who had always been quiet when her father was absent, coped very well and was incredibly mature about the situation. She rationalised the situation by saying that her father left when she was six, when in fact she was sixteen by then. She always had a unique way of looking at things. We coped as well as we could. But when Peta was diagnosed with leukaemia, our lives were rocked even more.
* * *
Saturday 29 August 2009
And then came the weekend. Bliss. I usually love the weekend because that’s when I get to spend time with my sisters and occasionally see my friends. Usually, a weekend at our house involves watching several movies in a row and sometimes eating copious amounts of unhealthy food. It’s lovely. This particular weekend, Juddles and I went to see Pelham 123. You know, the John Travolta movie where he has a really scary moustache. Anyway, we were a bit disappointed in the movie, but it was nice to spend some time doing ‘normal’ teenager stuff. I had a feeling that I wouldn’t get much time to do that kind of stuff, particularly with my friends.
Three incredibly dull weeks
The next three weeks were super dooper boring and highly uneventful. Every Tuesday, Mum and I would wake up at around 5am. Mum would eat breakfast, but I would have to fast and could only drink water up until 6am. Then we would drive to Melbourne so I could have a lumbar puncture with Ondanetron, an anti-nausea drug, so that I wouldn’t feel as horrible as I did after my first procedure, and sometimes a bone marrow aspirate.
After about half an hour in the recovery section, Mum and I would go up to the sixth floor, wait around for ages to see John and be told what kind of chemo I would be having in day oncology that afternoon. We’d go downstairs for some lunch, then back upstairs to day oncology for more chemo before we were finally able to trek home. Highly exciting stuff, I say. Over these weeks, I made it to school a grand total of three times. Had a meeting with Hutchy (the senior school coordinator, Mr Hutchinson), and attempted to go to school on the last day of term, but I was so unstable walking up the five steps to the front office that Mum said maybe I shouldn’t go after all. That was a good day; we went and saw Up instead. Such a cute (and funny) movie!
* * *
Freedom (just for a little bit, anyway)
Holidays have never been a particularly busy time for me. Usually they mean I work two or three days at my crappy job at the local McDonald’s, but I had put that on hold until I was in a better state and could make it in to work for a short shift here and there. But that would be a while away. In all truthfulness, I really had no intention of ever going back there, but for some reason Mum said I shouldn’t resign, I should just not work for quite an extended period of time.
Anyway, these holidays were to be quite different. On the Monday, I had a blood test. That was all the exciting events of that day. The next day was another exciting one — off to the hospital for theatre, doctor’s appointment and then chemo. You know — the usual. Today was not just an average day, however, as Yome collapsed, I think, and Ellie drove her to Melbourne so she could be admitted to the Alfred Hospital.
After our thrilling day at the Children’s, Mum and I stayed over at Ronnie Mac (Ronald McDonald House), as we had appointments at the hospital the next day. Mum had organised to meet with the financial assistant, and with good old Centrelink, and I was supposed to be doing some sort of intelligence test with the Murdoch Institute in the hospital. It was surprisingly fun, and it proved what I have always known — I am truly terrible at maths. Worse things could happen.
* * *
Thursday was an uneventful day in Leongatha. Yome was still in hospital, but after a lumbar puncture in the morning to relieve the pressure in her spine, she would be fine. Mum drove down to spend the day with her, and returned home at around 6pm.
* * *
The next day was an interesting one. Nothing really happened until Mum went to Traralgon for a nerve test at 3pm. She thought she had pinched a nerve or something in her elbow, so Larry wanted her to have nerve tests done.
When you are diagnosed with leukaemia there are a few diseases you are warned to avoid at all costs, because your immune system is compromised. Those diseases are measles, mumps and chickenpox. At the hospital, we were told that if anyone we knew or had spent time around had been diagnosed with those illnesses, I must come in for an injection within seventy-two hours of being exposed to the disease. To our amusement, Mum found out that afternoon that she had shingles. Shingles is a type of chickenpox. I had spent two weeks with my shingley mother, which is considerably longer than seventy-two hours. So, now that it was too late for me to be immunised, we just had to hope like hell that I didn’t get shingles from her (note: we need not have worried as shingles is not contagious).
* * *
From the first week at the Royal Children’s Hospital (RCH), we knew that Peta’s illness was aggressive. Because of her age and size, she was a high-risk patient. We had been told that her illness could be life-threatening, but that we could expect a cure. They were the final words from our doctor, John, the day we had our plan of attack laid out before us. We all focused on the positive: that Peta had a good prognosis. I relayed all of that information to family and friends and to Peta’s school principal, Michael Delaney, and vice principal, Jason Scott. Jason was online as we spoke, seeking information on ALL so he could give the students accurate information. An eighty-percent cure rate buoyed us all.
We were now six weeks into treatment and were no longer the new kids on the block at the hospital. Peta and I could walk into day oncology and have some idea of what the day would bring. Our routine involved having a blood test every Monday at Leongatha. Tuesdays meant an early morning drive to Melbourne for theatre, clinic and chemo, then maybe a late drive home. We also had our backup hospital, Latrobe Regional Hospital (LRH) at Traralgon, where Peta would have her emergency care and transfusions, and our GP at Foster. It was a busy schedule and we basically lived life in the car. LRH was designed to cut down on travelling; the only problem was that we had to wait for cross-matching, then for the blood products to arrive on the V/Line train, which was never quick. In reality, a transfusion at LRH was nearly always a two-day process. It would have been quicker to travel the two hours to Melbourne and back.
* * *
Three days of pain
Boy oh boy, what a painful (sort of) weekend. On the Sunday, my silly father came for a brief visit. He moved to Queensland some time ago for work, and announced that he and Mum were separated (this was news to Mum) sometime in June. He hadn’t
