front. I saw one of the sister missionaries in white, leading the same 'black' lady who had greeted me. She had a cane, but she was being led by the missionaries. SHE WAS BLIND!

They paused in the hall, where she wept, because she was afraid. There would be steps she couldn't see or navigate with a cane. There would be water she would be in and she couldn't see and hadn't ever learned to swim.  She thought she would drown. The sisters calmed her, wiped her tears, her hands. "We will be your eyes. We will carry you," they said.

The opening hymn was not typical for a baptism--Rock of Ages. (It was common for nonmembers; I didn't even know it was in our hymnbook.) There were no hymnbooks, but I don't know if I would have been able to see the words if we didn't see it on our backlit phones. But the blind lady was belting out the words, beaming with joy. What were those words?

1.

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in thee;

Let the water and the blood,

From thy wounded side which flowed,

Be of sin the double cure,

Save from wrath and make me pure.

2.

Not the labors of my hands

Can fill all thy law’s demands;

Could my zeal no respite know,

Could my tears forever flow,

All for sin could not atone;

Thou must save, and thou alone.

3. 

While I draw this fleeting breath,

When mine eyes shall close in death,

When I rise to worlds unknown

And behold thee on thy throne,

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in thee.

The Baptism talk was next. The lady giving the talk couldn't see her handwritten talk very well because of the darkness, so the talk included her heartfelt testimony, adding to the words she could see.

Next, was our musical number. Elder LeCheminant opened by by talking to her personally, that this hymn compares us navigating the storms or trials that come into our life, and that we can fear not, because God is at the helm. The piano was wonderful. Usually I get a loud, unresponsive, clanging piano, but the soft pedal worked. I could go from loud, crashing, to soft rolling waves. It was incredible. I particularly liked these verses.

1.

Jesus, Savior, pilot me

Over life’s tempestuous sea;

Unknown waves before me roll,

Hiding rock and treach’rous shoal.

Chart and compass came from thee;

Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

3.    When at last I near the shore,

       And the fearful breakers roar

       ’Twixt me and the peaceful rest,

        Then, while leaning on thy breast,

        May I hear thee say to me,

        “Fear not; I will pilot thee.”

When I heard Elder LeCheminant sing, "Fear not; I will pilot thee." I recalled her crying in the hall, saying she was afraid, and I knew Elder LeCheminant was supposed to sing this hymn.

Next was the testimony of the sister being baptized. This was the sweetest moment of the baptism. She had to be pulled up and held up by the sisters and bishop. She told of her faith, her desire to be with God, and how no one in her entire life had accepted her--and now she felt accepted and loved of the Lord and the members of the ward. At one point she was so over come by emotion she couldn't breathe. I literally thought she was going to die. She was choking as she tried to breathe. The sweet sisters, who had been holding her up were calming her and telling her to breathe, and wiping spit that had been exiting her mouth as she choked. The elders ran to get water from the bathrooms because the water fountains didn't work. People were fanning her. She recovered. At the end, she asked for a "Hallelujah, Jesus!" and she got it.

Next was her baptism. Again, she was afraid. The bishop entered the water first and waited for her, while the sisters led her on either side to the font, where the sister dressed in white was at her side to help and direct her into the water as the bishop carried her down each step. She squealed about how cold the water was...and it was...as the water heater didn't work without the electricity. As I saw them carrying her, I couldn't help but think how we all do what we can and Heavenly Father does the rest...but sometimes he does it through other people, like the bishop and the sister missionary. Again, tears ran down my face.

Unfortunately, she had to go under twice. She had faith that the sister would not let her go, but help her back up. Again, I thought of the 2nd chances we all get when we are not perfect. Those 2nd, third, and many more chances come because of Christ's atonement. Again, tears were running down my face.

After the baptismal ordinance, while the sisters dried, held her up, and dressed her, we listened to a set of missionaries give the 1st discussion. When the sisters came back, another set of missionaries gave the talk on the Holy Ghost and then she was confirmed. When they pronounced for her to receive the Holy Ghost, I knew she felt it because she again was overcome with such emotion that she couldn't breathe. When the bishop, mission president, and ward mission leader surrounded her, the mission president looked over all the elders there and called none of them up, except for Elder LeCheminant...a service missionary who was from her ward.

The closing hymn was The Lord is My Light. How ironic, that we were all in the dark and she couldn't even see, and here we were singing about light, then I read the lyrics in the 2nd verse as I sang: 

The Lord is my light; tho clouds may arise,

Faith, stronger than sight, looks up thru the skies

Where Jesus forever in glory doth reign.

Then how can I ever in darkness remain?

and the 4th verse:

4.

The Lord is my light, my all and in all.

There is in his sight no darkness at all.

He is my Redeemer, my Savior, and King.

With Saints and with angels his praises I’ll sing.

The Lord is my light;

He is my joy and my song.

By day and by night

He leads, he leads me along.

The baptized lady was singing every word. She knew the words by heart. Needless to say, I was crying again.  I would have missed this sacred experience if I had not said 'yes' to accompanying Elder LeCheminant! It was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life! And I truly believe the building was meant to be dark for the rest of us...just to let us know what she had been going through.

Where My Shepherds Are, There am I Also

 Sister Jones is an assistant Matron in our temple. She had a dream the other night where she saw the words, "Where my shepherds are, there am I also," and then it was gone. She didn't know what it meant, but she pondered about those words as she went on her vacation to Vegas and Utah to visit family.

Her vacation ended in Missouri...in prison. She sat in a line of chairs with her husband, waiting to be called to visit her brother. Every so often, she would hear a loud buzz, then a door would click open and a prisoner would come out, look around to see who had come to visit them, till he saw a brother, sister, parent, spouse, or church visitor he knew, then the joy on his face would be so palpable, anyone seeing it could feel it, too. Then they would run to each other and hug. 

As sister Jones watched this happen over and over, waiting for her turn to hug her brother, she thought of the spirits in spirit prison, and the joy they feel when they are set free. The joy they feel when their work is done.

Then she realized, "I have seen that joy before. Where have I seen it?"

She knew. She sees it whenever temple workers meet each other or someone they haven't seen a long time in the temple...and hug. And the words, "Where my shepherds are, there am I also, came back to her mind." We are shepherds when we do the work to save others. 

There is a God

 Our Sunday School topic was on Trials and Tribulation. The teacher opened the class by asking, "Why do some people not believe there is a God? Among the answers was the question: "Why do bad things happen to good people if there is a God?"

While we discussed the answers to that question, I recalled the time I was in the hospital for 5+ weeks and nothing was working, so I was sent to a nursing home to die. Everyone thought I would die. My family came to visit because I was going to die.

I even believed I would die, but BECAUSE I BELIEVED IN GOD, I DID NOT FEAR DEATH. In fact, I believed my life to be in His hands, and regardless of what happened, it would be all right. That belief, that hope, brought me peace and calm. The Spirit of God was with me.

I cannot even imagine what life's trials would be like if I did not have a belief and hope that there is indeed a loving God, and that He is aware of me and all I endure (regardless of tribulation), that He loves me unconditionally, and that I will be with Him again.

Because I have that hope and belief, I act on that belief. That is why I pray to God...and interestingly enough, those answers, feelings and directions have been manifested in miraculous ways in my life. So yes, the evidence comes AFTER a trial of your faith. Don't ever give up. There is a God. Have hope and faith to believe in Him.

When Angels Play

 I've already written in my autobiography about the time I prayed for an angel's voice for my solo, and after it was over, the bishop came to me in awe of my singing voice. "I knew you sang, but I didn't know you sang that well. It was the voice of an angel, " he said.

So, here I am at 70 years, and I play the organ in church, usually with slight mistakes (mostly pedals) and usually only I know, but it bothers me anyway. Because I am also the music chairman, I accompany many people on the piano, but the pieces are usually fairly easy. Occasionally it might sound perfect, but every once in awhile, I skip a note or two. One time I made it all the way through perfectly and on the last note, I played an obvious wrong chord. Well that broke the spirit real fast.

Three weeks before the temple-worker fireside, I received an unknown text telling me, she got my name as a pianist to accompany a soloist at the temple-worker fireside. She was the one who was supposed to be the accompanist, and now she couldn't. She had to leave the next day and asked if she could come and bring me the music. Well, I was going out of town for 2 weeks, so no time to rehearse...but she assured me that the soloist was a professional singer and the accompaniment was easy. Well, she didn't play the accompaniment, but the first page was simple, and what she played was simple, so I said, 'yes', and the soloist agreed we could get together when I came back from my vacation.

After coming back, I went to my temple shift on Wednesday and a worried temple matron came to me to ask how the piece was coming. I could see her anxious eyes when I told her we hadn't practiced, yet. (I had gotten back the Monday night before the Sunday fireside, and as the soloist and I went over my schedule and her schedule, there was no night we were both free before Sunday unless she drove an hour to the Fallbrook building during our English lessons on Thursday.) That didn't seem to calm the matron's troubled demeanor as she said they had asked this other lady and she now wasn't doing it, but I told her we were going to practice the next day.

So Thursday it was. The soloist drove all the way down to inner North Houston from New Caney. I did my best, which I must say was not perfect, but it was pretty OK. See, the first 2 pages were very easy, the next two were a little harder, then boom, the hard, speedy stuff hit. It was going from 16th notes to 8th notes, back and forth with a syncopated left hand as it rose in volume to her climax, and back down to soft again. 

The piece was called, Ancestor's Plea. It was a very moving piece (in more ways than one) with a person pleading from the Spirit World for us to do the work for them. I practiced and practiced, but never could make it perfect. The 9-page piece also needed Mike to shift it and pull the top sheet off as I played. 

We have over 1,300 temple workers. I knew they all wouldn't be there, but I knew about 700+ would be there. Enough to frighten an average accompanist, so that Sunday morning I prayed that I would play well at church, and specifically asked that angels would take my fingers to help them move so fast over the keys when I played for the fireside. Well, church came and went, and horror of horrors, I was playing the song all the way through because it was a new song, and the audience started singing 2 lines through, without the chorister. I kept playing and the chorister didn't know what to do, so halfway through, she just led and they found they were two stanzas behind, and quit singing until we started the 2nd verse. Couldn't have been worse. I kept thinking of how I had prayed for help on my temple piece and specifically asked for angels to play for me. Would it be a disaster, too?

We got there 45 min. early and the singer luckily did a mic check (I say luckily, because they had a separate mic for her and it had no batteries.) We decided that she would sing from the podium mic. and did a short few measures. (She didn't want to give the song away ahead, because at that time half the congregation was already in place. 

Because I had NEVER played it perfectly, even though I had gone over the rough places, and because we hadn't gone over the entire song, I was kind of worried...until the opening prayer was said. The person who gave the prayer, asked that angels would accompany the music. When I heard that in the prayer, I felt the spirit warm my heart. I knew they would be with me as I played.

When it was time to play the piece, I started, and the soloist sang. I made it through 7 and a half pages pretty well, then when the speed picked up, I noticed she was way ahead on the phrase. Did she miss the rhythm? Did she skip 2 measures? I somehow played that chord she was on, then she went to the next line and I don't know what happened, but it was the same thing. How could she be a whole two measures ahead? I don't know what I did, but I skipped ahead to the chord she was on and we finished the last page together.  

I was devastated. I felt I had let her down. It was the worst I had ever done. The notes didn't sound bad to me, but I had no idea what I played to catch up to where she was, because it for sure wasn't the notes written in the music; I was just hearing where she was in the music and making sure I made it there.

It was the perfect song to sing before the temple matron spoke. She told of her experience with an ancestor coming to her aunt to get his work done...and how they looked and looked and couldn't find the person, until a divine 'coincidence' (call) came from a living person who had never called them before, and knew that the person they were looking for was called by a nickname, and the person not only told them the man's real name, but gave permission to do the work. Then she told of doing the work a week before it was planned, and called the aunt to tell her, but she already knew (because the man had come to her prior to the call, thanking her for having him baptized.) Then the matron read a statement from President Nelson, who said we should not say people are dead when they die, because they are very much alive. The Spirit was strong...so strong, I hoped no one would remember the horrible mistakes I had made.

After the meeting was over, I was a bit embarrassed to be talked to, because of what happened, but Mike turned to me and said that was the best he had ever heard me play, that 'it was flawless'. Huh? Then, one after another came up to me and said similar things. One lady said, 'it was as if you and she were one.' 'Your playing was totally in sync.' 'Her music she sang came out of the piano the way you were playing, you were so together.' 'You played that perfectly.' 'You had such a delicate, light touch, it brought the Spirit out as she sang.' 

Now I was totally embarrassed, because these were music people talking to me. How could they not know?  They were not hearing how I lost track of 2 entire stanzas of music. Had they heard someone else playing in my place? It was in the back of my mind...that I had asked for angels to play, and the temple matron had asked for that, too. How could I take the credit for what angels had done? When I mentioned what had happened to Mike (without telling him what I was thinking) he said, maybe there were angels playing on those quick stanzas. And, my sneaky suspicion was confirmed. The congregation had not heard me or my blunders, but they had heard the angels playing. And I knew it.

When Heavenly Father Trusts You to Give to Others

 

You will never believe what happened to me yesterday! I was in line at Walmart and a man was in front of me. I looked at him and he was dressed like he was poor. He only had 4 bananas and a package of toilet paper, but he didn’t have enough money. He was $1.78 short. He took out his wallet, but he didn’t have the money. He didn’t know what to do, because even if he put away the bananas, there wasn’t enough money for the toilet paper. 

I told the store clerk I would pay the $1.78 for that man. He accepted, and thanked me. As I stepped up to the clerk, the man behind me in line, came up and handed me a hundred-dollar bill. “This is for you,” he said.

“Oh, no, I can’t take your money,” I responded.

“I fix air conditioners and just got paid $5,000.00. I saw what you did. The spirit told me that if I gave you this hundred dollars, you were the kind of person who would pass it on if you don’t need it. You can use it for yourself, or you can give it away…but it is yours to do what you want. Take it.” 

I did take it. It is sitting in my wallet. I have been praying to have eyes to see and ears to hear who needs money. I felt so happy that Heavenly Father would tell that man that he could give me money and trust me to give it to someone who needs it more than I do.

Watch My Boy

 

Edit: While I yearned that this meant something. I've had many dreams recently where I was nursing babies, and when I saw the news about all the orphaned children from Gaza, I wanted to adopt. This dream means nothing spiritually, except my desire to care for children again.

Dream 4/24/25

I got on a plane. Immediately, I saw/felt there was tenseness. The plane had children on the plane with other adults, and one of the older girls had hurriedly written with marker a huge number with a dollar sign on a bin in the closet and shut the door to it. I knew it was the amount of money the bad people were stealing.

I looked around the plane and tried to recognize who was bad and who was not, by the communication across the aisles to each other. As I recognized who was bad, I knew they knew I knew. In that process, I noticed the man in front of me with his back to me was bad. I also recognized that I knew who he was, so whenever he turned around, I hid my face. Nevertheless, he found out I was there. 

At some point, the plane landed and 2 policemen entered, not knowing who was bad and had guns. At the same time, one of the bad men escaped out the back. I knew there was going to be a gun fight, so I pulled all the little children around me and we huddled on the floor, as I put my arms around them and was praying for our protection. The bad man I knew saw this.

The bad men finally got control of the plane because the man, who had escaped got back on the plane, entered and changed control. The man I knew was sitting up on a chair (as were all the bad men who had control of the plane) and I was still on the floor. He pointed to another a older child, also sitting up on a chair, and looking at me, said, “You forgot (______)," pointing to that child.

I called the child’s name and motioned to him to come to me. There was fear in his eyes, as he looked at me and the man in the chair next to me that had told me about him, but I kept calling. I motioned for him to get down, and he crawled over to me, and I included him in my circle of protection.

Later, I asked the boy who his father was, and to my shock, he said it was the bad man I knew, the same man who had pointed him out. The bad men finally left the plane with whatever they were trying to smuggle, and I told the boy, he had to go with his dad.

The danger was over…but suddenly a window on the plane opened and the boy I had rescued, yelled, “Watch out. They are going to shoot you.” 

We all hit the floor, and the boy’s father snarled, “You belong with her,” as he broke the window and threw him in the plane towards me. The boy immediately scrambled to me, as we waited for the gunfire. But there was none. Either the men had been captured, or it had been a ruse.

BUT I knew one thing. I was to keep the boy. The father, who was bad, obviously loved his son, because he had twice asked me to watch his boy. Then the dream ended.

BE WARNED: My MRI Experience

[Note, this is transcribed from a Blog in my past (August 3, 2012)...before I was on Facebook].

 I remember a girl telling me about running away during her MRI because she was claustrophobic. It was hysterically funny to me at the time, but when I was faced with having to experience the same, I started to worry. What would I do? I talked to many people, hoping technology had improved. "Oh, yes," they said. "It's different, now." And so it was that I walked into the imaging center with relative calmness...and filled out paper after paper giving up my right to sue for any adverse effects.

I'm really starting to feel calm now.(Sarcastic remark) Then I filled out a paper about them injecting me with some dye or something. No one said word one about that! I started to sweat. My left shoulder tensed up to a knot. "Breathe. Breathe," I kept telling myself while I massaged my shoulder. "Do you need some water?" the nurse at the desk asked.

"No," I answered and looked at the clock. (I guess my face was too telling.) 

Finally, it was my turn. I locked up my belongings and glasses, walked into the room, and lo and behold there was that same ancient tube the claustrophobic girl had described. I didn't even think I could fit in that thing, but since I was only MRI-ing my head, I was sure I wouldn't have to go all the way in. I lay down according to her instructions and listened to the spiel about not moving...(as in, "if you move your arm or hand, [they] "would have to start the pictures over."

Oh, I was sure that would NOT happen. I could certainly stay still for five to 10 minutes. But I couldn't relax my arms--there was no room for them on that narrow conveyer belt thingy. They kept falling straight down to the floor, so I clasp them on my stomach...but the nurse assured me that I could set them on the side when I got in.

Got in? They were going to make me go in? Breathe in. Breathe out.

She gave me ear plugs. Ear plugs! What would I need them for? Apparently, it was to be very loud. Next this helmet/cage thing was snapped around my head....like they really thought I would move my head. Really? Was I going to retake a picture? I think not. But oh, yes, they did it. They started packing that cage mask thing with foam pillows around my head. I felt like a newborn baby being prepped for a ride in a baby carrier.

Right before it started, she handed me an air bulb and said, "Squeeze this if you need to stop." Stop? I was not about to stop and have to do this over. Then the machine ride began...and the table moved into the tube a little way as I previously suspected, and a piercing red light shown in my eyes (mind you, I had had them dilated at the eye doctor this morning, so I wisely decided I would keep my eyes closed during this MRI).

As soon as I closed them the machine pulled me in...and kept pulling me in...and kept pulling me...all the way in. Where was the arm room she said there would be to relax on the sides? The sides were so tight on my arms they had no place to go but be on top of me and I squinched them in so as not to get a scraped arm. Obviously the red light was not the MRI.

My hands were laying on my stomach as I breathed deep breaths to relax. Up and down. Up and down went my diaphragm. Yikes! That meant my arms were moving. I couldn't have them move...so I held my hands up about a half inch above my stomach. The machine started clunking, rattling, and vibrating with loud, jarring sounds that were akin to a jackhammer. It didn't seem to end. I continued to hold my hands above my stomach, eyes closed, and slowly tried to relax. I could do this.

Finally, the noise stopped. Whew, it was over. I had done it! The machine started to pull me out. About ONE INCH! It stopped, and the process started all over again. What? Had the machine malfunctioned? I continued to try to relax and kept my hands poised above my stomach. Finally, it ended. 

Yes! I could come out. But the machine pushed me back in another inch and started some different funky grinding sound. This was not going to do. I decided that if the noise started again, I was going to have to rest my hand on my stomach, but what if that moved me? Each break between the bouts of rumbling, I would move one finger down on my stomach, so my hands were eventually resting on my stomach. I took shallower breaths so they would not move up and down. (Now, I was worried about hyperventilation.)

Then I felt it. An itch on the back of my left leg. I could do nothing about it. It got worse. I couldn't even jiggle my leg. What if it were a bug? What if it crawled up farther?Should I squeeze the bulb?

Then the vibration stopped. The conveyer table moved another inch, and the horrible noise began again, but this time my elbow was hurting from the side of the tube. I wondered if I had bruised it going back and forth. I certainly couldn't pull it in any farther to stop it. Yikes. (I moved my arm). Hopefully it was OK. This was not fun. How long had I been in there? Had the technician walked out of the room? I mean, the noise was so loud it was making my ears ring even with ear plugs. If someone wasn't hard of hearing going into this machine, they sure would be coming out. Was it too loud for the nurse? Was she out of the room till the noise was over and the 'broken' machine was just going back and forth because I was stuck and she didn't know it?

I started really praying. Please bless the nurse to come back. Please bless me to get out of this machine. It just kept going.

Finally, when I thought I couldn't take any more, the machine started pulling me out. Yes! It was over. Uh oh. It stopped. The technician took hold of my arm and said, "Now I have to inject you with this liquid and then we only have four more pictures". I imagined what she was doing as I felt each part of the familiar process: the elastic tightly tied around my upper arm, the alcohol swipe, the stick of the needle, the press of the cotton ball, and the tape. The only thing I couldn't feel was if the needle was still in me because she bent my arm back over my stomach the way it used to be and the machine immediately pulled me in again.

I felt the familiar squeeze on my right elbow as the table moved back into the machine and wondered again if my elbow was bruised. Oh, no. What if my bent, squeezed arm would prevent whatever was injected from flowing through my body? Would I have to do this over again? Uh-oh, I just thinking about it and it moved again. Ever so slightly. Hopefully that did not mess the picture up.

By now, I figured out that one picture was not just a flash in time, but an eternity of deafening noise. I started counting seconds to see how long each picture was, but soon quit as I was worried that my mental calculations would mess up the MRI since I was not doing that in the previous pictures, but I estimated each picture about 5 minutes, so I just tried to relax for the last 20 minutes.

That is when I felt something pushing the back of my head. The more I thought about it, the more it hurt. I wanted to rip whatever pressure I felt from under my hair. Twenty minutes of feeling that? It felt like I was getting a dent in my head. I held that bulb tighter and prayed. To counter the hurt on the back of my head, I decided to see if I could figure out why it was taking so long to take the pictures, so I tried to feel...(imagined feel) what shred, or slice of my head was being imaged. (Not a good idea for a hypochondriac.) I imagined pain in my eyes, forehead, ears. Oh, I didn't know how long this could go on.

Finally, it was done. I couldn't get off that table fast enough, but I was a little wobbly getting my balance. I felt the back of my head (in case there was a dent). I examined where my head had been resting. Nothing. Smooth as a baby's bottom. I looked at my right elbow (in case there was a bruise). Nothing. Then, I glanced at the clock. I HAD BEEN SUBJECTED TO THAT INSIDIOUS TORTURE FOR AN ENTIRE HOUR! Was it too much to inform me of the length of time I would be in there? I think not!

Be warned. Should you have to have an MRI, it WILL be long. It WILL be in a tube...and if you don't want to literally feel like the stuffing in a Polish sausage, you should not be over weight.