Lying on this imaging platform isn’t painful, nor can I feel the magnetic waves scanning my brain. But my palms are perspiring, because something in this process has unleashed a horde of memories that keep battering their boundaries and threatening my composure.These are sharp-voiced, needle-toothed recollections I’d rather forget. Despite my determination to keep them pent up, my heart has begun to pound and my teeth are threatening to chatter. I’m supposed to lie still and not move, but I’m doing everything I can to keep from leaping up, scrambling off the table, and canceling the entire procedure.Why am I doing this? Am I doing it for my aunt? Am I doing it because I was so idiotically happy to meet someone who knew my father that I’d agree to walk across hot coals if she wanted me to?Come to think of it, hot coals might be less painful than the surgery I’ve agreed to. I haven’t gone under a knife in years, but I remember lying in a bed with my arms strapped down so I wouldn’t touch my stitches.
