Notes From Liminal Spaces - Medical Imaging Edition

Without getting into too much detail, I was hit by a car while riding my bike back in March. Well, more accurately, I was cut off by a turning 4Runner and used my rib cage as a battering ram to broadside it.

Do I need to say I lost that battle?

At least I have footage, as I use a Go-Pro like a dashcam when I ride.

I’m mostly OK at this point, having done some physical therapy and taken it easy for several months so as not to further peeve my bruised ribs and torn intercostal muscles.

That said, I do still have some lingering issues, which brings us to why I found myself at an out-of-network imaging provider’s office the other evening for an MRI. I say out of network, but as it turns out, they’re IN my provider’s network, just not part of the biggest medical network in the city, which I’m used to using.

Anyway.

The whole experience was the epitome of a liminal space encounter, starting with the road you have to take to get into their parking lot. This location is adjacent to a massive construction project turning one of the nation’s first indoor malls into a multi-use complex that includes a practice ice rink for the Seattle Kraken, a new shopping center, and a multitude of housing options—all across the street from a new light rail station.

The street is still partially under construction, so none of the intersections are marked. People cross…wherever they feel like it. Driveways intersect the street 15’ from the nearest traffic controls. Etc…Oh, and the only other traffic on it at this time of evening were two mostly empty Metro buses leaving the station.

Turning into the parking lot I was immediately reminded of a YouTube channel I used to watch that was all about self-protection. The host’s biggest pet peeve is how people don’t stay alert when crossing through liminal spaces like parking lots, and he would have loved this one. It fits maybe 30 cars in multiple rows, yet there were exactly 4 cars in it when I pulled in. And the whole thing smelled like cement dust and cut wood.

At least it wasn’t dark yet.

After trying two doors, unsuccessfully, and walking damn near the whole way ‘round the 3-story office building, I saw a sign for the outfit I was looking for next to what appeared to be a service entrance. Let me elaborate, the whole building was labeled as being this facility, it was literally the only business name on the building itself as well as on the sign when you turned off that street into the parking lot. One side of the building even had what looked like an ambulance drive-through area. But all those doors were locked with no intercom or anything.

Did I mention that I hadn’t seen a single person since turning off the main road? And the smell of cut wood was disconcerting as there were no freshly cut trees, or even recently pruned shrubs to be seen.

So I walk down the sidewalk, behind the plantings, and under a huge window A/C unit to find an open door with the right name on it…and walk into a completely empty waiting room. Six chairs, two side tables with outdated magazines, and a water cooler. And oddly, no smells at all. How is that even possible?

I’m getting seriously creeped out at this point.

Then a young woman pops up from behind the reception desk with a “Hi there! You must be our last appointment of the day!”

Yeah, that’s me. I guess.

I do my paperwork duty and am escorted through the completely empty halls by my tech, Lem.

Nice guy.

The whole facility resonated with the sounds of the MRI tube I was being led toward, which was an apt soundtrack given how creepy the whole place felt. And the back rooms all had a faint whiff of disinfectant, as I had been expecting when I walked in.

The scan itself was uneventful, which is exactly how I like my medical appointments. One exception was the fact that I only just fit in the tube. Not because I’m fat, which I am, but because my shoulders are so damn broad they brushed the sides.

At least I got a good meditation session while listening to the humming, drumming, thumping, and bumping of the machine for approximately 15 minutes.

Then it was back on with my sandals and back out into the real world, after retrieving my car and navigating the construction mess out front, that is. Oddly, again, the cut wood smell was gone. Just cement dust, which I expect near construction when it hasn’t rained for well over a month.

Yes, Seattle now regularly gets extended stretches of rain-free days. Don’t tell anyone, it ruins our image.

All in all, a perfectly fine experience considering the situation. I guess that goes to show that not all liminal space adventures have to be bad, or scary. They’re just…different. The spaces feel…off. The street isn’t quite a regular street, yet. The parking lot is a parking lot. The medical facility halls are…well sterile, in every way. It was all just a bit disorienting.

Oh well, now I wait for the results to tell me whether or not I do indeed have a bulging disc as the doctor suspects.