Chapter 7 - EMERGENCY MRI AND THE SUDDEN PARALYSIS
The transport order came through as a priority emergency, and I was wheeled down the long, freezing corridor to the MRI suite while Marco was instructed to wait outside in the holding lobby. Transferring from the wheelchair onto the narrow, hard metal table of the scanner felt like having a knife twisted directly into my lumbar spine; I let out a sharp cry that echoed off the white tile walls. The technician adjusted the padded restraints around my knees and head before sliding me deep into the claustrophobic tunnel of the machine.
As the scanner began its deafening, rhythmic hammering—thumping, clicking, and roaring like an industrial engine—a sudden, terrifying wave of warmth rushed down both of my legs, followed instantly by absolute, unnatural cold. I tried to wiggle my toes inside my cotton hospital socks, but nothing moved. My right leg felt like a heavy block of concrete; my left leg had vanished entirely from my sensory awareness. Panic clawed at my throat as I squeezed the emergency squeeze-ball in my right hand, hyperventilating inside the mask until the technician's voice crackled over the intercom, asking if I was okay. “I can't feel my legs,” I choked out into the dark tube. “They're gone.”
