I think my dad is part cat.

“A cat?? What do you mean you think your dad is a cat?” you question. Well…….. they claim that a cat has nine lives and I’m mentally adding up the times my dear dad has potentally meandered close to ‘the light’ and managed to chuck a ‘u-ey’ and surprise us all.

Let us start the count with the five way heart bypass he required in 1998. Things were pretty grim. Freshly retired from years in the butcher shop, he was well on his way to a massive heart attack as one of his arteries was almost completely blocked and the others were rather compromised. And all the time he was wondering why he was struggling for a decent breath on his daily walk up to the local shops. He wasn’t even 60 years old.

That got him up and moving for a few years until 2004 when things weren’t hunky dory and an angiogram showed he needed a couple of stents placed in arteries. Apparently two weren’t enough and he was back in surgery again within a fortnight getting another one put in.

We thought things had settled for a bit until the summer of 04/05 and there was that pimple on his back that just wouldn’t pop. You guessed it….. that was no pimple. It was a skin cancer. A melanoma. The surgeon took a nice big chunk out of his upper back for this one because you’ve not only got to remove the cancer but leave a clean margin around the site due to those rogue cancer cells that like to travel around the body.

Of course, once you’ve had one cancer, you can be pretty certain that there are going to be more and dad has not been the exception to this rule. Three more melanomas removed in ten years and then the next big one…..the Squamous Cell Carconoma. That little beauty required another surgery followed up with a gruelling post-operative round of radiation. This treatment really knocked him around. The radiation treatment burned his skin terribly. It took away his ability to taste and smell and it was like it cooked his throat from inside as well. He couldn’t swallow from the pain and lost a lot of weight. Dad was incredibly sick from the treatment that was meant to save him and I was worried that he was going to throw in the towel. He didn’t.

Roll on to 2019 and I had planned a big adventure to the UK and Europe. Eight wonderful weeks off work wandering and exploring foreign lands with my camera. Dad clearly didn’t want me to go because he got pneumonia in April and because he was still struggling with his breathing in June they did a lung biopsy that showed he had lung cancer. Dad underwent more radiation treatments but by early August had proceeded to get so sick he was hospitalised. His condition deteriorated so severly we were all called into the hospital for the ‘family meeting’. When I tell you things were dire, I’m not exaggerating. I cancelled the initial four week UK section of my holiday and my brother rushed back from his 50th birthday trip. The doctors rolled the dice on one more procedure, a bronchoscopy, and somehow dad lived to fight another day. I’m not kidding either when I suggest that the bronchoscopy was a roll of the dice. If the procedure didn’t work we were organising dad’s funeral. Honestly, the marvels of modern medicine. Dad was as good as dead heading into surgery and within hours he was back. I don’t exactly know what they did when they were in his lungs, but it worked.

As things turned out, dad was out of hospital in good time and I still managed to get my trip to Europe whilst holding dad’s beloved watch hostage. If he ever wanted to see his watch again he had to stay alive until I got back from my holiday.

We’ve had some breathing room. There was/is another Squamous Cell carcinoma up near his left eye. More surgery, another skin graft, more radiation, more immunotherapy…..

Dad has been soldioring on, but two weeks ago…..

A call for an ambulance in the wee hours of the morning and Dad is back in hospital. Struggling to breathe, it turns out that this time he has clots on his lungs, making breathing difficult, straining his heart and causing fluid to build up around the heart further adding even more strain on his heart. Oh….and apparently he’d had a heart attack a couple of days earlier but he’d been too sick to notice it. Just awesome.

The doctors couldn’t do anything until they stabilised him and worked on disolving the clots. Another angiogram to see what’s going on and he’s got a blocked artery but the blockage is in a tricky position. (Of course it is!!) We had to wait a couple of days but the surgeon put a new stent in him and two days later he was back home, better than he has been for months.

See what I mean! Cat – nine lives. Dad – ???? but clearly more than one.

In the end it was all too much.

So ……….my sister died yesterday.

She was only 46 years old. Married for 25 years. Two grown children.

Too young really.

Ironically, it wasn’t the Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma (stage 4) she was diagnosed with late last year that took her life. Nope. According to the scans she went through last week, there was no sign of cancer. She’d beaten that sucker. It was multiple organ failure.

You know when you’re about to undergo a tiny procedure and the doctor tell you all the things that could possibly go wrong but are a one in a million chance of occurring? My sister was that one in a million patient. If it was going to be an unusual reaction to a drug or treatment ……. she had it. The poor doctors and nurses at the Peter Mac have been left scratching their heads in bewilderment at what became an unending parade of unexpected and ultimately fatal complications.

Amber went into hospital nine weeks ago for what was supposed to be the final step in her cancer treatment. She never left.

It has been a long and terrible nine weeks for her husband and children. It has been a harrowing nine weeks for her parents, my mum and dad, who have been with her every day of this final journey. It has been a nightmarish nine weeks for my mum who spent weeks at the Peter Mac and the Royal Melbourne Hospitals last year as my dad faced, and survived, his own cancer battle only to be back there again watching her youngest child slowly fade away.

Like a cat with its nine lives, Amber had run out of lives. She suffered from severe Crohns disease that hospitalised her on a regular basis, was lucky to survive a brain aneurysm a few years ago, she had chronic migraines and she had to cope with seizures. I think that her body simply wasn’t strong enough to handle the horrors of chemotherapy on top of everything else.

And I think she’d had enough.

On Thursday afternoon her husband and my parents had to make the heartbreaking decision to discontinue treatment as Amber’s liver was failing, as were her kidneys. The only thing left was to keep her comfortable and wait. We’d run out of miracles.

Amber chose to leave us Sunday morning. Not Friday as that was her best friend’s birthday, and not today which is her daughter’s birthday. Her husband was with her as she took her final breath and the rest of us were there shortly thereafter to grieve and spend those last hours with her now that her struggle was over.

Amber pretty much missed the entire COVID-19 situation. I don’t think she was ever well enough in the last nine weeks to watch television, listen to the radio or read the newspaper. We told her about it as we sat with her on a visit, but it had no impact on her situation. She wasn’t going anywhere. It impacts her now as we decide how best to say farewell in the more formal sense of the word.

Goodbye sis. It’s a shame we never had a close sisterly bond. I can’t apologise for that, nor can I be filled with regret for it. We are/were two different people with two different paths to tread. But you are still my little sister and you’re not here anymore. And it hurts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Plans change.

You’re probably wondering why I have a picture of the inside of the Peter MacCallum Cancer Institute (The Peter Mac) on a blog post titled “Plans change”. Let me tell you why…………

I had plans. BIG plans. Seven weeks overseas visiting Ireland, Scotland, England, Wales, France, Germany, Italy, Austria and Greece. I have had to adjust these plans a little bit.

According to Encyclopedia Google the quote “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry” is the modern translation of “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft a-gley.” from Scottish poet Robert Burns’ “To a Mouse.” I always thought it was written by John Steinbeck, but he only pinched a teeny bit of it to use as the title of his famous novel ‘Of Mice and Men’.

Cancer will make you change your plans. My dad has cancer. Lung cancer. He was diagnosed about 2 months ago. This is not his first cancer. It started with the melanomas. Then there was the squamous cell carcinoma on the left side of his neck a few years ago. Every visit to the Peter Mac had the family on edge. What was going to be cut off today? What else had they found?

The relentlessness of a post-cruise bout of pneumonia led to the doctors taking a lung x-ray which revealed the cancerous tumour on the left lung and subsequent testing led to the discovery of the bonus little tumours on the right lung.

Last week things got life-threateningly scary for dad. We were at the pointy end of things and the point was pressing into him pretty hard.

Packing a suitcase and boarding a plane that was going to take me thousands of miles away from my dad and my mum was NOT an option. I knew where I had to be and on a plane to Dublin was not it.

So I changed my plans. A postponement. Nothing a few phone calls and emails couldn’t sort out.

Unbelievably my dad was discharged from the Peter Mac today, a week after we were gathered around his bedside trying to bring him comfort in what we honestly thought were going to be his last hours. The team at the Peter Mac had only one option available and they gambled on it. The gamble paid dividends. But I don’t think they took into account the stubborn nature of my dad. He wasn’t ready to go yet. You don’t fuck with my dad.

He had better keep this fighting spirit going. The new flight is booked for the 31st.

 

 

 

 

 

I can tie a tie?

When did I learn how to tie a man’s tie? Was it my mother or my father who showed me many, many, many moons ago.

How is it that I instinctively knew what I was doing?

I have been a single woman for most of my adult life. The requirement for me to tie a neck-tie is, and has been, almost non-existent yet there I stood in front of my adult son tying a proper ‘Simple knot’ around his neck.

There was no hesitation or indecision on the part of my hands. I’m sure that it took me less than fifteen seconds to have it done and securely placed at the opening of his collar.

How is it possible to have muscle memory for a task you have done less than ten times in your life? Add into the equation the fact that I had just walked in the door and I had no prior warning that I was going to be expected to tie a tie which meant therefore no time to hit up Google for an online tutorial.

I’ll simply have to own it. I’m bloody amazing.

I’m not feeling it.

According to the calendar and my computer and my phone and the shopping centres and work, it is December and we are racing towards Christmas.

I’m not feeling it.

My house is devoid of anything relating to Xmas. I have not put up the tree. I have not written my Xmas letter and taken my Xmas photo to send to those on the Xmas card list. I have not thought about baking my Xmas shortbread.

I am not ready for Xmas cheer.

It’s not that I don’t like Xmas. I do. But isn’t Xmas months away? Where has 2017 gone? One minute I was planning my birthday and now I’m supposed to be planning for 2018. I am certain that there were things I meant to do in 2017 that haven’t even had a look in. Don’t ask me what those things were that I had planned to do because the memory of them has faded into the distance. However, there have been a heck of a lot of things I have done.

Unfortunately,  keeping up with the housework has not been one of them. 😛

So, in just a smidgen over two weeks the world will be celebrating the birth of a fictional being, enjoying the two days off that this fictional being entitles us, eating too much food and being annoyed by the family commitments that we are forced to endure.

 

Yep….still not feeling it.

 

 

Unforgettable

It was a night I will never forget.

Milestone birthdays should be marked with something that will make you smile in the years to come. Some people travel to far-away lands to spend their milestone day doing something they had previously only dreamed about. Some people throw lavish parties and get so drunk that they figure the night must have been great because they can’t remember it. There are those people who choose to have an intimate affair with a select few family and friends. And then there are those who want to hide away and forget that they are having a birthday and the mere act of hiding creates a milestone in itself.

I went all out. “Go hard or go home!” became my motto/mantra. Birthday and debut photography exhibition.

The preparations!!

Sunday……pick up the last of the framed images. Monday………exhibition installation. Friday……deliver alcohol and glasses and assorted bits and pieces. Saturday morning……….deliver balloons. Saturday afternoon……….check-in to my hotel.

Tuesday night…..eyelash tinting. Friday…….mani/pedi. Saturday…..hair and make-up.

But it was worth every second of the pre-event chaos.

All my favourite people were there. My son, my parents, my brother and sister and their family, my best friend, my aunt and uncle, my school friends, the mums I am still friends with from mother’s group, the friends I made when my son started primary school, work colleagues, past work colleagues, photography friends, surprise guests from Tasmania…………

The food was devoured, the wine and bubbles flowed, laughter and conversation filled the gallery, the birthday cake was delicious and many of my images will be going to new homes at the conclusion of the exhibition.

My one stroke of genius was booking myself into a hotel room for the night. I cannot even begin to convey the satisfaction of walking into my hotel room, having a shower, putting on my pyjamas, making a cup of tea and sitting on that king-size bed opening my cards and gifts before falling into a coma of post-party exhaustion.

Crisp, white hotel sheets…………….

No dogs jostling for prime position…………

No-one knowing where I was……………

No demands……………

Unforgettable.

Language!!!!!

One upon a time, you would receive a tanned backside if you used the word “shit”. “Bloody” would see you getting your mouth washed out with soap. And heaven help you if you cursed with “Jesus Christ”………no dinner for you and you can forget about seeing your friends after school for the next week.

These days nobody bats an eyelid when you say those things. Even the faithful F-bomb that would have had you cast as an uncouth and vulgar beast has become a permanent part of everyday conversation for almost the entire population. (I say almost, because I have a very dear friend who I NEVER hear swear, no matter how trying the circumstances. ‘Bother poop’ is about the coarsest term to pass her lips.)

I am impressed at the way the word ‘fuck’ can be used in so many grammatically correct ways. It is a verb, a noun, and an exclamation. It can be used to abuse someone as easily as it can be used in praise of someone or something. An annoyance can be fucking intolerable and a sunset can be fucking amazing and things like my car radiator can be completely fucked. However, how it is used doesn’t matter because the sentence is instantly comprehended.

But I do wish that people would read more and discover that there are other incredible words in the English language that can be used in place of the word fuck. That annoyance could be intensely annoying, the sunset indescribable and the car radiator simply irreparable. (It was more than irreparable. It was completely fucked. 🙂  )

But there is one swear word that I dislike and I inwardly cringe when I hear it being used by others. It is the c-word. Or as my #1 son very cleverly put it…”C U Next Tuesday”. (#1 son know that I would not appreciate hearing him utter the real word) If you’re still baffled, just write down the capital letters….C….U…N…….. you get the drift.

It used to be the baddest of the bad swear words. The mother of all expletives. It was/is NASTY. However, I am discovering that for some people it has been an everyday word, no better or worse than “bloody hell”. It is not a word that I believe I will ever be comfortable adding to my vocabulary.

It is not a word that I EVER expected to hear my father say.

To suggest that I was a tiny bit shocked when my father dropped the c-word this morning would be putting it mildly. You should have been in the car with us to witness how he attempted to back-peddle and cover up his profanity. I gave him such a bagging. The man who would have tanned my hide for using the word “shit” had let loose an expletive explosion. Right there and then I told him that he had just made the blog for today. The whole world was going to know that he had dropped the clanger.

I could be kind and suggest that it’s the radiation treatment he is currently undergoing causing such a massive brain fade, but it was used with such ease and confidence that I’m afraid that this is a word that has been made comfortable in his vocabulary.

So there you are daddy dear. The whole world knows that you have a potty mouth.

“Have courage and be kind.”

Everything happens for a reason. Be that thing a chance meeting, a love, a parting, a spoken phrase, a job, a windfall ………..or ridiculously enough………….a movie.

It is December 31, 2016. The final day of 2016. To many, a chance to right wrongs, to profess true love, to make plans for the future, to make promises to themselves and to reflect on what has gone before. To everyone else, December 31 is just another day on the calendar.

This year, it’s just another day on the calendar for me. I have already done my reflecting on the past 12 months. My reflection is out there in cyberspace via the wonder of blogging. The whole world knows that 2016 was a year of intense and dramatic highs and lows. I met a man who turned my world upside down and gave me hope in love and I fucked that up and spent the next few months trying to put my self-confidence back into some sort of order. (Still a work in progress) I went on photography adventures and met hundreds of fabulous people and discovered parts of my marvellous Melbourne and Victoria that I didn’t know existed. I took myself off to explore parts of Tasmania for a week. I went to see many wonderful live shows.

But through all this, one thing has been consistent this year. The messages from the universe.

They have taken many forms. There have been quotes that I’ve read, comments from friends and, more startling, comments from total strangers. There have been places I have visited, dreams I’ve had and movies I’ve watched.

The final message for me of 2016 came from a movie and it may very well become my mantra for the next 12 months at least. And it was a movie that I would never have expected to bring me insightful wisdom…..”Cinderella”. (Not the Disney animated version, but the live re-make)

“Have courage and be kind”

I don’t want anyone questioning why I was watching Cinderella on New Years Eve instead of being out at a BBQ or party with friends………or the very least out in the city, camera at the ready, preparing for the fireworks photos. Like I mentioned at the beginning, everything happens for a reason. I was clearly meant to be home tonight with the dogs watching Cinderella so that I was presented with this mantra.

2016 was a big year. It was a learning year. It was a year that presented me with the opportunities for growth that I needed. It was a shitty year emotionally. However, were I to write down all the good and bad that happened to me in 2016, the good would far outweigh the bad.

So I bid farewell to 2016 with a ceremonial burning. Thank you for what you have made me see.

Welcome to you 2017. All I can say to you is…………”Bring it on!!!!!!!”

Food coma

Bloody photo-bombers!!!

How is it that despite my best intentions I still end up eating too much food on Xmas day?

I tried to be good. Just a little bit of ham…..and pork……..and chicken………..and turkey…………..and potatoes…………and pumpkin, sweet potato, roasted beetroot and carrots.

I blame my mother’s Xmas pudding. It was SO good. SO good. And combined with the custard and whipped cream………….my tastebuds were having tiny orgasms in my mouth. SO good I went back for another slither.

Plus there was all the lovely fresh fruit. And a gingerbread house.

And cheesecake……….but I didn’t have any cheesecake.

Then I needed a cup of tea.

It’s 8pm and I still feel like I’m going to explode.

Well, that’s put a dampener on things.

Lump.

Tumour.

Cancer.

Words that strike fear into the hearts of most people.

Words you don’t want to hear.

Words that you hope you’ll never hear uttered in a sentence that relates to someone you care about. Somebody who is important in your life.

Words that I actually expected that I would hear.

Now our family is like so many others. Like too many others.

Those horrible words are going to become a big part of our vocabulary over the coming weeks, months, years.

They are now so much more than words.

Suddenly they are reality.