Hamish McShanks

Ham Shanks Secret Diary w/e 30^th March 2008

Some of my more avid readers (thanks Mum) will be aware I’ve been having back problems of late. I’m actually almost healed now so you can imagine my joy and delight when a letter finally popped through the door last week asking me to attend an MRI scan at the hospital. For those of you not familiar with such a thing; MRI stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging and it uses a powerful magnetic field to align the magnetization of hydrogen atoms in your body and visualise the structure and function. Or a magic window if you prefer.

The theory being that the medics will be able to locate the source of my back pain and sort me. Unconvinced of my own ‘evil dwarf living in the spine’ theory they are suggesting it’s more likely to be a disc problem? Pah, what do they know? The only way to prove my theory correct was to take the test. Obviously I checked with my Chiropractor first, I wouldn’t want these National Health witch doctors getting their hands on me before I consulted a professional.

After receiving the all clear I made my way to the hospital and arrived, as requested, 15 minutes ahead of my appointment, ‘Good afternoon Sir, how can I help?’, ‘I’m here for my scan’ I replied with some disdain ‘Name?’, ‘Shanks (pause) Ham Shanks (slight raise of eyebrow)’, ‘Very good Mr Shanks have a seat and fill out this form’ Distraught that my 007 gag had fallen so monumentally flat I slunk along to the nearest chair and tried to hide my glowing cheeks behind the piece of paper that had been thrust into my hand.

After regaining some composure I studied the form ‘Do you have any metal implants?’ was the first question, wrinkling my brow I had a quick squeeze of my pectorals. They seemed quite blubbery and unmetallic ‘that’ll be a no then’, ‘Q2. Have you a pacemaker?’ I always run alone so that was definitely another no. Six ‘No’s’ later I handed back the form and within five minutes a nurse was calling me in. I had to concede the process was very slick.

‘Right Mr Shanks if you’d like to get changed into this gown please’ she ushered me into a cubicle and handed over what seemed to be a thin piece of rice paper ‘eer’, ‘don’t worry about the ties’, ‘right right’ I unfolded the garment and it consisted of a paper ‘pinny’ with some extra ties around the back and sides. The ties I had been informed to forget?

Donning the item of clothing I couldn’t help but feel quite vulnerable. If I’d actually been standing totally in the nip I think I’d have felt more secure. There was a quick tap on the door ‘ready Mr Shanks?’, ‘Aye am ready’ I mumbled whilst opening the door. Shrieks and screams I have come to recognise as a bad sign and I returned to the room as quickly as I’d emerged. A few shocked seconds later there was another tap on the door ‘two things Mr Shanks, first your gown is on back to front and secondly you are supposed to keep your underwear on!’

A few minutes later I emerged looking very sheepish ‘m’sorry bout that’ I mumbled as they prodded me with long sticks and corralled me into the MRI room. The rest of the instructions were now via a loudspeaker on the wall ‘Please lie flat on the bed and put on the earphones Mr Shanks’ doing as I was told I lay down on the gurney and placed the DJ style earphones on my head. A muffled voice continued ‘The bed will automatically move into the MRI chamber. This was the bit I really wasn’t looking forward to as I am somewhat claustrophobic.

After some brief shuddering there was an oily squelching sound as the ‘bed’ started to slide inside the MRI chamber; a large white archway containing unknown blackness and all the evils of the world as far as I was concerned. ‘Be brave Ham’ I whispered as the great white beast swallowed me whole; my eyes now firmly shut.

A crackly voice came through on the earphones ‘Ok Mr Shanks the first scan will take approximately 10 minutes, please remain perfectly still’ like I was going to move a fecking muscle! ‘you wont feel a thing’ continued the disembodied voice ‘but it will be rather noisy’ All good salient information you’ll agree. And definitely facts I would like to have been privy to prior to crawling down the gullet of this electronic monster.

True to her word it was noisy; it sounded like a 1970’s twin tub washing machine perpetually trying to get up enough steam to actually spin. That was ok; it was the accompanying sensations that were unsettling. When she said ‘you won’t feel a thing’ she must have been referring to pain. It wasn’t sore but it did make all the hairs on the back of my neck raise up. I say back of the neck merely for illustrative purposes. The beast was scanning my lower body so it was actually the hairs on my sack that were standing on end. A unique and novel experience hopefully not to be repeated.

Unfortunately this procedure was repeated three more times and I was getting the distinct impression there could be lasting damage to my joy division. I was about to press the supplied panic button when the crackly voice returned ‘Alright Mr Shanks that’s you finished’ more oily squelches and a feeling of openness made me open my eyes again. Sweet sweet freedom. The voice crackled once more ‘please remove the earphones and make your way back to the changing area’

Sighing with relief I removed the earphones and stood up ‘what the fu-‘ my paper gown appeared to be levitating around my nether regions. A quick glance underneath revealed a perfect ‘Afro’ hairstyle around my plums ‘aaaaw no, ye’ve got to be kidding!’ Hunching over I waddled back towards the changing rooms. ‘This cannay be happening’ I wailed. But my troubles were only just starting.

As soon as I stepped out the door there was a whooshing sound and a metal bedpan came flying through the air and smacked into my groin ‘Ooommpff’ my eyes crossed painfully and I slumped on to the floor ‘Ooh fckinhell’ I tugged at the container but it just would not budge. A scratching noise caught my attention and I raised my head just in time to see the receptionist scrabbling in vain at her desk as an invisible power drew her metal chair towards me, both our eyes were out on stalks as she finally lost her flimsy grip ‘mummy’ I whimpered

The last thing I remember as the receptionist and her metal steed thumped into my ethnically styled groin were shouts of ‘Sweet jeeeeesus we’ve got a live one’ and lots of red flashing lights

Magneto meets Shaft – You decide on the film title ……