Indoor Camping: Fixing Up the Fixer-Upper

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Cheyenneh’s Brain

“This is a vitamin,” the research assistant said. “I’m going to put it on your forehead.”

Cheyenneh’s enduring an unneeded MRI scan in exchange for $75. Leave it to her to find a way to make exactly enough money to pay for her winter formal outfit while relaxing.

“It’s just to show which side of the brain it is,” the assistant says. “You can see it in the scans.”

Cheyenneh lets the research assistant do whatever she wants, including taping a vitamin to her head. She doesn’t ask a single question.

The assistant leaves Cheyenneh alone with the big magnet and closes the door. She’s lying very still and covered with a blanket.   I can’t see her face.

“A little nervous, is she?”

This assistant doesn’t know Cheyenneh. She doesn’t know Cheyenneh is usually on the giving end of nervousness.

The assistant sits down in front of a big window through which we can see Cheyenneh’s feet. She tells Cheyenneh through a speakerbox that she’s setting up the first test. She clicks on windows and boxes on her screen. I’m sitting back on the other side of the control room pretending not to be so curious.

I’ve been dreading this day. Cheyenneh agreed to take four hours of tests for a research study done by Washington University in St. Louis.   I agreed to accompany her, for free. They needed a control group of normal kids’ brains to study PKU. Cheyenneh, they believe, is normal. I hope they’re right. I’m looking at her brain right now.

“Are there variations in people’s brains?”

“There are, actually,” the assistant says. She lets me sit right next to her. “This part right here – the ventricles – hers are small.”

“Is that good?”

“That’s good. It means there’s not a lot of extra fluid in her brain.”

Looking at moving pictures of my daughter’s brain is interesting. Who knew? Her eyes bulge when the scanner moves by them. Her nose gets bigger and smaller. Her ears stick out then disappear. I can see the top of her spine.

Looking at her nose makes me think about mine. It’s killing me. Right when we were leaving I forgot about my nose ring and bumped it off. I’ve had it for six weeks: you’d think I’d have a brain. I sat in the car all the way up whining and crying and trying to poke it back in. It was more painful than getting it pierced in the first place.

When we arrived, the first thing they told her to do was remove hers. Seeing your Mom in tears trying to replace her nose ring makes you just say no. She said no. Then, before anyone could give her $75 worth of good reasons, she said okay.

Now she’s getting shaken like a milkshake and told to keep still. If she’s still, the picture is clear, just like a regular camera. She’s doing well: I can plainly see her teeth.

“Now you’ll hear bursts of short and long buzzing noise,” the assistant says. “This test lasts four minutes.”

She didn’t get any sleep last night – I wonder if she’s catching up now. She isn’t moving.

“This test sounds like a siren. It also lasts four minutes.”

The MRI scans are only the first part of the tests. When she’s done, she gets to do puzzles, memorize random lists, and eat fruit roll-ups.

“I usually give people a picture to keep with their eyeballs in it. Do you think that would gross her out?”

The eyeballs are the coolest part. You can see the big white balls with the lump of color at the edge, like an egg with a severely shrunken yolk. They look like ice cream cones stuck in her head; the tip of the cone pointing to her cerebellum.

“No,” I say. “It’s cool.”

“Okay.” The assistant smiled. They ARE cool. Besides, I’m the one who’s going to be showing off the picture. Her friends won’t be impressed with the size of her cortex.

Four hours later, we left Pill Hill and drove home. Cheyenneh was driving, so we barely missed running into a few slower cars driven by senior citizens. A couple of cute little girls were over halfway through crossing the main street in our town and Cheyenneh decided she had enough time to screetch by without killing them all at once.

I made sure she knew this was illegal. I made sure she knew I could swear expressively, too, if I felt the need. The car was quiet for a while. Now that I know she has a brain, I hope she’ll someday try to use it.

I asked her to drop me off at the gym since after all my sitting and waiting, I can’t get motivated to do anything, not even paint. She pulled right up to the big picture window where the ab benches are all lined up.

“I park here when I’m bored and watch people until they notice,” she says. “Jessi and I came and held up signs saying, “You can do it!” and “Good job!”

That’s when I remember it takes until your early twenties until your brain is fully developed.

A little help? [] 7:33:33 PM