It has been some time since my last update, so I’d like to start by wishing all of our readers a belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! (Better late than never hey?) I hope yours was filled with as much love and blessings as mine . . . I finally made it to Brisbane!

But we’ll get to that! I’m always running ahead of myself aren’t I? It’s a wonder that you all still take the time to read these (often tongue-in-cheek) ramblings, however, I remain grateful that you do.  Now... where was I?

I was stuck on the farm after sadly losing the battle with the Queensland borders. My third application was again rejected; however, even if I had eventually been successful, I’d missed my window to travel health-wise. And so instead, turned my focus ahead to the long wean from the high dose steroids I was on. 

Coming Off the ’Roids
During this time, I found there was very little I could do for myself. Everyday tasks and activities that I used to take for granted were taken completely off the cards by fatigue. 

Under the guidance of Peter Mac’s physio department, I still attempted daily walks with the dogs and pottered around the garden as best I could; however, the joy was taken out many things I used to be able to do with energy and vitality. 

Especially if I had to go out in the sun – hot flushes were still frequent, and a few times I have experienced the opposite; freezing cold and violent tremors. Needless to say, I couldn’t really be left on the farm alone, so Keith took some leave from work to spend that time at home with me.

After appearing in the “Courier Mail”, I was approached by several media outlets and television stations to be interviewed. They were very persistent, though, I am sorry to say, I was not brave enough to agree to appear on national television. As tempting as the opportunity was to bring our fantastic little region into the spotlight, I harboured fears that it wouldn’t reflect our community in the correct way. 

Not only that, I was experiencing the effects of the steroids so strongly, I had no desire for my loved ones to “see it first” on the news. Dry mouth was initially my biggest concern; I was also sleeping a great deal, getting up only to drink more water in the hope that it would offer some relief.

But where did all that water go? Oh my Lord! After a couple of months, I was retaining so much fluid I could have been sent to Willy Wonka’s juicing room for squeezing! Little orange men rolling me down a corridor singing “Oompa Loompa Doompity Doo. Retaining so much fluid your cheeks are balloons”. So... “Thanks, but no thanks” to appearing on television. 

I can’t believe I’m even considering including a photo with this story, but at least it’s for the benefit of my preferred media outlet, and besides, my face has returned to normal now (bite down on that, tongue-in-cheek).

It seems like a lot to go through; however, it was really just passing time on the farm, trying to stay relaxed and calm; doing jigsaw puzzles with Keith and playing Uno together on days when I felt particularly feisty. 

I became accustomed to Keith’s help and even began to answer his regular question of “how are you feeling?” with more than just “fine”. If he was to accompany me on my trip to Brisbane, he had to get to know me better than I do myself. What’s more, he had the huge responsibility of trying to contain my excitement to a “healthy” level when I got there.

From Quiet to Chaos
When I did finally arrive in Queensland, it wasn’t quite the reunion I had envisaged. Our flights were booked to coincide with Peter Mac appointments, thus making the day of our departure and the day of our return very busy indeed. On December 23, we left the farm early to arrive at Peter Mac for my scheduled MRI. From there it was off to the airport to wait for our afternoon flight.

I travelled in the company of Keith and his little sister, Hope. Neither had flown interstate before, so I delighted in taking the aisle seat and watching the two grease monkeys, with eyes glued to the window, talk engines (gobbledy-gook to me), and seeing their faces after feeling the G-force of takeoff.

However, after finally landing in Brisbane, at the end of a very long day, the air was shut off inside the cabin of the aircraft as the passengers disembarked. Nausea seems to be my most constant companion, so while wearing a mask and trapped inside a tin can full of people with no airflow, I began to overheat and feel sick. I tried to make a run for it and failed, having to wait my turn to exit a very full plane.

Once in the airport itself, I am ashamed to say, I ditched the company I was with, bypassed the waves and smiles on familiar faces of the loved ones waiting for us at the gate, and made a nearly blind and desperate dash for the nearest available toilet. With one thing on my mind and no explanation to anyone, I left behind many baffled expressions on faces in my wake.

Brisbane airport is big, but I finally found an unoccupied disabled toilet free to be sick in – my apologies to the man in the wheelchair who gave me dirty looks as I walked out of the cubicle he was waiting for – it really was an emergency! Thankfully, my family had taken Keith and Hope under its wing, followed my path of chaos and was waiting right behind him as I emerged red-faced, sweaty and feeling embarrassed.

But then there was my big sister, who I’ve missed so much, performing a goofy slow-motion run-to-embrace-me; family all around; everyone hugging; everyone crying (well, mostly me); trying to keep remaining stomach contents down (that part was definitely me); and such a flurry of excitement that I was not at all prepared for. Looking back, I am actually amazed I even made it through that first day, much less the following two weeks!

Calm Down — It’s Only Brisbane
The first few days felt frenzied with so many hugs, so much laughter and noise, and so much FOOD! Mum had been preparing for two days prior and was up at 4 a.m. on the day of our family lunch, gallantly refusing any help and rousing on anyone who stepped into her kitchen. Mum’s cooking is amazing, so nausea was bitterly disappointing when the Christmas spread was laid out in front of me (I gave it a good Aussie try, though!). 

Prior to leaving the farm, I really did feel like a kid waiting for Christmas. Over-excitement was a problem for me and I must admit the trip ahead had made me anxious. To put that nervous energy to more productive use, I tried to focus on all the pranks I could pull on my mother while I stayed with her. (Yes, I’m a horrible child, but she’s so CUTE when she’s angry!)

Raising a kid like me (without even mentioning the rest of my siblings) has made my mother pretty tough. Not much shocks her anymore and I had my doubts that I would be able to crack her in the short time we had, so I had come up with some pearlers. In the end, it was just one impulsive action on the first night there that got the job done within three days – moving baby Jesus from the manger in Mum’s beautiful ceramic nativity scene. 

On the first night, I put Him in her bed (He was cold!). Mum blamed my brother (even better - yuk, yuk, yuk!); then next day when I found Jesus back in the manger, I moved Him to the fridge and stuck Him between the eggs to wait for Easter. Mum knew it was me that time, I was busted, but temptation grew too strong, and I decided to move Him one final time, about 20 cm to the right of the manger, on to a camel’s back.

Mum, after finding baby Jesus missing from the manger again, stormed into the room I was quietly reading in and lost it! I had to tell her that Jesus was tired and taking a camel ride, then stuff my face into a pillow to stifle my laughter – I really AM a horrible child! But once the prankster was out of my system, I settled into a more compliant and obedient state for the mental stability of us all.

Uplifted by Loved Ones
After my family and friends became accustomed to my current state of health, we settled into a more manageable routine. I kept as quiet as I could, with just one activity or visitor planned for each day, but still managing to see so many people I hadn’t seen in years. All of the struggles from the past year slipped away with each embrace.

Visits from friends and family were in abundance, so I eventually employed the use of a wheelchair to help me keep up with it all. There wasn’t a single day that I didn’t hear from my big brother, I got to go shopping with my big sister, met at Southbank with friends and family; lots of hugs, conversations and catch-ups.  

Staying at my mother’s house itself was uplifting. My parents are so strong in their faith, and my mother so filled with the Holy Spirit that she’s like a beacon of love and light (shining so brightly it’s a wonder the neighbours don’t complain). 

After the “temporary baby Jesus relocation process”, I was much kinder to my mum, and the stay with her did more for my spirits than I would ever be able to articulate with simple words. When saying our goodbyes at the departure gate, I could manage only one word “Mumma” before bursting into tears and falling into her arms. I still think that one word said it all. 

Hiccups Happen
You guessed it! The COVID threat stayed lurking in the background, just waiting to suck. Sometime into our stay in Brisbane, we each received text messages from Queensland Health requesting we present for tests as soon as possible, isolating at our place of accommodation until the negative results were returned.

That night on the news, we watched footage of the COVID testing sites with lines of people stretching out to as long as seven-hour wait times – I could barely handle an hour-long visit sitting down with friends! We searched for a pathology clinic nearby that opened at 6.30 a.m. the following morning, and arrived on the doorstep at 6 a.m. to ensure we were first in line.

The pathologist who took our swabs was compassionate of our situation, realising that a long-awaited visit was put into suspension until our results came back; she was able to put a rush on the request and, later that day, armed with our negative results, we were able to resume our plans.

The early flight we caught on the day of our departure left the airport a mere 4 hours before the Queensland borders slammed shut again and Brisbane went into a 3-day lockdown. We made it back to Victoria in the nick of time.

A few days after arriving home, we received a similar text message, this time from Victoria Health, requesting that we again get tested for COVID and isolate at home until results came back.  I have had so many of these tests taken now, I think I should receive a “valued customer” card or something; nevertheless, it was a small price to pay for the time we had away, and our thanks go to Birchip campus EWHS for accommodating us so quickly with that request.

Best of All
There was good reason for our early departure time when leaving Brisbane. I had to make it through both airports and back into Melbourne to attend a review with my oncologist at Peter Mac. The months ahead were to be decided by the results of the MRI I had taken on the day we left for Brisbane and I was SO NERVOUS!

The feedback I had from my oncologist was the best end to the time away though, reporting that everything is stable, my remaining tumours have not changed in size or significance, and I could discontinue use of the steroids. HOORAY! 

To add to that celebration was the indication that it will be some time before I return to immmunotherapy treatment. Yes, the remaining cancer is still concerning, but I now have time to sift through the mountain of side effects that were heaped on to my plate during 2020, and try to restore my body’s health and vitality before approaching another round of treatment. 

I recently heard someone metaphorically refer to their cancer battle as a game of “snakes and ladders” and couldn’t possibly think up a better description if I tried. It’s so much more than just a “roll of the dice” or “playing the hand you’re dealt”. It is a constant battle to continue rising up; using every rung of every “ladder” to climb towards your goal and picking yourself up to try again after every “snake”.

The trick is to keep your eye out for the “ladders” (and they are everywhere, in places you would least expect). The opportunity to share my experiences with others and in turn receive support from those who care about me and cheer me on as my “game” continues, are counted as blessings. The point is . . . even with odds against me, my game is still in play, and for that I thank God.