THE MRI

One of my nephews asks me how my MRI examination went. The Sunday 8am MRI will determine whether I need a hip replacement.

I answer immediately: "It's like working at a university." He laughs and nods in agreement.

The technician squeezes my body into the MRI tube where I have to remain motionless for nearly an hour. I am literally the proverbial sardine in the can, I have nothing else to do but sensitize myself to my surroundings.

The random, senseless noise of all types pierces my eardrums despite my hearing protection. Did the CIA choose this playlist of racket? My arms and legs are bound to keep them from moving. The MRI technician constantly reminds me not to move under any circumstance. On the MRI forbidden list? No scratching, no sneezing, no coughing, no throat clearing, no belching, no farting! In 66 years, I had never accomplished this feat of discipline before today.

I dare not open my eyes for fear of freaking out. I've got massive claustrophobia. My nose is almost long enough to touch the top of the tube. The technician gives me a button to contact her in case of emergency. She warns me she won't be able to hear me if I scream. Half way into the examination, my feet begin to cramp, first the left then the right. Normally when that happens at night I jump out of bed to loosen the muscle. In the tube, I "will" my cramps to loosen up.

The random, senseless, ear-piercing noise starts and stops at odd intervals. There's no logic to the sounds or their timing. After 15 minutes of this intermittent cacophony, the sounds begin to make sense; the linguist in me breaks the code. It's university cacophony:

"Leadership starts here!" states the sign of the university whose mantra is mediocrity.

"This university wouldn't exist without football."

"There will no money for faculty raises again this year." says the university spokesperson whose fired football coach is being paid $5 million each year for five years.

"Excellence, excellence, excellence!" proclaims the perpetual fourth-quartile university.

"We've never done this before!" says the university that brags about its innovative programs.

The binding of my arms and legs remind me of the bindings many faculty have.

• The professor who can't implement a new and innovative program via a grant application because he can't get a course reduction to write the proposal and manage a potential world-class program. "The course reduction is too expensive," says the dean who can't see the benefits of a new world-class program in his college.
• The EMBA program director who loses her job despite many years of successful operations in a heavily saturated market. She is dismissed because she neglects, for the first time, to meet her quota of applicants. The dismissed director's trophy case of successful EMBA global executives is speechless at hearing the announcement. Meanwhile, the athletic department continues unscathed to operate in the red.
• A university's only top-ten program, wielding a huge national reputation, gets its staff gutted in campus-wide cuts. Most of the remaining staff soon leave due to health issues from overwork. The university shrugs its shoulders and hires new staff.

The MRI is finally over. I am numb but relieved like when I retired in 2014 at age 61. Time to head home and pop a couple of Vicodin.

I am thriving in retirement, free and unbound, but am still heartbroken for many of my colleagues who will work "bound"--well past age 65.