abscond \ab-SKOND\, intransitive verb:
To depart secretly; to steal away and hide oneself -- used especially of persons who withdraw to avoid arrest or prosecution.

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The day finally arrived, and I made my way up to the hospital for my scan. I wasn't really too bothered about it... until I saw the machine, that is. You see, I am a little bit claustrophobic, and I get very anxious when I am in very confined spaces, and you don't get much more confined than inside the MRI scanner. The radiographer did all she could to calm me: she told a couple of jokes, put some ear defenders on my head, gave me a panic button, and assured me that my head would not be inside the machine. She eased me forward, and kept on easing me forward. By the time she stopped, I was staring at the inside of the scanner, which was less than 2cm from my nose. I was not very happy, and could feel the anxiety levels rising. She told me to stay completely still - which was not difficult, since there was no room for me to move. My claustrophobic anxiety only kicks in when I am unable to move my hands to my face. I couldn't move my arms, and I felt as if my face was pressed up against the machine. Then the noise started. I needed four scans, each one minute longer than the last, with the first 'short' scan taking two and one-half minutes. Even with the ear defenders the noise was disconcerting - terrifying even. After what seemed like an eternity, but which was actually little less than 20 minutes, the machine stopped thumping out its acid-house rave beats and the radiographer's voice entered my head through the ear defenders telling me that it was all over. I have never been so relieved in my life. It really was the most unpleasant experience, and I am in absolutely no hurry to repeat it. Scan over, all I can do now is wait for the result, and cross every crossable digit that surgery will not be necessary. I got home, still shaking, and tried to calm down with the newspaper and a cup of coffee. I am still amazed at how badly I took it - after all, it was completely painless and relatively brief. Anyway, that's the way it was, and that's the way I felt. Gavin nipped up for a coffee and a blether this afternoon, a visit that helped me to relax and get back to normal. Thanks, mate. The new houses at the back are filling up with people now, and our lawyer has told us that we have to liaise with the developer about the access. So things seem to be looking up on that score. One of the new neighbours has a black and white cat, which Mizzie has been watching like a hawk. I wonder how she will take seeing her territory being invaded!

Last year our new bed arrived and Portugal made it to the final of Euro2004