January 6. MRI. Lying in the tube, I marvel at the contrast of my million-year-old, complicated body, which we barely understand, and the rumbling, whining, growling machine we’ve built to at least peek inside it. The contrast agent no longer needs to be catheterized from a femoral artery all the way up to the head; it’s just quickly injected into the arm, and that’s enough. It’s everywhere within seconds.