This place

You clasped my hand as I went to leave, it was so cold. You were technically radioactive after the nurse put the injection through the cannula. The tears were welling and your voice cracking, more than usual. It broke me, more than usual. I offered to stay with you. I would have stayed in that radioactive room, if only to stop the tears, to hold you a bit tighter, to make you warm. But you insisted and I know the nurse really wanted to close the door and have me leave. He had a heated blanket ready. It is another two hours before I will see you. The poison must travel around your body and then the PET scan can happen. 

I went to the café on Level 7, it is noisy and the door to the Terrace Gardens slams every few seconds. There is a woman screaming abuse, her world has exploded. A couple sit huddled, hands clasped, broken. Uniforms rush from counter to counter, forcing food down as the clock runs out for them. 

We are texting, it’s the closest we can be. Sharing our own diluted versions of heartbreak and frustration, trying not to upset the other further; sparing ourselves the deeper fears we both hold, but never speak. 

Although today’s appointment will provide no answers now, this place is forever a keeper of our secrets. It is a place that reminds us of little positivity, unless you want to deep dive to find it, and we can and have, but only on those good days where our souls feel empathic and reflective. Today is not that day.

Here we are surrounded by invisible sickness, sadness, and grief. This place is the crusher of dreams, the place where normal life comes to die. It is the eternal reminder of our fragility and vulnerability as humans, the reminder that we are mere pawns in the game of life and presumption is a fatal flaw. This place is the collector of tears as they fall into the shattered hearts of its unwilling visitors. It could fill oceans. 

Its message is unwritten, unspoken, but smacks you with the force of a thousand whips - without health we have diddly squat. We are beholden to the medical empire and all its complexities. Without health we are ruled by pain, limitations, schedules, pills, lotions, sprays, elixirs, appointments, professionals, cons, conspiracy theories, alternate therapies, all vying for our attention because we ultimately want longevity. 

We want to live life with health and prosperity, we want to live life on our terms – but without health we have no terms; we are kidding ourselves if we think we do - our body dictates them all, our will to live determines every decision. If you come to this place, know the cost is all consuming. 

Life is forever altered, every tomorrow that you dreamt, planned for, is gone. 

Every tomorrow is now a blank canvas, shadowed but open for business, if you turn the sign around.  

This place is now part of our tomorrows. For us, there is no giving up, no backing down, we fight until we cannot fight anymore. 

Until next time,

N

The Cracks

They just appeared – the cracks. Seemingly out of nowhere, one day they were simply everywhere. 

Rivergum, once flush with flood waters, is again displaying the sure signs of the summer dry. Surprisingly though, because we expected the underlying layers to be well soaked. 
Hauntingly, reflective of our days however, as with each step, we feel the cracks widen. 
 
Each morning I walk through the paddocks and watch the ants scurry about their day often rushing into the cracks, or around the cracks -

busy, doing life. I do the same. 

The hens wait impatiently for me to be let out so they too can get on with their day without the restrictions of the night pen holding them in. They don’t appreciate that the pen is keeping them safe from the predators that roam. Maybe we can find a night pen for us too; one that protects the heart home. 

 The bees work methodically in the early morning dew, focused on the task assigned to their role, I must watch I don’t walk into their pathway. They will not veer away from their intended destination. So focused, they simply plow into my head. Maybe I should be more like the bees.
 
The cracks have become so large, some of the established trees are starting to wilt, some have curled up their leaves and given up. The dry is too much. We should have noticed earlier. The signs were silent. Like D they couldn’t speak. The mobile water tank has been filled again and we try to help with additional waterings, too little too late? Probably. Effort required to fix broken is more than what's in the tank. 
Maybe we need a new tank. 
 
The paddocks have been stripped bare. They lay exposed with no protection from the assault of the sun. The caretakers abandoned them, without reason, without warning. In his pre-autumn phase they crave conditioning, sustenance, an abundance of care. They too need to store goodness for the winter bare and future spring growth. Today, we relate to the paddocks. 

The cracks have appeared in strange places. Places we never saw them before. 

A storm came through the other day, and it brought rain and lightning and thunder amidst the intense heat. High intensity, short reprieve. 

We travelled to the city, experienced our own storm within the walls of the hospital. High intensity, short reprieve. 

Until next time,

N
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A haze of hopefulness and trepidation

We bought a Christmas ham this year which I did not expect to do. Although this is a traditional activity and part of the normal preparations for the festive gatherings, we are not in a normal state of being. 

So, when my husband adamantly asked for one to be ordered I simply agreed, flummoxed by the request, and arranged for my daughter to complete the task. Afterall we were in the throes of rigorous cancer treatment and Daryl could barely speak, let alone, eat. 

The ham now sits in our fridge, and like me, is possibly confused by its presence post-Christmas. I did suggest baking it on Christmas eve, but that suggestion was shut down quite stoically. Just as well, as I was exhausted, and the idea of cooking was truly unappealing.

 

Now, Christmas and Boxing Day have been and gone, in what feels like a haze of hopefulness and trepidation. 

I worried Daryl wouldn’t be up for the chaos of Christmas breakfast, a tradition on my side of the family that brings us all together, resulting in big personalities vying for attention, tall tales, and even bigger hugs all around a very loud dining table. 

Yet, in the early hours of the morning as we prepared to go, Daryl didn’t even whisper a complaint or suggest staying home, despite a difficult night cementing the weariness in our bones, just that bit deeper. 

I worried that our presence would dampen the spirit of the morning, I worried that Daryl would feel self-conscious, that he would feel left out, that he would be exhausted. But I needn’t have worried - despite the tears that welled when some of our clan laid eyes on him, the extra tight hugs, the careful lowering of exuberant voices - the mornings celebrations were perfect in all its imperfections. 

I shed quiet tears and ached for the loved ones who were missing from the table - loved ones taken too soon by the angels of death, others through choices made from petty grievances and stubborn pride - then I looked around and rejoiced in those present. I realised I have limited resources left in my emotional tank, so I must accept the situations as they are and make the best of each one. I recently read a small sentence with a big message, and it read, “The biggest mistake you make is to live your life like you’ll get another chance to experience all the beauty that surrounds you.” And it’s true. We have experienced so much grief and loss this year that this needs to be reinforced, repeatedly, until it is our truth.

 

Working in the retail sector I watch and read the trends around the industry and listen to the people who shop in our store. I hear their grumblings, grievances and listen to the choices many are making to enhance their lives and those around them. For our family we chose experiences as the theme for our gifting this year. This has been highlighted by Daryl’s journey which has touched us all in some way, emphasising the brevity of life and opportunity. We were doubly blessed when our children chose to gift us similarly, with an experience to enjoy down the track, when Daryl is up for a new adventure. A day we look forward to very much. 

 

The remainder of the festive days were filled with family and friends. Daryl pushed himself to participate in family traditions throughout the big day and while these choices cost him physically, rendering him unwell for the evening and into the night, I’d suggest he would repeat it again, given the same circumstances. 

 

Today, the heatwave which has taken hold in Victoria is still in full force and we have taken refuge indoors, resting in the air-conditioning and enjoying the company of visitors to our home. Even the pups have been allowed inside to get some reprieve from the sweltering conditions. It’s hard to believe we had the wood fire on two weeks ago!

 

The Christmas ham still sits staidly in our fridge, and I finally asked the question about its fate. Turns out this humble ham is Daryl’s symbol of hope and healing. It will be providing the base for a celebratory feast to say thank you, sometime in the near future; a future we cannot even envision today, but one that is building moment by moment. For now, we take inspiration from the words of our children:

 

Finding the words in times of hardship is never an easy task, as such, we search for words used before – in doing so, we found this beautiful piece that made us smile. We hope it brings you both a bit of happiness too….’Home’ – Nikki Barnes.

 

Find the people and places that make you feel home.

Find the ones who take care of your soul and make like you can be completely yourself around them.

Find the ones who light you up from the inside out and encourage you to be yourself.

Find the places where you feel at peace, the places you could spend forever exploring and wandering.

Find the places that make you want to see even more of the world and the ones that make you happy to be alive…

And whenever you find one of these people or places, hold onto them so tight.

Tell those people you love them often.

Visit those places as much as you can.

Never let go of those people or places because when you find peace and love and joy in the world, it is worth more than gold.

It is where you are meant to be.

 

We love you both endlessly.

 

Love always, The Gang xox

 

 

Until next time,

N

 

 

 

 

The Beginning - Shadows

The shadows darkened that day. 

A few words, uttered by a small man, sitting in his windowless office, tilted our hold on the universe a few degrees. “The results show cancerous cells” the doctor said. His narrow eyes flited nervously to ensure his message had been heard, then launched swiftly into the practicalities of referrals. Stunned into silence, I watched his hands shake a little as he moved his fountain pen across the page, asking very important questions - name, date of birth, weight, height, next of kin – I am here I wanted to say, I am here but I cannot move. The shadows have crossed into my view, covered my heart, and balled in my stomach. They are filling my lungs, filtering the air I need to breathe, the shadows have entered uninvited, unannounced and with fervour. Raising my eyes, I see my own shock and fear reflected in my husband’s, the first tear to fall from his face signals the beginning of a journey we can’t imagine.

 

What do you do after you’ve been told you have a potentially life-threatening illness, what do you say, how do you feel? There is no handbook, no guidelines, no set of rules. How do you watch the person you love with all your worth, invisibly shatter; how do you stop yourself from crumbling alongside them? 

Over hot chocolates we shed silent tears, passersby did not notice, we said the right words, positive, strong, hopeful, cupping our mugs with both hands to stop them from shaking, we smiled the smiles of the broken. 

 

After the initial diagnosis there is little to do but wait and inform those dear to you, that life as we know it, is about to change. With each telling there is no comfort or reprieve, everyone is devastated. No one is expecting this story. 

The lack of answers gives way to questions that go unasked, except in our minds. The dark, sinister thoughts that tease and twirl around, shadowing any positive aspect of thought, especially during the twilight hours, are the cruelest. The nights are interminably long. Four types of cancers, we are told, are in the report. This is not looking good. The shadows eat this information and grow ever darker. Internet searches feed the beast. 

 

 My man wakes shuddering, damp with sweat, crushing the sheets as he wipes the tears from his face. The night terrors are here, and sleep is elusive. He grieves for his father, his dear, darling dad who he cannot bring himself to tell. The fear of causing pain to this 95-year-old icon is palpable, his heartache is raw, and I see it in the newly formed lines on his gentle face. I see the shadows in his eyes – hunted, searching, fearful eyes grieving things that are not yet lost to him.  I hold him, I never want to let him go. I have nothing else to give him but me and I pray this will be enough. 

 

The cancer centre contacts and appointments are made, scans to be had locally to ensure the white coats have everything they need. The local coats move fast, they are kind. 

One week, then more scans, tests, interventions, conversations, questions, consultations. 

Seven days before we know how the “and in sickness and health, ‘til death do us” part pans out. 

One hundred and sixty-eight hours before we face the life altering moment of definitive diagnosis. 

Ten thousand and eighty minutes to wait for the prognosis. 

Six hundred and four thousand, eight hundred seconds before we know the plan of attack. 

It feels like fucking forever. 

 

The hours are filled with activity, there are still jobs to be done on the farm, unfinished projects that held no timelines before, now seem to be priorities. Clotheslines need relocating, paths paving, lawns require mowing, edges whipper snipping, weeds spraying. And there is the shop, how do we manage our beautiful store?

Spring is smiling its sweetness upon us and as the greyness around us starts to recede, bursting into colourful blossom, it reminds us that a new season has begun – both in nature and in our life. The winter fog that lifted outside our window revealing the day, has settled in our soul; no matter where we look, how we listen, or who we see, it does not budge. 

Instead of early Spring rain, tears fall freely. There is no sunshine here today. 

 

Friends and family keep us distracted. Their presence provides moments of comfort, care, and compassion. The little ones bring laughter and fun into a home full of shadows. Oblivious to their Poppy’s pain they don’t see his silent tears as he plays trains, they miss the anguish as he helps them feed the chickens. 

What is he thinking through these moments? 

What demons are taunting him? 

The little ones do not know their Grandma’s fear, they are safe and secure, for now their Poppy is the centre of their world – and he loves it.  

The grown-ups though, they too are grieving, they too are fearful, they too are now waiting for the shadows to change. 

 

 

Until next time,

N

Clouded view

A better view

Yesterday was my sixth day off work, not by choice. Most of the time I have spent the days hazy and tired from an array of painkillers. Feels like I've been taken back in time before my left hip was replaced. Unable to walk without a limp, unable to stand for any length of time and limited in my capacity to function without pain relief. The plan was for the right hip to be monitored and stabilised reducing as much deterioration as possible over the course of the next few years. My left hip was replaced with a shiny ceramic one three years ago, my right hip was to last five years - we are one and half years short of the plan.

I am not impressed. When I took this job, eight months ago I was relieved knowing that I would not be required to be on my feet all day. It would give me a balance of desk work, people engagement, autonomy and team, doing a job I enjoy. I didn't count on my body breaking down. Damn inconsiderate if you ask me.

And so I am fighting between bursts of energy whereby I burn the candle at both ends, frustrate my husband, as I try to achieve everything in a limited time before I crash and burn. Taking things to extreme as I occasionally do, I did crash only the other day, literally, into a 'speed bump' sign on my way home from work. Nothing like a message from the unknown - speed bump indeed.

I have one more week of work, five days to get a month's worth of work completed before I take some time off.  Chances of getting everything done are slim, I know, the job is ridiculous, but I will pretend it is possible. At least for the moment.

Looking outside the window I see spattering of rain on the window, I hear the wind howling around me and I can smell the dampness in the air. Forecasts for torrential rain and damaging storms are all around us, we are only getting the edges, barely enough to wet the ground. Annoying more than useful. Unfortunately the other parts of the state and indeed interstate are being battered about with flash flooding and homes damaged. This is also unhelpful and I hope everyone is able to stay safe.

Thankfully, we are not spending this weekend in the city as we did a fortnight ago given the weather would have dampened a few days of relaxation. Instead we enjoyed perfect conditions, to enjoy a surprise Bon Jovi concert, shop for some Christmas treats, explore another escape room  and even ventured to the roof top pool of our hotel for a paddle in between sampling a range of culinary delights. This is when the frustration of my hip really kicked in. The intensity of the pain was so severe we needed to find a doctor in the CBD on a Sunday morning. From this point we have not quite recovered.

Conversations about selling stock, buying feed, leasing, agisting, selling are frequent and again frustrating. Couple this with discussions and debates about our pending English adventure and sometimes its easier to bury your head into a good book, watch a lame sitcom or troll the pages of Facebook until your mind is numb. Or, as is my reality at present, take enough painkillers and you can be numb all over - physically, emotionally and academically. Makes getting anything completed near impossible.

With the end of the year on our doorstep I find myself reflecting and contemplating. Change again is raising its head and I'm at a loss.

Until next time,
N

Rivergum dry

Barren paddocks

The rain is falling softly, lightly indenting the dirt across the farm. It is welcome. It is but a drop in the proverbial ocean, not even close to being enough. 

Three years ago there were photos of lush paddocks with the greenest grass tickling the cows knees. Today, the contrast couldn't be more acute. Hard, compacted soil with sprigs of weed is the only growth to be seen. Even if the cows got down on their knees there is no grass to be eaten. Today is a another sad day, drought is very real and there is no sign of it breaking, despite the dampness in the air tonight.

A welcome sight - rain

We recently made the decision, knowing the result would be less than favourable, to send 29 of our younger steers and heifers to market, the food bowl is dry and in a few weeks they would be showing ribs. Hoping someone in South or West Gippsland, where the pasture is plentiful, would take them, we loaded them up on the semi and sent them on their way to a new home. Sold they did, at a huge loss. We are still reeling from the prices, despite knowing they would be poor, the harsh reality stings.  All our work, frosty mornings of feeding calves, drenching and caring for stock only to let them go for a song. A sad melody indeed.

We acknowledge that many are far worse, relying solely on the land for their income. Recently, the 'Need for Feed' convoy went through town and I was caught in the carpark as it barrelled by. Unashamedly, I shed a tear for the many farmers who would be waiting for this essential supply, knowing in a small way how heartbreaking these days will be for them. Tears also flowed for the generosity of the many who were carting hay and travelling to towns far from home to support their fellow Cockies.

Young ones off to sale

Townies will never understand, the heartache that comes with raising livestock, the emotional investment, not to mention the financial investment that goes hand in hand with any primary production. But they will feel the impact of drought in the coming months with food sources impacted and prices inevitably bound to increase. The other day the news reporters were trumpeting about some rains received in northern NSW, and suggesting this would be enough to make them happy. A months measure overnight - sounds good but.....seriously how ridiculous to think that a brief deluge would break a drought. The ground is so hard and unforgiving that weeks of gentle soaking rain is needed to seep into the layers of soil before there is a chance for recovery. Reporters who try to sensationalise the stories need to learn some lessons before reporting such dribble. This is someone's livelihood, their past and future all wrapped up in the land they work. This is their life and it is seemingly blowing away with every gust of wind.
So for us, fortunate enough to have a choice, we will not be able to sustain our remaining cattle, beautiful cows with young calves at foot. We have three round bales left, a handful of pellets and some bushland that will keep them in feed for a few weeks. Anyone who has ever breastfed will know that feeding babies is hungry work and these mumma's need grass. Again we will look to sell. Again we will be saddened and disappointed. Unless rain arrives - there is always hope while the sun sets and rises each day.

Orphan 'Winston' always hungry

Helping Poppy

Now that daylight savings is upon us we are able to enjoy the longer days and get the chores done at a more leisurely pace after work, this provides some down time and often a chance to reflect and complete some of the little jobs. At present the feeding of one very hungry orphaned calf (one of twins) keeps us on our toes as Winston demands his daily milk. Saved from the frosty night after his mum rejected him, he was so small he fit nicely in the footwell of the ute, easily carried across the paddock by Daryl. Nowadays he could easily knock us over on our backside with one head butt. He has grown from strength to strength and thinks he is our pet. With Spring in full swing, the veggie patch is being turned over for new crops to be planted. Daryl even had a little help from our beautiful grandchildren. The beehive is alive with activity and the bees are busy preparing, what we hope will be, delicious honey.

Unfortunately, we lost a number of trees over Winter, despite our efforts to protect them from the dry and frost but regardless the wind breaks, whose growth also stagnated over Winter, are being plied with water (thank goodness for the new bore) and are showing promising signs with buds and new growth sprouting along the driveway.

Spring crop 

Unfortunately, the water tanks are also dry and we have reverted back to town water (yuck) but its better than no water! When the rain does come, it is delightful to hear the sound of water running into the tanks. The carport now complete helps gather as much rainfall as possible.
Right now we can hear trickles of water running into the tanks..but you need to listen carefully.

The coming weeks will be filled with more heartbreaking decisions and no doubt you will see some photos of cows, with calves at foot, in the hopes we can find them a new home for a fair price.

Here's hoping.

Until next time,
N

Farewell our furry friend

"This one Mummy, let's get this one" said my son as his glasses fogged up from the slobbering kisses of a four-legged bundle of cuteness. Look Mummy he's chasing me!  His laughter rang through the air and he continued to bond with his new furry friend. As I looked on, I watched my seven year old son rumble and tumble with a golden Labrador who was all paws and kisses. The two, with their odd gait, found a friend that day. What shall we call him? I asked and Jacob, ever thoughtful, replied "Milo". I looked at his sincere little face and had to ask why? " It's my favourite drink" and with that he ran back to Milo and the rest, as they say, is history. This reject of the litter, with his big brown eyes and wagging tail, became a permanent member of our family that day. Milo joined my brood of six children and was soon chewing and cuddling way into our hearts.

Milo on his last bush bash with us

Now 12 years later, Jacob has grown up and Milo sleeps on our lounge room floor, for the last night.Tomorrow night he will go to sleep forever after the shock diagnosis of  advanced bone cancer.

Loving the beach with friends

Two days ago we took Milo to the vet to find out why he wouldn't walk on his back leg.

He has recently had issues with his hips and everyone, including the vet, presumed it was hip dysplasia (common in Labs) or arthritis. On Saturday morning we took him in hoping for some pain relief so he could move easier, instead we looked on in horror as his x-rays showed his bone had been eaten away and the cancer had spread to his lungs. With tears streaming, we listened to the vet give us our options, they were all awful, nothing could save Milo.

A gentle soul

We have brought Milo home, to spend some time with him before we say goodbye; he is heavily medicated yet his tail still wags with enthusiasm when we talk to him or pat him. Daryl has started to prepare his resting place, under a beautiful old gum tree on our farm. A grim task.

Winter nights

Faithful friend

We know it is the right thing to do, we know he is in pain, we know he will never recover, we know it is his time. But it hurts, it hurts so much. Milo is part of our family. If you have never owned a pet you will not understand, but if you have, then you will know the pain losing them brings to a home.

Milo and Mia

Every adventure is a good one when you're a dog

“A person can learn a lot from a dog, even a loopy one like ours. Milo taught us about living each day with unbridled exuberance and joy, about seizing the moment and following your heart. He taught us to appreciate the simple things-a walk in the bush, a run on the beach, a nap in a shaft of winter sunlight. And as he grew old and achy, he taught us about optimism in the face of adversity. Mostly, he taught us about friendship and selflessness and, above all else, unwavering loyalty.”
(Adapted from John Grogan, Marley and Me)


Rest in peace my furry friend, you have been an incredible companion.

Until next time

Natasha