CHAPTER 1

When You KnowSomething's Wrong

When you get that gut feeling (from who knowswhere?), just go with it! You'll look back from thefuture and understand what it was all about.

For many months, I had a nagging feeling about Steve's cough.

"You better get that cough checked out," I'd say regularly.

He'd respond with a roll of the eyes that declared, You're nagging andworrying for nothing. He'd assure me he'd had it looked at and it was justa lingering cough from a virus.

The thing was, he did have a virus with a cough residue last year andagain this year, but it seemed that it never really cleared in between.

In addition to the cough, I had a feeling that he just wasn't the same.What did I mean by that? Well, it was difficult to define, but I sensedhe was in some sort of struggle—a struggle where the thought of takingon new things seemed too difficult.

When I made suggestions to do or go somewhere different—with a"Let's check out ..." or "Let's ..." or "Why don't we ..."—he wasn'tinterested. In fact, he seemed slightly irritated by the idea.

We began building our beach house at Maslins Beach in January 2011(it had already been put on hold when I was diagnosed with cancerback in 2006), and although we were both excited about the project,I noticed he lacked the energy and drive to deal with many aspects ofthe building. Fortunately, as he pointed out, I was working part-timeand did have the time to take them on. Still, I felt that something wasn'tright.

I remembered thinking how tired and "full" he must have been. Iquestioned whether that was normal, or whether he was abnormallydrained. I had that ongoing sense that something was going on, butnothing stood out.

When we finally got the keys to the beach house in July 2011, Stevewas so excited and proud. He had worked hard all his life, and to finallybuild the house meant great times ahead with family and friends. It wasa time in our lives when work was supposed to slow down a little. Butthat's not how it was.

We found that time to work on the house didn't just arrive out of thinair. There was already plenty to do with our Highbury home, not tomention work commitments, so there was only a limited amount oftime for work and pleasure at the beach house.

Sensing the difficulty, I did what I could to organize all the bits: blinds,carpets, floors, furniture, appliances, decorations, sundries, and so on.Steve would say there was no point in him doing it because "the boss"(that's me, apparently) would have the final say anyway. I suppose therewas in fact some truth to that, but in the past he would still have comealong to give his ideas and get involved.

It seemed that there was one thing after another that stopped Stevefrom doing things. He had problems with his back. The last time hisback "went out" was when he went surfing with his cousin's husbandand good friend who also enjoyed the surf. That was about six monthsearlier. It was sad that the very thing he loved caused him problems. Infact, he would say that since he turned fifty, everything seemed to havefallen apart! First his knee stopped him from playing indoor soccer, thenthe other knee stopped the social tennis he loved, and then his backstopped him from surfing. No matter how much therapy he underwent,he always seemed to struggle with his back.

Then it was time to do the more physical aspects of preparing the house:cleaning windows and outdoor areas, scrubbing floors, gardening,moving furniture. His back stopped him from tackling many of the jobsthat needed doing at the beach house. He felt that nothing was moving,but at the same time, he knew he wasn't up to it.

Steve was a hairdresser with his own business, and he was still workingharder than ever on the hairdressing floor. At his age, many hairdresserswere doing mainly management rather than the hair work, but Steve reallyloved that part and found it hard to let it go. So he found himself doing itall—managing and doing hair—and it was getting harder and harder.

About four years earlier, we'd had the biggest surprise when our sonDion told us that he wanted to drop out of university (where he wasstudying physics and maths) and begin hairdressing. We were reallyshocked by this—he had never shown any desire to be involved in thatprofession. Unsure of his motives or if it was going to be right for him,we honoured his request and sent him off to hairdressing school.

We were pleasantly surprised at his natural ability and talent for thework. He'd always wanted to manage a business, and we began to thinkthere could be a chance for him to help his dad in the future. But thatwould be a long time off, because he was still quite fresh at the trade.

So the jobs at the beach house remained, but that was OK. There wasno need to rush. I have learned that time frames are all self-induced,and if you can't, you can't. Not that Steve liked that concept. Jobs notdone frustrated him. He was a worker and kept going until the job wasdone, so this didn't feel comfortable for him. He was so happy whenhis back improved, and he listed the many things he intended to dothat weekend.

But soon after, he was hit with a virus and felt quite fatigued by it.

He wasn't happy to be stopped again. In all his forty or so years ofworking, there weren't many days when he didn't go to work. He hada very strong work ethic. In fact, even if he was sick, he felt he couldand should go to work. I sensed he thought it weak if you didn't operatelike he did. He could never understand why people didn't work through"minor" illnesses. But this illness did seem to stop him from pushingthrough in the way he was used to.

Because of his illness, jobs remained undone. Luckily, the internalaspect of the house was completed enough for us to spend nights there.That was great—we got a taste of how it felt to switch off and relax.Steve began to talk about his intention to cut down a day a week inFebruary to gain some time to enjoy the beach house and life in general.I changed my work schedule to ensure we would both be together fora few days each week.

That new plan was the start to our slowing down.

Even though we had a plan, I had an overwhelming feeling I was movingagainst the grain, as though a tide was pulling me in another direction.It felt like a knot in my stomach, but I couldn't explain the reason.

My fiftieth birthday was coming up in October, and I had always said Iwanted a big celebration with my friends and family. It was the five-yearanniversary of the all-clear for bowel cancer, so it was to be a doublecelebration. But somehow, I resisted getting things organized. My daughterand niece kept asking when I was going to organize my invitations andother things that were needed. I felt a resistance that I couldn't explain.

Was it that I just didn't want to turn fifty? No, that wasn't it, because I'venever had a problem with my age. But for some reason, it was difficultto actually set a date. Nothing seemed to flow. In the end, I decided ona date and swiftly put a few things into place.

I didn't know why, but it still felt all wrong.

It was near the end of August 2011 when my mum phoned, tellingme that my dad had just been taken to the hospital by ambulance.The ambulance officers weren't sure, but they said the severe pain inDad's back could have been his heart, and they weren't taking anychances. We rushed to the hospital and were mildly relieved when theemergency-room doctor suggested Dad had pneumonia and requiredantibiotics and an overnight stay.

The next day, he had a CT (computed tomography) scan and a suspiciousmass was spotted in the upper lobe of his left lung. Although nothingwas confirmed, it meant a process of further investigation was ahead.During the next two weeks, he underwent biopsies and tests, and ittook another two weeks to confirm that the mass in his lung was infact a carcinoma.

From there, we went through a roller coaster of emotions. We discoveredfrom the PET (positron emission tomography) scan that while thetumour was malignant, it was contained in the upper left lobe, whichmeant a successful surgery and he'd be cured.

It was amazing watching my dad take the news and deal with theprocess. I'm not sure if it was denial or amazing acceptance, butwhatever it was, he tackled it brilliantly. He continued his volunteerwork, which included bus driving and helping prepare weekly lunchesfor the "oldies" (as he termed them) at the Italian Village, until a fewdays before he was to be hospitalized.

When he explained to his family overseas what was ahead, he repeatedwhat he was told by the surgeon—he would have his left lung's upperlobe removed and remain in intensive care for about twenty-four hours.By the second or third day, he would be walking around, and hewould be home in about seven to ten days. He reassured them it was"nothing"—I'm not sure if that was to help him or them, or if he reallybelieved that.

On September 26, the morning of the operation, my mum, sister, and Istayed by his side until he was ready for his surgery. Our goodbyes andgood-luck wishes betrayed a glimpse of the awful possibility that anysurgery brought—that he might not make it through. It was a deeplyemotional moment.

Immediately after the operation, we were to get a phone call fromthe surgeon to let us know how the surgery went. He had estimatedit would take two hours to complete, so when after three-and-a-halfhours we hadn't heard from him, we naturally started to feel a littleanxious.

When the call came with word of a successful surgery, the otherdetails seemed distant to my ears. They decided to keep him inan induced coma for twenty-four hours—a little longer than usualbecause his body did struggle because the tumour was wrapped aroundhis pulmonary artery. Amazingly, the surgeon painstakingly chippedaway at the tumour with utmost precision. We later learned it waslike scraping tissue paper from the artery. One slip and it would havebeen over.

We were OK with the induced coma, as the doctors reassured us itwas standard procedure after such an operation. Watching him in thatstate, however, was painful. The tube that went down to his lungsseemed to cause him a lot of problems, and he just didn't seem to becoping very well. Days passed with him still in the induced coma. Hefaced an onslaught of challenges, including a pneumonia infection, aheart attack, and a procedure to insert a stent in his coronary artery.They later learned it had a 90 per cent blockage, so we were amazedhe survived the surgery.

It was like a nightmare had unfolded.

My parents' fifty-fifth wedding anniversary came while Dad was still inhis coma-induced state. We tried to make a special night for Mum byhaving everyone over for a dinner. We toasted both of them and hopedfor a better celebration when he was well.

It ended up taking seven days to see him out of intensive care and intohigh-dependency. The doctors (as were we) were amazed and relievedwhen he pulled through. It only took a day or two to see he was on hisway back. His humour and wit were amazing. He seemed in the bestof spirits—he could hardly believe he'd had the operation.

Many things made him laugh and feel happy. Geelong beatingCollingwood in the AFL grand final was the most significant. He jokedwith the nurses. When one nurse asked if he was "finished" (with hisdinner), he promptly replied, "No, I'm Polish!"

When Mum tried to help him perform his much-needed deep-breathingtechnique with cues of "in through your nose, out through yourmouth," he promptly reinforced his understanding of the technique byrepeating "in through your nose, out through your arse!" My son, whohad been visiting at the time, couldn't believe how "in form" Dad was,and together we laughed and felt relieved that he was back.

At that point, I felt confident he was going to be OK, so I made thedecision to go ahead with the birthday celebration that I had reluctantlyplanned. He wanted me to have the party, as did my mum (they wereboth party people and enjoyed a celebration). So I confirmed witheveryone that it would go ahead, even though I was still struggling withwhat he had just gone through.

I didn't have much enthusiasm or desire. It was more like, "I'll do it,but my heart is not feeling very comfortable with it." Steve, my sister,and I worked like bullets, once the decision was made, to prepare forthe event. That was the Tuesday before the party on Saturday.

Then something changed.

Dad seemed a little agitated and unsettled, and we suspected an infection.He had been moved quite swiftly from high-dependency to the ward,and both my sister and I felt it was too soon, as his stats were not stable.But that was what the doctors decided.

The next roller-coaster ride had begun. Within two days, he was backin intensive care with an infection. The doctors reassured us that hecould get past this next obstacle, but it would require very strong dosesof antibiotics. Dad was keen to get up and out of bed to come to mybirthday. The doctors thought he was delirious, because they weren'taware there was to be a party. Days melt into one when you are inintensive care, but Dad knew it was Saturday morning, October 8, andit was the day of the party. The doctors were amazed at how clear hewas, given his situation. My sister and mum promised Dad a doublecelebration together with his own birthday that was coming up onOctober 22. He was happy with that.

So my birthday celebration went ahead.

It was good to see Mum have some joy, for we had spent the last threeweeks at the hospital dealing with the ups and downs of Dad's recovery.It was great to have all my friends and close family there to celebratemy birthday and five-year remission.

We all sent Dad lots of love and best wishes for his recovery. While itwas a great party (so said the guests), it was a blur to me. I was there butnot there. My heart was feeling pain and worry for what was happeningwith my dad.

Steve knew how difficult it was for me to go ahead with the party. Hewitnessed the emotional outbursts each night after I returned from thehospital. Steve knew the close bond I had with my dad and how it wasbreaking my heart to see him so ill.

It's amazing how wonderful Steve was, and how much strength andsupport he gave me during that time. He just knew what to do. Hewould comfort me and encourage me to express all my emotions. Hewould just hold me while I poured out my heart. I felt his heart wasbreaking too. He looked strained and tired, but despite that, he was myrock and nurturer.

We were at the hospital each day and did our best to bring somethingspecial to Dad during this time. We played his favourite music (he wasa choir member and had an appreciation for opera), surrounded himwith beautiful healing essences, and brought loving touch to his bodywith a gentle massage to his swollen and bruised arms. It was all weknew to do in the given situation. We spoke to him as though he couldhear our words, and we expressed our love for him and our sadness forwhat was happening.

Dad passed away on October 24 following many complications post-surgery:infection, aspiration pneumonia, kidney failure, and septicaemia.We all felt, however, that his soul had left his body two days earlier, onhis seventy-ninth birthday. That was the day the hospital phoned for usall to be there. It seemed at that point he had already left.

Fortunately, Dad had been induced into a coma at the end, so he didn'tendure the physical suffering associated with each of the complications.Unfortunately, his loved ones endured the emotional pain of watchinghim leave. Although he may not have been consciously aware duringthat time, I'm sure he would have felt the magnitude of love andcomfort we brought to his final moments. They were moments to betreasured.