I got to see inside my head this morning because yesterday morning, at about the same time, I lay stomach-down on a bench and perched my chin on a pillow made of the same foam as a car bumper. From the four-foot diameter plastic doughnut before me came lasers in multiple cross hairs. The bench lifted me into the doughnut where I could see that the doughnut had rings that began to spin.
I got to see inside my head this morning because the doctor wanted a CT scan. Looking over it, we stepped back from my nose, through my eyes, into my brain, and out somewhere near the top-most edge of the spine. I could tell it was me because the first shot was a profile, and the flesh adorning my bones formed a very familiar silhouette. There were a lot of black spots. These, he explained, were my sinus cavities. I am already perturbed by the thought that we only consciously use 10% of our brains. Now I have learned that, in addition, about a quarter of my head is completely hollow.
I got to see inside my head this morning to point to a little grey deposit between the blank of my sinuses and the ghost-white of my bones. This is inflammation -- remnant of an infection. While there is still plenty of cavity around it, this is what makes it harder to breath. This is what motivates me to take the pills and puff the puffs for another two months. I don't have time to mull over the significance of the voids in my head. For now, I am their champion.
I got to see inside my head this morning and it convinced me to help make it a bit more hollow.