X is for X Ray

I love x-rays. I mean, I don't love getting them and I'm sure the radiation, low-dose though it may be, is not great for my insides, but I love having them. We've all seen skeletons and we all know the basics of our own bodies and how our bones protect and move us, but isn't there still that tiny bit of disconnect? "I know I have bones, but I've never seen them laid out on a table, so I just don't feel very attached to them, I have no emotional resonance with my own insides." But x-rays give you a connect. You get to see your very own bones and suddenly, you think of your arm or your spine or your neck in a new, more tender way.


So I got a neck x-ray the other day. Nothing serious; I wasn't in an accident or anything. But when he said "x-ray" (he also said "MRI" (again, nothing serious)...Yippee! A chance to connect with my brain!) I got excited. He showed me the x-ray and I'm thinking "Wow, that's a good looking neck. So very, very straight." I felt regal, like Eliza Doolittle at the embassy ball. Then he told me necks weren't really supposed to be that straight, they were supposed to curve. He also said that even though I was thin (I'm sure he actually meant short) I had a very long neck, and that it might have been longer. Huh? Longer? (Man, I'd always wanted to be taller!) He said, well, he couldn't be certain, but it appeared that my neck had suffered some trauma, much like if you fell on your head...or were dropped! (Cue sinister music.)


I recall no such accidents in my life, and if what he says is true, did someone drop me when I was a baby and never tell me? I suspect my sister...