world of pain. I must get out into the garden.
Friday 23/3/01
I like waking early in the morning with the dogs so I can read, write and reflect in the early morning stillness. It is rarely windy early. Our place is so quiet. Although there are lots of people nearby they rarely penetrate the barrier of silence.
Rex will be home until after Easter. No retirement is in the offing yet. I’m pleased. Since he’s been home my routines have become unhinged. I’ve become a little unhinged too.
It is almost a year since I retired. I have done so much and have so much more I want to do. This period is reinforcing that. I don’t want Rex to retire and be home with me. I don’t want Rex to be sick and need intensive care and nursing by me. I could and would do it, but I would strain at the bit to have more in my life.
I loved the way the lorikeets sheltered in pairs under the bird feeders yesterday. It was magic. This is their second home, their shelter when needed. No wonder they keep coming back. No wonder I never want to leave.
Sunday 25/3/01
I’m still wary deep in my heart about what is coming. I was dreaming last night Rex’s cold and mucky throat is the beginning of further problems, of our trip not going ahead. I don’t trust anything at the moment.
I need to get out and about more, taste the world, taste nature, and taste the garden. I’m too house bound. That limits my spirit. My spirit needs contact with the outdoors to flourish. I need my garden. I need to plant, to watch things grow, to feel the earth under my feet and in my hands, to know that life will go on.
Monday 26/3/01
It’s Monday again and a greyer day in paradise than yesterday. No matter, I feel bright this morning. I could do with some counselling but keep hesitating. I will wait until Thursday but I know things are rarely ever resolved in one day. They go on and on. So we need to get on and do whatever we want.
Wednesday 28/3/01
It is a beautiful morning, green and crisp with sunlight filtering through after a good rain. The garden always looks more alive after rain. Today is the finish of this journal, a fitting finish, and a momentous day when we go to see what is in store for us for the rest of our lives.
I had an early wake up call. Pain, pain, pain! The soporific effects of the painkiller take over and I’m okay for a while. I know it’s my body reacting to deep subconscious thoughts, thoughts I rarely allow to the surface.
Rex sleeps on. He’s had a restless night too. I gave him a copy of the initial pathology report.10 He said he’s not worried by it. Funny, it worried me. I can’t get it out of my mind the cancer cells may have slipped into the lymph glands. I keep thinking about wills and things. It’s all part of the deep, dark thinking underneath the surface.
It is dark and gloomy outside. It’s still early but I think it is going to remain a dark and gloomy day.
Friday 30/3/01 3.00am
Pain has me tightly in its grip. I was in agony yesterday at the Ludwig Institute, almost unable to function. Tears were spilling from my eyes as I waited for Rex to have a blood test. I look at Rex closely sometimes, like yesterday when I was waiting, looking for signs of his demise.
It seems he is okay at the moment but the probability of the melanoma spreading is 30% – moderately high. They can and will monitor him. It’s also possible for him to be involved in a clinical trial of an anti-cancer vaccine.11
I hear possum activity outside. Life goes on. So will ours. I have to learn to deal with it better because the pain is starting to cripple me. It seems a long time since the melanoma was diagnosed. In reality it’s a short time that feels very long.
We are going to see David to query him about the Ludwig Institute and the trial. Apart from the inconvenience, there doesn’t seem any reason not to participate if Rex is a suitable candidate. Going to the Austin once or twice a week for three months will be my trial.
I feel so vulnerable and sad. I hurt so much inside and out. I try to obliterate the pain with pills and alcohol. It’s a recipe for trouble long term, but it is my crutch until life stabilises. I am not ready for this challenge. I wasn’t even expecting it. I was enjoying my new found life and freedom too much.
Now life has stopped me in its tracks once more. We’re over the first hurdle but in the back of my mind there is a worm telling me the melanoma could be back. I should be ecstatic Rex is okay, but I’m not. I’m scared. I don’t trust life will be okay for us. I hate cancer. The original tumour penetrated the lymph. Somehow, somewhere, some day the cancer cells will show up again. I’m a lady in waiting.
I am marking time, waiting, praying, hoping. Rex is under threat. My whole way of life is threatened, suspended. Everything I hold dear, everything I have worked towards this past year was testament to the future I believed in. Now the future is clouded, shrouded in mist. Time feels like my enemy.
There is an air of unreality to my world. I want to hide, lick my wounds, but I can’t. I must keep my brave face on, my full-of-hope-and-confident face. Muscles tighten like screws, squeezing my skull, hardening my shoulders.
Saturday 31/3/01
I’m starting to realise these are the challenges we will be facing for the rest of our life. Rex has survived this crisis, as he will survive many more. I will have my own health crises, but please not yet.
I must rid myself of this neck and shoulder pain. I understand why it is with me. It comes from the stress and emotion of Rex’s cancer. I also understand I can’t tolerate it much longer. I must free myself from pain. This means I must free myself from the negative thoughts and gloom that have dominated me. Whatever life we have ahead, we will live it together and happily. We will do what we want when we want now because there may not be enough time tomorrow.
Rex told David, ‘The odds may be 30% or 1 in 3 of recurrence but in reality they’re 50-50. You’re either alive or you’re dead. That’s it. It could be a bus or a car. You’re either here or you’re not. No use worrying about it.’
He says he’s staying strong for me so I’ll know he’s invincible. I don’t want him to pretend or hide anything. I don’t think he can, but he realises how important he is in my world. My safety and security, my base foundation are derived from him in large measure. If he is threatened, then I am too.
I am planting once more – Rex Robustas and anniversary trees. I am letting the season and the garden heal me, nurture me.
Six weeks later. Letter 9/5/01
Dear Gregory (still fondly in the guardian angel genus):
I have written to you so often in my mind but today I am doing it for real. It is so long since I’ve seen you, yet you are with me constantly.
Autumn is nearly over. I love autumn, the beautiful still days, the sunlight filtering through the trees, the changing colours of the leaves, the crunch of leaves under our feet when the dogs and I walk in the park, and the coolness which allows me to snuggle up in bed with my hottie and electric blanket and a book or Rex, if he is there.
Most of my important dates and anniversaries are in autumn - my birthday, Rex’s birthday, our wedding anniversary, and my retirement, when I first went overseas, when I first
