“We’ll
begin by doing the head and neck in two millimetre slices. I’m just relieved
that nobody will have to give this patient the bad news that she’s terminal.”
The
radiologist had made the joke to bridge the jarring disconnect between ancient
death, wrapped up in magical spells, and the modern day machinery of medical
imaging.
The
radiation scan - at a dose lethal for the living - blasted through the linen
windings. It was like a penetration of sunlight warming the bones after the
ache of the desert night.
