A bad marriage is not as bad as an MRI so try to stick it out and don't get divorced

The other day, I had to get an MRI. Now, this is something I never even worried my head with cause I never even thought I would ever need one. I always thought only folks who receive the AARP needed that stuff.
But when the doctor recommended it, and under the circumstances, I acquiesced immediately not thinking for a minute what the procedure might entail. Well, girrrrl, lemme tell you something. If you can endure an MRI you can endure the most unhappy marriage. Anyone who can handle and MRI can avoid divorce. That is what I thought as I laid there thinking “you can’t die in here and you can’t freak out, so think instead about Divorce Saloon and if you get out of this joint alive, tell everybody that their marriage isn’t as bad as they think.”
I-ya-yie!!!! It took moxie. It really really took courage, restraint and gravitas. And a little bit of crazy.
An MRI is really like a sobriquet for a bad marriage. Getting an MRI first of all requires you to get into one of those hospital gowns opened in the front. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. But the only redeeming thing with that is you get to keep on your knickers, so you get to keep a modicum of modesty. Okay. Then, they put you to lie down on this thing. I don’t know what you call it, but you pretty much know that bad things are about to happen, you’re about to be cannibalized and you start to sweat. And pray. Really hard. 
Then, they plug up your ears with, like, ear plugs, so that you can’t hear the insanely loud drones and screeches from the machine. Then they begin to slowly push you into a fricking gas chamber. At that point, your life is flashing before you. You are embroiled in a mare’s nest. Why did you ever agree to get this done? What were you thinking? You want out of there. You want your mother. But it’s too late. You have already committed, so you lay there and let them push you into the gas chamber.
So much for your reputation of being a bon vivant. Immediately, you are in hell. Hell is a coffin with no windows. You can’t move, you are completely enclosed. And helpless. You know this is something you have to get through but you know there’s no way you can do it. The only good thing about this is they give you a panic button and you are clutching it so hard, but your hands are cold, and you don’t want to squeeze it because you don’t want anyone to know how scared you are, or to call you a woose. They push you further into the chamber.
Then you start hearing all these noises. At first it sounds like really bad rap beats, but then, it sounds like the devil. People are asking you if you are alright from far off places (they can see you but you can’t see them). You barely say “yes” but you are not alright. It’s a nightmare. It’s a phocking nightmare. YOU WANT OUT. But there is no easy out. You don’t want them to think you are crazy. Or god forbid, weak of mind. You make vows to only do good from now on. If an MRI is like this, what is hell really gonna be like? “I gotta do good. I just gotta do good,” you chant silently in the madness of your mind as you silently fall apart.
So you try to think about Jesus on the Cross. If he could do that why can’t you lie in the gas chamber? You think of your brother and the other soldiers in Iraq. If they can do that why can’t you lie there in the gas chamber? You think of your clients who are going through a divorce. Those are real problems. Getting an MRI is child’s play in comparison.
Sick, insane, and completely unhinged, you find yourself smiling to yourself as you lie there in the gas chamber. SMILING! You think, “I can’t wait to blog about this on Divorce Saloon! I can’t wait to tell my readers that if I can lie here getting an MRI, they can so hang on to their marriage. They can fix what’s wrong. They can do it. It’s not that hard.”
But even that is no lasting comfort. And so 15 minutes into the 45 minute death chamber procedure, you panic. And you start yelling, “Nurse! Nurse!!!!! Get me out of here!!!!” You are pressing the panic button and you didn’t even realize it. It’s like, oh phock!
They take you out, like five nurses. They give you a lecture. You feel dumb. You feel stoopid for being such a woose. You think again about your clients who are going through the worse emotional torture of divorce. Surely, that is harder than this right here? “Nurse, I just…I don’t think I can do this,” you say, “I don’t think I can go back in there.”
“Why? You’re doing great! Absolutely great!”
“I can’t. It’s horrible. I feel like I am dying.”
“Well fine,” says nurse, “I will tell your doctor and maybe he can give you a Valium or something?”
“No. I can’t take drugs. I mean I should. But I can’t. So I’ll man up. I’ll man up and I’ll do it.”
“Good girl,” says nurse. “It will be over before you know it. You’ll see.”
…………..
And she was right. It was not comfortable by any means. But somehow, I did it without going into cardiac arrest. And so I ask you dear reader: If I could do  that, why do you think that you can’t hang on to your marriage? Yes I know it’s hard and unpleasant sometimes. And challenging too. But you know what? Even the worse challenges don’t last forever. Maybe you just need to man up and go along for the ride. You will feel so accomplished when you are done. Believe me….but you know what? I don’t ever want to go through that again. I am very serious. That seriously blew. And I want nothing to do with that EVER again. There will be no more MRI’s for this broad. I will embrace divorce first before I go near that torture again.