A near death experience was the tap on the shoulder to clean out my underwear drawer :-)

IT’S NOT A TOOMER
© Anita Ryan

When the (rather cute Heath Ledger doppelganger) radiographer told me to take off heverything except for my hunderpants, I realised the wisdom of the mother's urban myth that you should always wear clean undies in case you get hit by a bus. My Elle McPherson G was not chosen with the intention of showing it off to interns and emergency staff, but it did help to redeem some self-respect as I swanned with as much pride as a breezy swamp-green gown will allow through the hallways on my way to an MRI scan.

My nightmare started when I got into work one morning. I sat down at my desk as per usual and started tapping Very Important Things on my computer. Without warning, I went spontaneously blind in my left eye. When I say “blind” I mean, when I closed my right eye I was asking “who turned out the lights?”

The irony of my bumper sticker (“I’m a one-eyed Swans supporter”) was not lost on me as I drove into Bunbury to visit my GP. She sent me immediately to the town’s only ophthalmologist, where, upon my arrival and reading my referral letter, the receptionists fast-tracked me into see him, ahead of the waiting-room plebs sitting under the sign: “We apologise for the wait”. I stopped myself from royal-waving them, as judging by the cobwebs the poor darlings had been waiting a while.

The ophthalmologist in turn fast-tracked me to the hospital for an MRI scan. The minor obstacles that a) there is only one machine servicing the entire South-West population of more than 150000, and b) it was having a day off, did not deter my super-hero ophthalmologist. He located an MRI operator and hauled him in to turn the machine on and stuff me in it.

Standing in the lobby at Imaging The South, I was supported by a very kind receptionist as I clawed the fee for the tests from various bank accounts and the parking-money box in my car. I even threw in the three bucks allocated to my daily coffee fix and the twenty cents stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Ugh.

At that moment, I had never experienced an outlook so bleak Why me? Why did I waste $19 to see Star Wars: Attack of the Clowns? Is it bad luck to be superstitious? Why can’t I just press Ctrl Alt Delete and all this be over? Is there such a thing as a rhetorical answer?

Questions like this ran amok through my head as I was lying prone inside the MRI machine. I was also trying to not think about elephants – it was easier than not moving my head or eyes for the whole two hours I was in there. I also “window-shopped” for a new glass eye in a contrasting colour, I wondered if my skin care program was working (and if so, why don't I look twelve?), and went out of my mind with the Van Morrison music playing out of time with the machine’s click-click-brrrrrrr-boom-boom beats. Anything rather than think about the hideous tumour that I was sure, by now, was growing behind my left ear giving me three months left to live.

A few hours later, my ophthalmologist rang with my results saying, “You don’t have Multiple Sclerosis, you are not at risk of having a stroke, and it is not a tumour,” but all I could hear was Arnold Schwarzeneggar in Kindergarten Cop yelling, “it’s not a toomer!”

While laughing maniacally and yelling myself hoarse that it is not a toomer, I cleaned all mangy hunderwear out of my drawer – there is no room for non-performing elastic in my life. I opened a bottle of Moët & Chandon that I’d been saving for a “special occasion” (and from now on all toomer-free days are special occasions). I exercised gratitude for all the little things that make life special – a full moon, an empty parking space, a crackling fire, a fulfilling meal, a glorious sunset, non-rashy shaved legs, sharing jokes with friends, non-smelly fake tan, hot soup, cold champagne. And I let my son stay up an extra half an hour so I could spend more time with him – now that is something to be truly grateful for.

END

AUTHOR BIO:
Anita Ryan is a young-thirties (excluding GST) freelance writer based in Western Australia. She enjoys the panoramic views of the Indian Ocean from her deck, saluting the setting sun with a glass of wine, and playing with the dolphins at her local beach. In her spare time (only joking, there is no spare time!) she is writing an unauthorised auto-biography, taming her garden and taxi-ing her son to his copious sporting commitments. Mostly she loves writing things that raise eyebrows, lower pants and knock socks off. Visit www.goddess.com.au/writer to read more.