put Peta in the car and headed to Foster, with Justine sitting in the back with Peta so she could keep her eye on her sister. Just in case. If anything changed we would call an ambulance. If we could make it to Meeniyan, the ambulance would take us to Foster.
Peta was mumbling, but Justine succeeded in keeping her calm as we drove. We made it all the way to Foster, even managing to avoid a large wombat on the way. Larry was already there attending to another patient. He went to work, quickly assessing Peta, who by this stage was terribly distressed. She could not speak, she could not move her left side and she was visibly terrified. So were Justine and I. It was incredibly concerning to see Peta like this and we had no idea what had happened.
The attending nurse tried to access Peta’s port for IV antibiotics, but to no avail. We knew all too well how tricky it was. Thankfully, this nurse had a ‘one go’ policy, as she did not wish to cause any more distress than was necessary. Larry cannulated Peta’s arm instead, and all I could do was let her squeeze my hand as hard as she wanted. Her distress was made worse by the fact that she could not tell us anything. She had absolutely no idea what was happening to her and was very afraid.
I did my best to allay her fears while Justine followed Larry out of the room and he quietly confirmed what we had suspected — that Peta had suffered some sort of neurological episode. Larry had called for a chopper to take her to RCH. We had been home less than four hours.
The chopper wasn’t available, so an ambulance was coming from Wonthaggi instead. We waited for what felt like hours. I could see that Larry was worried; he kept scratching the stubble on his chin in the way that men do when things just aren’t right. Thankfully, by the time the ambulance arrived, Peta’s symptoms had begun to subside. I found it difficult to send her off in the ambulance alone, but I knew she would need her bag of stuff. I suspected we would be in Melbourne for at least a few days, so needed to pack. Peta was in very good hands with the ambos. It was now midnight.
Jud and I dashed back home. I threw some clean stuff in a bag and headed for Melbourne, leaving Jud with only two stressed dogs for comfort. I was relieved that it was a clear night and I didn’t have to struggle with fog as well as with my emotions. I arrived a few minutes behind the ambulance as the emergency staff settled Peta in the treatment room. The doctor came to assess what was going on. Peta got some sleep thanks to a combination of drugs and sheer exhaustion. I sat next to her all night. Our nurse kept me supplied with tea to keep me going. This was the most terrifying thing I had ever experienced and I dared not sleep. I knew none of Peta’s sisters would sleep either.
* * *
At 6.30am, I called Peta’s father in Queensland. He was shocked that such a thing could occur. Later that morning, Peta was moved to the neuro ward. Initially, Peta was in a shared ward with a perky girl of about thirteen who had been in hospital for many, many weeks. Peta enjoyed the chat, even if she wasn’t very good at engaging in conversation herself. Our doctor, John, was on call today and as much as he was concerned by what had happened, he was also fascinated. John said this side effect only occurred in about one percent of patients. He had no answers for us and it would be the neuro doctors who investigated what had happened and why.
During the day, Peta’s speech returned, although it was sometimes slow, and she had trouble remembering the words she needed. Her movement improved but her enormous headache remained. Scans were done, tests were done, and we saw many doctors. Peta was neutropenic and was transferred to her own room. She missed the company of her bright bedside companion.
Peta had said on a few occasions prior to this episode that she had a headache. It was only in the week after the stroke that I learned how severe these headaches had been — so bad she needed to go to bed and hold her head! Right from the early stages after diagnosis, we had been told not to take Panadol or other pain relief as it can mask other symptoms. Peta had adhered to these rules and just put up with the pain.
Peta had simply accepted that pain was part of her illness. She was told in no uncertain terms that she was not to endure this kind of pain. It wasn’t normal and it wasn’t typical of chemotherapy treatment.
On Saturday, Justine did an amazing thing: she drove to RCH with Ellie. This was Jud’s very first venture driving to the big smoke. She even tackled the freeway! Pete was delighted to see her sisters, and they were relieved to see that Peta was still herself, still smiling and okay. Jud returned with Yome the following day. This was the day that Peta would finally farewell her hair. Up until now she had managed to hang on to her hair, even though she had long ago been promised it would go. Our room was quite a hot box, though, even at this time of year, and Peta was very hot and sweaty. The long strands of thinning hair were annoying her terribly. Yome, being the very prepared nurse that she was, had a pair of scissors in her bag. She and Jud were only too happy to trim what was left of the finery on top. There was a serious gathering of siblings in the bathroom and Peta’s makeover was complete. She looked pretty good with a stubbly head of hair. This hairstyle was so much better for Peta. She could now put her head on the pillow without the annoying shed of hair. Peta had only been bothered by the large balding patches in her hair, not the hair loss itself, which was never an issue for her.
On Saturday night, a tall, young, female doctor came and sat on the end of Peta’s bed. The doctor confirmed what we had already suspected: that Peta had suffered a recoverable stroke. The stroke had been on the left side of the brain. It was thought that the Methotrexate used in her chemo was the likely culprit, although it could have been any one of a number of drugs.
I slept on the bench next to Peta’s bed so I could watch her. I was constantly terrified. Peta’s speech would intermittently slow. Her face would contort and her fingers would twist. This continued until the Monday. Peta had one of the neuro doctors so fascinated he whipped out his mobile phone to video the contortions in her face. At least Peta knew when it was happening now and could laugh about how funny she sounded. She also enjoyed my cutting up her food, toddler style, and making choo choo sounds as I fed her. I stayed in Peta’s room for most of that week, even though there was a room available for me over the road. Things were too uncertain for me to sleep elsewhere. Later on in the week, I checked in to Ronald Mac House, but I stayed with my girl until ward closing time each night and was back again first thing in the morning, usually before she was awake.
It is fair to say that Peta could have gone just a little bit crazy in this room. I did my best to entertain her, and I spent my time parading from one side of the room to the other and lounging in the chair or on the long bench. Peta’s choices were far more limited: in bed, or out of it. The pigeons on the opposite window ledges were Peta’s amusement. She even did a painting depicting the two of us as pigeons — the conniving type. She saw them as opportunistic flying rats, always looking for a sly opportunity to attack. She would watch them and try to predict when they would make their move. She even gave them all names, like Sly Syd.
It was around this time that Micka, our Challenge support person in the hospital, first got a glimpse of the real Peta. There was some deliberation about what DVDs to watch over the weekend. Peta was quite the movie connoisseur, so it had to be a considered selection every time. Micka had brought Peta a list of titles so she could pick some movies to help ease the boredom over the weekend. He took up a position on the bench as Pete perused the thousands of titles on the list. After much — and I mean much — thought, Pete chose 27 Dresses, but it was the in-depth discussion about the merits of Mean Girls, and perhaps Peta’s comment ‘Suck on that!’, that gave Micka his first clue. ‘Did you just say, “Suck on that!”?’ Micka now knew Peta was not the shy flower he may have thought. Sorry, Micka.
Susie, the art therapist, provided plenty of art materials for Peta to entertain herself with. Other than that, there wasn’t much on offer, as Peta was limited by an IV pole and was very susceptible to infection. The good old iPod was the only thing that worked. Reading material had lost its appeal. Even Bleak House,
