Please help me with my creative writing module by reading my short story and giving me feedback. Any help would be much appreciated

The Hospital Journey

“Here are some earplugs for you, the machine is very loud. Put your head here and lie very still.” A doctor, who seems to be of a similar age to me, instructs.  As he assertively pushes me towards what is essentially a table on wheels, I cannot help but notice how aggressively robust the machine my head was about to be placed into seems to be. “No, don’t cross your legs…” He continued to talk, but is either unaware that the hard foam he just placed around my head is blocking my hearing, or he is too rushed to care. A nurse places a button into my hand and gives me the thumbs up gesture, mouthing at me to relax. I can only assume this is a panic button for when my claustrophobia hits. As soon as I shut my eyes I can feel the bed moving. The inside of the apparatus is so blindingly bright I close my eyes but still need to fight my eyelids to stop them from twitching. My mouth is already dry and subconsciously I have started to clutch onto the panic button. A chainsaw like noise is growing in intensity, bursting through the protective layers surrounding my head and raging against my eardrums. Can they see the stress levels in my brain right now? I have seen some photos from MRI’s before, and I have heard that emotional responses can be shown in them. If so, I hope that the doctor knows his aloof welcome is partly to blame. As I swallow, a high pitched (but thankfully short lived,) screech jerks my body. Surely I do not have to be so still I cannot even swallow?

 Relax.

 The machine scavenging my brain for imperfections is not in fact an MRI, it is the Roller Coaster my Dad and I repeatedly rode on in Blackpool, when I was around ten. The clicking noise is not magnetic fields or radio waves passing through my body, it’s the struggle from the chain on the ride as we rose up the incline of the first drop. Any moment now I will be able to see the ocean once again; I can clutch onto my Dad’s hand whilst screaming at the top of my lungs. The image in my mind is becoming so vivid I can almost smell the crisp sea air…

 The sounds change. I am no longer sat beside my Father on a family day out. No longer am I carefree on a ride at a pleasure beach. Now I am stood in front of my neighbour’s dog, who once got out of his garden and pinned me against a wall for almost an hour. His ears were clasped to his head, his snout snarling to show his fearsome fangs. Wolf like in appearance, any sudden movements could’ve been the aggravation he needed to attack. He was usually kept in a muzzle, even in his own home. I can only assume it must’ve broken off as he scaled the fence which marked the area in which he was usually confided. My hand clamps to the panic button once again.

No. Relax. The noise is not the neighbour’s dog who gave me ten stitches that day. Instead I am entering the imaginary suit from the game my cousin and I used to play. Kitted to the bone in futuristic looking armour I prepare myself to join the war against bloodthirsty aliens, situated on a foreign planet the human race is about to take over. The arena seems metallic. Everything is either silver or white, except for the open sky. The darkness emitted from the horizon is enchanting, planets oozing in purples and oranges dazzle me from the distance above. Whilst my army may be outnumbered, we are far more advanced than the enemy. For one, I am carrying a loaded gun which has advanced accuracy and damage. This is a battle I cannot lose. I sprint to hide behind a rock before shooting. The gun grows similar to the dog, however this sound is now exhilarating. There is a box floating not far from me. I have played enough games to know that this will help me to win the battle. As I lunge to grab my target the atmosphere changes (yet again).

 This noise seems almost unfamiliar to me. Almost as if someone is knocking three times on a large, old, wooden door. The kind of doors you would find marking the entrance of an old castle or a little wooden cottage, hidden amidst a village which would have a singular pub (strictly for locals), a butchers, a bakery, and would exist miles away from the rest of humanity. After the three knocks there is the sound of a buzzer, similar sounding to the buzzers apartment complexes have to allow a visitor access to the building. This sequence lasts a while, to the point I can almost envision myself living in a mansion located on hundreds of acres of land, buzzing in my friend’s so they can stay in one of the many rooms of my new home.  

 This new noise is loud. So loud it is rattling my whole body. I wonder if the MRI is picking up on the fact I am recreating stories in my head? I’m not stupid enough to believe the MRI is acting as some kind of portal so that the nurse can see what I am imagining, but I wonder if my creativity is causing a certain area on the images to light up? The rattling sensation is getting worse. I feel like I am sat in a rocket taking off from the Earth’s hemisphere. Instantaneously I imagine myself strapped into a large chair, in front of a dashboard covered in levers, buttons and monitors. There is a bright light out of the window, similar to the light shining into my eyes from the MRI. Blinding. I can only assume this light is from the sun reflecting off the glass, or from the speed in which I am travelling… I hope the bed shaking is normal. Through my internet research I never read that I would be shaking. However, I did also read that I would feel on edge and would struggle to relax during the process. Once I had overcome my initial fear of the unknown, however, I have found myself to be half enjoying my experience. I’m guessing I have only been in the machine around ten minutes. I’ve now become accustom to waiting. Despite the fact I only arrived around five minutes before my appointment, I found myself talking to an old man for around forty minutes before I was seen by a nurse. I guess the time spent at hospitals allows people to have the chance to reminisce, because in this time he told me his whole life story. Born in the time of the war, he joined the RAF after finishing his Grammar School education early. He has been to the hospital very few times for injuries of his own accord. This time he was here as his wife needed an X-Ray. Once as a child he broke his arm, I mentioned how I broke my nose at a festival. He stated how he was once at an RAF festival and an engine failed, killing the pilot and a few people in the crowd who were stood not too far from him. “That’s awful, that must have been so scary.” I gasped, trying to seem involved in the story as I was unsure of the correct response. “It was awful, but all I could think was ‘Thank the Lord’ because that could’ve been me. It reimbursed my faith.” He replied. “You know, I was once in Jerusalem. It was beautiful there. Anyway, there was an Arab beggar. I gave her some money and I was handing her a Bible as a Jewish man ran over. ‘No, no, don’t touch that! That’s not for us!’ He must’ve assumed the Arab was Jewish. Anyway, I replied with ‘Yes it is. It’s for all of us. There is no difference between you and I. We believe in one God. Jesus was born a Jew, died a Jew and will come back as a Jew.’ He seemed rather taken aback by this. We ended up shaking hands.” As he was recounting this story he was searching through the inside pockets of his suit jacket, then he passed me a small blue Bible, filled with prayers from the New Testament. “Keep this, I always hand them out to people in need.” I’m not really sure what he meant by that, I’m not in need, however the Bible that is now lining the inside of my pocket is making me feel a lot safer.

 The bed stops moving. A camera shutter starts. I’m back on a beach in Wales, sat on a wall feeding the seagulls with my Nana, watching the sun set. I’m around fifteen on a camping trip with her, my Dad, my Sister, my younger Cousin and my Uncle. My Dad is taking our photo. I never really saw my Nana, and I had hardly ever spoken to her on the few occasions we did meet. This trip had given me the opportunity to get to know her a little better. I have always felt a little intimidated by her blunt attitude, but at least I always knew her true opinions. Unusually for Wales, the sun was almost unbearable. It was so warm we could comfortably swim in the ocean that morning, which my Sister, Cousin and Uncle took full advantage of. I’m scared of the ocean, though, so chose to eat Ice Cream and Sunbathe. We had spent the night before eating bacon butties and melted marshmallows (cooked on an open fire), so I wasn’t really hungry, yet I spent half the day walking down the high street with my Nana looking for places to eat. I doubt she was hungry either, rather she just wanted to take the time to talk with me about something. We ended up bitching about how arcades are a waste of time and money, and reconfirmed those beliefs after spending £10 on the grabber machines to only walk away with a tacky stuffed bear. It still sits on my bookshelf next to the photo my Dad had taken of us.

 Silence. Is it over? I open my eyes but I am still inside the machine, the bright light is burning a hole into my head. This silence is making it hard for me to picture anything in my mind. It is so quiet I almost feel deaf. Not a footstep, not a cough, not even a low rattle from the machine’s engine. Possibly I could now be in outer space, looking down on Planet Earth after the journey I envisioned earlier? It’s hard to picture. Maybe this is the silence that followed that day at the beach with my Nana, and I am now lay in my tent waiting to fall asleep? No. I could hear crickets and the distance laughs of other campers that night. It was not this silent.

I’m starting to get a feeling of sensory deprivation. I cannot see, cannot hear. All I can smell is the putrid odour of hospitals. The smell which puts me on edge. When I was relaxed I dropped the panic button, now I am frantically patting my body trying to find it. The high pitched screeching is back, the one warning me not to move. This is unbearable. The bed is moving and I can finally open my eyes. “That’s it, your results will be sent to your GP. Don’t forget your jacket as you leave.” The doctor rushed as he quickly pushed me out of the room so the next patient can enter.