hair dripping, lithe body glistening in the sun. “But how did you know what to do?” She was chatting animatedly to her girlfriend Liv who was spending a few days with us. Their beach towels were laid out a few paces away from me, angled to face the surfers. “But can’t you get it wrong?” Jen asked. They were talking about first kisses. It was the hot topic of the day. “Actually, I don’t suppose it should matter,” Jen sighed. “I just want him to be gorgeous.” She was lusting the ultimate movie moment. It was one of the things I loved about our Jen … she was such a romantic.
It was an exquisite day at The Wedge. I could feel the sun beating down on my skin and pure joy coursing through my veins as I watched Stuart and Kristi body-surfing for hours in the rolling waves. They were bound to emerge ravenous eventually, so I sent Jen and her girlfriends wandering off down the beach, sarongs tied around their little hips, to the café to buy fried calamari, hot chips and granadilla ice creams for lunch. That was when she met them. The “Plett boys”. One was an archetypically pretty tall blond surfer-boy called Nik with mischievous blue eyes, accompanied by his sexy dark-haired friend Josh, with his flashing white smile. They strolled back casually towards us in a large group, chatting, and I could tell from afar there was something different about Jenna’s walk. Her gait was ever so slightly more self-aware and sensual than before. They were laden with hot food and cold drinks, the two boys walking with the group, all of them in lively conversation. Stuart came out of the water and saw me observing them. “Oh-oh,” he said, as he towel-dried himself. “Here comes trouble.”
The air was abuzz with flirtation. The gorgeous 17-year-old locals started appearing regularly at our social gatherings. They were in the prime of their lives and, somewhat unexpectedly, Nik and Josh were also really nice guys. It was fun to watch the dynamics unfold. Jen got her first glorious kiss with Nik the surfer-boy one night under the stars, and a light and lovely holiday romance ensued, with all the frissons of delight that go along with it. But, more importantly, a long and meaningful friendship developed. Surfer-boy Nik, his bestie Josh, and their families became good friends of ours.
Those were happy memories, but what I remember most about that holiday was that in the midst of all this frivolity, fun and flirtation a tidal wave of unimaginable tragedy struck our family.
CHAPTER 8
Natalie’s Circle of Love
The 4th of January 2011 was one of our last long lazy summer days at Plett that year. I was lying mesmerised by the rhythmical sound of the ocean when, from inside a beach bag under our brolly, Stuart’s cellphone rang loudly. He grabbed it and hopped up. “Hey, Shirl,” he said, smiling broadly and wandering off up the beach to catch up with his sister’s news. “How are you doing?” I could hear his voice fading as he strolled away.
Shirley and Stu had grown up together in Camps Bay. In true “big brother” fashion he would tease her, chase her, aggravate her and protect her. He was adventurous and mischievously naughty, but the siblings were very close. We saw the three of them regularly in Cape Town – Shirl and her daughter Natalie and son Kola.
“Hey, what’s up, Shirl?” Stu asked warmly.
In her usual style Shirley first checked in to see how we were all doing, but by the time Stu walked back to us 10 minutes later his smile had gone. I knew immediately that something was horribly wrong. His tanned face was pale, and he looked shaken. He told me that 10-year-old Natalie was battling to breathe and had been slated for emergency surgery that night. No one knew what was going on, but X-rays had revealed a large tumour inside her chest that doctors believed needed to be operated on immediately. I thought I had heard wrong. I made him repeat it. How was this possible? We were together at Christmas lunch just a few weeks before and Natalie was fine.
We were in shock. We spent that evening processing the news and finding a flight to get Stu home fast. He flew home the next morning and I followed with the girls a few days later.
Jen had her last romantic kiss with her surfer-boy on the balcony in the soft rain just before we left, but the girls were silent on the way home in the car. There was no thumping music or carpool karaoke. We dreaded what we might get home to. Salty kisses and holiday romance faded quickly into the distance as we drove towards Cape Town.
That beach phone call was a lightning bolt of brutal reality, which changed our lives forever.
The results of the initial surgery were not good. The part of the tumour that had been pressing against Natalie’s windpipe, which was why she was having trouble breathing, was just the tip of the iceberg. The real threat was to her thoracic spine. Six vertebrae were affected. The results of the biopsy were shocking. Natalie was diagnosed with a rare bone cancer called chordoma. There were no known cases of chordoma in South Africa and the local doctors offered little hope for a cure. The life of our beloved niece was in danger. None of us could get our heads around it.
Within hours of the diagnosis, Stu’s cousin, Dr Greg Kew, offered to take on the role of family advisor. We needed him to help make sense of the medical language and understand the implications. Finding the global expertise that Natalie needed was an epic process. Ultimately, Natalie’s unusual case gained the attention of global chordoma experts in Europe and America, who believed she could be saved.
Natalie’s treatment would include a combination of proton beam radiation, not available in South Africa, and dangerous, outlier surgery. The tumour needed to be removed “en masse”, which included removing seven affected vertebrae in her thoracic spine. This had never been done before. Three different multi-disciplinary teams proposed three different approaches. Choosing the right team of doctors, the right hospital and the right city in the world was a minefield, but Shirley was unstoppable. She was a force of nature. Stuart would sit with her late at night through some long and emotionally tough phone calls talking to each team of doctors. It required grit to examine the facts and assess every detail of the various surgical approaches.
We didn’t yet know where Natalie would go for treatment, but we did know that once she left South Africa there would be no medical aid cover and the cost of care as an international patient would be beyond any of our means. If Natalie was to have a chance, we would need help, not only raising money, but also with finding accommodation and support in a faraway place. We needed to reach out, to share the story and ask for help.
The family went into production mode. Within days we set up a trust and a website to launch Natalie’s Circle of Love. I watched Shirley agonise over her first blogpost on the website. What do you say and not say when the truth is so brutal? How do you find the words to ask for help? It was hard, but the outpouring of love and support was overwhelming and deeply humbling.
Shirley sold her home to free up funds and I helped her find a rental flat close to Ali. It needed to be a lock-up-and-go, immediately available and all on one level. We had to factor in the likelihood that Natalie would be in a wheelchair when she returned from surgery and balance urgency, efficiency and the many practical arrangements that needed to be planned for, including our girls and nine-year-old Kola beginning the school year.
Within a few weeks we held our first fundraiser at the Baxter Theatre, an evening of theatre sports played by generous, talented friends to a full house. It was an emotional, laughter-filled event that provided a huge boost of love and support and some of the funds vital for those first expenses.
By early March it was decided that Natalie would be treated in Boston at Massachusetts General Hospital. Shirl and Nattie needed to get to the US as quickly as possible and would be away from home for at least three months. Friends and family rallied around us, and people we didn’t even know came forward to ensure that Shirley and Natalie would have the softest landing possible in Boston. In the days before they left we held a sunset picnic at
