Chemo 5

My husband is on holidays and I force him to come with me and sit through the entire chemo session. It's lovely to have loving company.

The nurse sits me down in my chair, and studies my hand. She loves my tan (exaggerated by the tan line from my watch), but not my veins. I swear they are much more pronounced in the evenings. Anyway, she does find the vein pretty quickly, and we're off.

When the taxotere starts going in, I feel feral. I feel fidgety. I feel like I want to turn myself inside out. I feel like I want to "popcorn" - it'a move Guinea Pigs do when they are really really happy. They leap in the air and twist. It looks great. I want to do that. Not because I feel happy, but because I feel feral. But instead I sit in my chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs at best, and lamenting to my husband.

The treatment takes so long that we're still there to receive lunch. I order a serve for myself and my husband. The lunch is delicious, and just as we finish it's time to go.

In the car, my husand smiles at me and comments "When we get home Sabina will be pretty hungry. What's for lunch?" But I know what that means. What's for lunch for him? Sheesh!

When we get home, I wave my hand in the general direction of the fridge and mutter something about ham, cheese and bread. Before long, my husband serves up ham and cheese toasties. Devoured in minutes.

Then I hit the sack with Sabina. She gets up after 20 minutes, but I continue dozing on. I don't know for how long. My mother's arrival with the shopping gets me out of bed.

I feel good, and make dinner. After dinner I feel even better and go for a walk. After the walk I feel better still - all desire to "popcorn" is now gone. But I bet that will all change by the end of the week. But somehow, I can live with it. Because there is only one more treatment to go!

Operation GP

 

 
Over the whole year we agonised whether to get Sabina a pet, and what to get her. In our case this is a dillema as my husband is allergic to cats and dogs. Possibly rabbits too. So to be on the safe side we were leaning towards an outdoor pet. But, maybe something that can be brought indoors every now and then.
 
For a while we were leaning towards chickens, then it was rabbits. Then I got cancer and all bets were off. As my treatment progressed, the pet question popped up again. I asked Sabina what was most important about a pet to her. "Holding and patting", she said. So we decided on guinea pigs. Two females. A Christmas present for Sabina; and a total surprise. And so "Operation GP" was born.

Secret flatpack packages arrived. Sabina would walk around them querying what they were. I would respond "I don't know." Then the hutches and cages were constructed while Sabina was at school, and quickly shipped off to other destinations - like the grandparents'.

We would make various phone calls to family and friends getting information about guinea pigs, how to care for them, etc, always referring to the little creatures as "GP". In the evenings I would sit at my computer, itching to write about progress of "Operation GP", but resisting, in case the news "gets out". Having resisted the itch, I would scan the internet for available guinea pigs.

Finally I found one I liked. I gazed at it for two days, before showing it to my husband. He thought she was so cute that I should call the seller immediately. Then Sabina came over. She gazed longingly at the photos of the guinea pigs on the computer "Oh guinea pigs!". "Yeah. Which one do you think is the cutest?", I asked. She pointed to the GP I had been gazing at for two days. "Oh so cute! Hey lets play with your toy dog", I ran off to the play room.

Needless to say, the said guinea pig was bought. I picked it up and just fell in love with it. It was sitting quietly in the workshop when Sabina came home from school. It was still a week before Christmas, and that evening the GP was shipped off to Oma and Opa's - who took loving care of it, which included hand feeding.

In the meantime it was just so hard to keep it all quiet. At one point I asked Sabina "So, what sort of pet do you think you would like?". "Mama, I have changed my mind. I don't want a pet any more. Papa is allergic to cats and dogs, and it wouldn't be fair on him. And I really think I would like either a cat or a dog." Oh. For a split second my heart sank. "That's what I thought until I held that little GP. Just you wait", I thought.

For Christmas day we went to Oma and Opa's. Straight away we took Sabina to the Christmas tree, and showed her the guinea pig. We sat her down, and put the guinea pig in her lap. She stroked it for a while. Then she put it back in the cage. She sat next to me for a couple of minutes then she said "Mama, it is real, isn't it? It's not a toy?"

The guinea pig was named Cissy and Sabina has grown confident in handling her, feeding her, and "making home" for her. But of course a guinea pig is never really happy by itself. So, tonight we picked up another guinea pig - Ginny - a diminutive of "Ginger", because Ginny is reddish brown.

Sabina stood in the kitchen looking at the two cages, with one guinea pig in each. She held my hand and said, "Mama, that is just the best present ever."

Gallops

Today was Sabina's last ballet lesson for the year. At the end of the lesson we received Sabina's ballet exam results. She passed. The examiner's comments read:

"Gallops well done"

Need I say more? I mean, do I send my daughter to ballet so that she can do "gallops" well? Of course she can do gallops well - she spends half of her time watching horses frolicking around the paddocks.

Is it, perhaps, time to expose her to ballet videos, or even to live ballet, if I am keen to see some more ballet-related comment?

Saved by my Mother's chicken soup

So, Taxotere is still here. And to be very honest, I am off my food. I am never off my food. Even now, it doesn't look like I am off my food. But I am actually off my food. I am not really eating enough of the right stuff.

The hardest moment is an hour or two before dinner. The time when you should be starting to prepare dinner. Well, by then my energy is the lowest. But, I do have a secret weapon. I dig out a jar of my Mother's chicken soup and heat it up, add some pasta and devour. It saves me. I feel better for long enough, to put dinner on the boil.

(If you're thinking where is the husband that should be preparing dinner? Then it's like this. The amount of energy required to get hold of husband, who is wondering around outside, and then explain to him how to put dinner on in such a manner that doesn't offend him, is greater than putting dinner on. An IT background is really good when it comes to computers, doesn't seem to work as well on humans.)

But, back to the chicken soup. It also warms up the stomach and gets those digestive juices going, that by dinner time I actually feel like eating. And when I eat, it doesn't totally knock me out.

It doesn't just end with the chicken soup. My Mum has equipped me with barley soup, cooked beetroot, cooked cabbage and sour cabbage - they save me at breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Thanks Mum!

Taxotere

Generally, I am not one to whinge much, and I try to make the best of most situations.

In my life I have done some challenging and scary things. I've skiid cross country marathons, I've cycled around the bay in a day (as recovery for my knee reconstruction), I've done ski touring at high altitudes, I've paddled rivers that I thought were going to eat me alive, I've ridden horses that were out of control, I've been on hikes where you keep walking till it gets dark, and maybe beyond. Endurance and I - we know each other pretty well.

Now, in my chemo treatment we have switched to a drug called Taxotere (Docetaxel) (it's part of standard procedure). Nothing, and I mean nothing in my life so far, has prepared me for Taxotere.

It's signature quality is "aches and pains". Imagine the types of aches and pains you get with the flu. Now imagine they are about 10 times worse. Yes, 10 times. The pains travel. Sometimes my legs get such pains that I am worried I might collapse. Then my foot will start hurting, then my shins. I walk like I am a cripple, because some part of my legs always hurt. And if it's not my legs, then its my stomach. The pain travels up to my arms, into my throat, down my back. When I try to drink I feel like a boa constrictor is wrapping itself around my chest. When I try to eat, food feels like shredded cardboard with sand.

And there is no relief. There is no relief when you sleep, there is no relief when you walk, there is no relief when you eat. There is no escape, and so far, there is no end in sight. This experience started at lunchtime on Thursday, and today is Saturday night. This is the longest "marathon" I've ever done.

Why bother with torture, when you have Taxotere?

You get minor improvements when you eat fruit and veggies and follow it with a walk. Or even a genlte jog. Taking the pony for a run is perfect.

And, there is a slight glimmer of hope. My husband has been experiencing some of my symptomps. Isn't that cute? Well, the truth of it is, we suspect that we have picked up a stomach flu of some sort. While my husband's experience is limited to the stomach flu only, I have no idea what to attribute to the flu and what to Taxotere - they both started affecting me on the same day.

So, there is some slight chance that my next Taxotere experience won't be as bad. And I've got two more Taxoteres to go. Because the current experience, certainly is testing even my limits!

How much fun can you have in a brown wig?

So, I said that I bought a wig. Because ... because girls just want to have fun. Indeed. And the question arose, what colour? Well, how much fun can you have in a brown wig?

You can figure that one out for yourself, as you gaze at the photos. All I will say, is that when I went into the alcohol shop with my husband the other day, the guy behind the counter kept checking me out.

Chemo 4

Today we're changing drugs. It's just normal procedure. I am told that the new drugs don't cause as much nausea, but can cause more tiredness. Win one, lose one.

So I am back with my angel nurse, in the special little enclosure with just four or five chairs. Near the consulting room. There's a good reason for this setup.

Oh my, she can't find the vein. I'm busy looking the other way, imaging I am floating gently in a pool on a hot summer's day. I don't think it's helping today. She undoes the compression strap, a break, then does it up again. I can feel her poking with the needle under my skin. Brain! we're just floating in that pool ok? The compression strap is undone again, another break, then it's done up again. "I've got it!" Phew!

She prepares the drugs, then arranges five or six secret vials on her table. They come in all colours, black, red, yellow, clear and something else. I can't remember. She sets up the blood pressure monitor, starts the infusion, then stands in front of me, staring at me.

You know what those vials are for? Each one is to counteract a different deadly reaction to the drug.

She stands in front of me for about half an hour. "Is everything alright?", she asks. "Seems to be", I answer. Except for the fact that I just cannot get comfortable in the chair, and feel like madly running around the place. That's not a reaction requiring one of the six vials.

The nurse goes for her morning tea, but when she returns, she paces in front of me every 20 minutes or so. Same question. Same answer.

Finally, it's all done and I go home. I grab a solid lunch, and wait for the nausea to set in. I can't belive that by 3pm I am still vertical.

Hair Matters

My Mum and I went shopping together. Half Christmas shopping, half wig shopping.

Mum and I are serious shoppers. We're dangerous. We're just as likely to tell the shop assistant that an item looks shocking, as to throw dollars carelessly across the counter. Except that it's not dollars, it's credit card. But you get the drift.

So ... we bought the wig. Yes, after all that family discussion, and coming to the conclusion that really I don't actually need a wig, we bought the wig.

Why?!

Good question. Lots of answers.

Because my mum would like to see me with hair.
Because it looks more cultured at special family occasions.
Because it makes me look more normal when I just need to duck into the shops.

Because ... (and I guess this is the only real reason) ... girls just want to have fun!

And when this girl has fun ... there'll be food on the table tonight.

Dr Gruba, coffee and the real healing

When I first found out that I had cancer I went to a number of naturopaths to see if I could make the cancer go away, and to make sure that it never returned. Probably the best one of those was Dr Gruba.

Dr Gruba put me on an intensive 12 week detox program, where my diet was basically restricted to meat and veggies. No sugar, no alcohol, no coffee, no tea, no fruit, no juices, no dairy (except for butter), no wheat, and no processed anything.

In general I loved the diet. But every now and then I craved coffee. Absolutely craved it. In those situations, I would sit myself down, and explain to myself that I just cannot have the coffee. So in that case, what else would I like to do with my time? Then, I would see an expanse of time, at least half an hour long, that all of a sudden was mine. It used to belong to the "coffee", but now it belonged to me. Then I would merrily go off and do something I really enjoyed. That ... was the REAL healing.

The Wig

We can't agree on the wig. No, not "which wig". We can't agree on whether to get the wig. A wig. Any wig.

My Dad, who sports a crew cut, likes my bald head. In his opinion, it commands respect. And I look good without hair.

My Mother believes I should get a wig for social outings, important family celebrations such as Christmas, and for going back to work.

My Husband, who is half bald, rolls his eyes when I mention that I want to get a wig. (Maybe we can get a two for the price of one deal?) He questions me on my reasons for getting a wig. Well, family celebrations such as Christmas. "We all know you're bald, so why pretend?", he comments. Well, for going back to work then. "The hair will grow back won't it?", he replies. Men! Yes, the hair will grow back ... eventually. But not enough of it will grow back by the time I go back to work.

"So, you don't really care whether I have hair or not?", I ask. He nods. "Okay, in that case do you care whether I make dinner or not?". He sits up startled, "Yes!"

Zoladex

When you receive chemotherapy there is a high chance that it will leave you infretile.

Yes, no more babies, early menopause, risk of early osteoporosis. Not desirable. At my age, the risk is about 40%. High.

In a bid to reduce this risk the doctors try to shut down my ovaries during chemo. So they put me into a temporary menopause. They do this with a drug called Zoladex. In my case, it reduces the risk down to about 15%.

Zoladex comes in the form of an implant, administered by siringe into a fatty area of the body such as the stomach or the thigh. The treatment is repeated every 28 days for the duration of the chemo.

And I just wanted to say this ... that siringe is huge! I've only seen it once, but I swear that it's at least 3 to 4mm in diameter. That's why I've only seen it once. Once was enough. When you see that siringe, you just want to drop everything, and run in the opposite direction. It's mean. It's serious.

Out of all the things I have to do during chemo, getting the Zoladex is the most scary. It's short, but on the scariness scale, it rates.

Insomnia

Despite feeling nauseous and tired, I suffer from insomnia. Yes, I can't sleep. Not for the entire three weeks, of course, but for about four or five days following treatment. The doctor assures me it's common.

I walk daily, I try and do as many physical tasks around the house as I can manage. I get to bed at 11pm and read a book for an hour. Then it takes me another half an hour to fall asleep. By 6:30am (that's if I am lucky enough to sleep that long), I am ready to get up.

I lie in bed though, gazing at my sleeping husband. I know that when the alarm sounds, he will still be struggling to get up. I struggle to lie in bed. Of course I feel nauseous, and tired, but I can't sleep either! I don't care if it's common! It's annoying!!!

Chemo 3

There is a marked difference between me and the other cancer patients in the oncology ward. The other patients wear beautiful wigs, in a bid to make themselves look and feel normal. To blend in with the general public. To, perhaps, move a metre away from the fact that they are being treated for cancer. Not me.

I have dug out all my fancy ski hats, and I wear them in turn. Last time it was my red hat - a favourite pick up from St Anton, Austria. Today, I am wearing my blue and yellow striped, jester-style hat, with tassles that dangle below my waist. From Queenstown, New Zealand.

Whether out in the street, or in the oncology ward, I turn heads. People notice me. They check me out. In the oncology ward, everyone says "hello" as though we're old mates. The nurse introduces herself, "Hi, I am Violetta, I've noticed you before." I am glad.

I know why they notice me. Because the crazy hats scream "I've got cancer, and I am not scared!!!" I want some of that to rub off on them. I want them to get to the end of their day, and have a memory of that girl in a crazy hat, and I want that memory to bring a smile to their face.

My mum suggests that maybe we should go wig shopping. You know ... for the family Christmas celebration. I'm thinking of getting an even more crazy jester hat, with three curved pointed ends, a bell at each end.

The day before chemo 3

I'm scared. I am scared that they won't be able to find the vein, that I'll get heart palpitations, that I will put on 2kg in 2 hours. I am scared that I will have unbearable nausea afterwards. For days.

Who cares that after this session I will be half way through. Who cares about the spiritual journey. Who cares about the golden girl nurses. The long and short of it is - today I feel exceptionally good. Tomorrow, after my treatment I will feel terrible at best.

Of course, I have done enough long distance events in my life to understand the half way mark jitters. Approaching the half way mark is hard. Getting past it is even harder. And this is where I am at. And I understand this. But still, I'm scared.

Saving the tank

A year ago, or was it two?, our water tank cracked irreperably. So we had a special liner put inside the concrete tank, and all was well. Until it rained. Too much.

The leaves got washed out of the gutters, and into the tank, and they blocked the outlet pipe. And the tank kept filling up, and filling up, until it was 10% over the full mark. And then of course, it was over the liner. The water flowed between the liner and the concrete tank, and all of a sudden we had odd syphons of water coming out of the base of the concrete tank. What we didn't know, was whether we had damaged the liner or not.

Of course we unblocked the outlet pipe, but the water just wasn't draining fast enough. So how can you turn a miserable situation like this into a winner?

Well, after many years of drought, I just had the longest shower I can ever remember. Follwed by the fullest bath I have ever had in my entire life. Simply heaven.

And it looks like the tank and the liner are all fine. Phew!

The Ring

(Before I write this entry, I would like to make the reader aware that I have a beautiful engagement ring, and lovely wedding band. But I only wear these on special occasions, and sometimes to work. When I remember. My farm and horse riding tasks make it far too impractical to wear the rings all the time.)

Sabina has found a ring at school. It has a little butterfly on it, and it is very pretty. She promises that first thing on Monday morning she will put it into lost property at school. But in the meantime, she wears it on her middle finger with pride.

She skips in front of me, down the corridor. "Now I'm like a real mum", she says with joy.

The Kelpie

I have previously mentioned that I experience spiritual growth during my chemo. This is one aspect of it.

In my normal life (when I am not being treated for cancer) I do stuff. Lots of stuff. And I do it fast. Slowness of any kind drives me mad. I think fast too. Which means that I'm already executing a plan of action, while other people are still considering the problem. This is all very nice when I need to rely on myself, but doesn't work so well within a community.

I remember how once we went to see a Kelpie demonstration (a Kelpie is the Australian sheep dog). The farmer had two Kelpies. The Kelpies work together to bring in the sheep by driving the sheep, one Kelpie on each side of the sheep herd. But, he said, one of the Kelpies was too fast. Which means that the herd of sheep inefficiently zig zags across the paddock.

So, said the farmer, what do you do when one of your Kelpies is too fast? Well, you change him from fourth gear, down to third gear. And having said that, the farmer proceeded to put the Kelpie's front paw into his collar, so he became, effectively, a three legged dog.

Both Kelpies then ran across 40 acres of dusty fields, and brought back the herd of sheep. The three legged Kelpie was still a touch too fast.

Going through my cancer treatment, I feel like the three legged Kelpie. I feel like God has given me cancer to slow me down. So that I would be more useful in a community. At times I feel that I fight this slowness with tooth and nail. But every now and then, I actually stop, put my tools down, and "feel" what it's like to work at this slower pace.

Fire Plan

It might be raining madly this weekend, but the honest truth is, that the so called "fire season" is approaching. That is, a season, where a bushfire can start and flare out of control in minutes, and arrive at you doorstep at any time of day or night.

Now, we know what happened the last time a bushfire arrived at our doorstep (well, close enough anyway). We looked in the "fire box" and asked "where is that piece of paper that tells us what to do?"

So today we sit down and draw up our fire plan. We decide that the house is "defendable", and in the event of bushfire danger we will stay and defend our house. We go through a thorough list, which includes items such as water, power, clothes, perparatory clean up, first aid and animals.

We open up the fire box and review the items. This is Sabina's favourite part. She puts a hankie over her nose, holds it down with her goggles, and puts her gloves on. She then proceeds to dance around the room with joy.

Pub Power

It's 5pm-ish and I am lying in bed, watching it rain. Rain? It's a serious downpour. And every now and then, it looks like someone is tipping a whole bucket out of the sky. Great entertainment.

"The power is out", announces my husband as he comes inside. "Oh", I mull the thought over in my head. Not surprising really. Whenever forces of nature get serious, it's pretty much guaranteed that the power will go out. "The whole region is out", comes an update from Pete. "Where's the number for the Toolshed? If they've got power, let's go out for dinner." "Oh", I ponder the idea of dinner at the Toolshed.

A few minutes later I manage to call the Toolshed - their power has just come back on, and yes they are cooking dinners. We're in the car and on our way. Doesn't matter that our power has just come back on as well. The pull of sitting at their rough cut tables, drinking beer from a jug, and devouring a mixed grill while rubbing shoulders with local men with big beards is far too strong.

While we're there, we even manage to fire up the juke box, and Sabina and I do some boot scooting ballet on the unpolished wooden floor.

The Green Grocer

I know my green grocer pretty well - because I am the only customer that rocks up at 6:30am to do their weeks' worth of veggie shopping. At those times it's quiet, and we chat and joke, and when the bill comes to $42.50, the green grocer rounds it down to a neat $40.

But I haven't yet told my green grocer that I'm unwell. He's aware that I no longer come in at 6:30am in my suit, he noticed when I cut my hair, but I haven't had the heart to tell him that something is wrong.

Today, I discretely come in to pick up a leek and a lettuce. He notices me straight away. "Hey, now the hair is all gone. What's going on?", he says jokingly as he comes over. Then he goes pale. "You're sick, aren't you?" I tell him the truth, and huge tears well up in his big brown medittarean eyes.

Walking

My echo cardio experience on Tuesday has got me walking. I go for one walk in the morning, and another one in the late afternoon. I need to avoid the really sunny part of the day - my skin doesn't have the same resistance at the moment, and I am not allowed to get burnt.

It's not easy to get out there and walk. You feel so lousy, you don't think you can walk five metres. And once out there, it's not easy to walk. You feel heavy and uncoordinated. It's a struggle. And so I struggle.

When you get back from your walk, you still feel terrible. Tired, weary, heavy limbed.

Then you rest for an hour. And then, all of a sudden you feel terrific. You feel alive. You feel fresh. You feel good.

Not for too long, mind you.

Echo Cardio

With the chemotherapy treatment I am given, there is about a 4% chance of developing heart problems. So the doctors need to do an echo cardiogram on your heart once every three months, just to make sure your heart is not affected.

Well, I demanded a stress echo cardiogram. Because I am me. And it's all done my way.

Now, scheduling an echo cardiogram is easy - because it's fast. For a stress echo, you have to work up a sweat, gradually. So it takes time. So appointments aren't easy to come by.

So, here I am, one day after my chemo treatment, walking on the treadmill. Then walking faster on the treadmill. Then running. I feel like an elephant. But I run. Stomp, stomp, stomp.

Eventually I call out "stop". "Does your heart hurt?", asks the doctor. The treadmill keeps going, I keep running. "No", I puff, "my legs have gone to jelly". Puff, puff, puff. "Any other pain?", asks the doctor, "chest, arms, anything?". "No". Puff, puff, puff. They slow down the treadmill, get me back on the bed and have a look at my heart with the ultrasound.

"Stop breathing". Yeah right, they must be joking. I'm ready to burst. "Ok, start breathing again." Puff, puff. "Stop breathing". These people are nuts, my heart is going 160 bpms and they want me to stop breathing. "Ok, start breathing again." Eventually we're done. They show me the pictures. All good.

I walk away with one lesson. If you're feeling like crap, try running. Just for a short time. It might make you feel better. I feel great, but it takes me about an hour to recover.

Chemo 2

I visit my oncologist before my chemotherapy treatment. He reads out my blood results - all good.

I head down to day oncology and get seated next to the window. Lovely. Except that when the nurse starts to put the needle in my vein I can see her reflection perfectly. I gaze at the ceiling.

As my treatment progresses, a lady comes for her first chemo session. She sits opposite me and giggles to her partner. I, with my husband's hanky around my head, feel like a veteran. I smile like one too.

By the time two hours are up, I'm bored and start making phone calls to friends. Then finally I'm out of there. At home I scoff down a massive lunch. Then nausea puts me to bed.

It's not as bad as last time, but it's still bad. Really bad. My mum sits by my bedside feeding me veggie burgers. She made them herself. They are delicious. They are the only thing I can stomach.

I show up at dinner, and try to make a dent. The food on my plate could fit into a small coffee cup. But I can't get through half of it. Back to bed.

My mum still sits at my bedside. The veggie burgers are all gone now. But we still have conversation. I think that at every chemo session you meet an angel. Last time it was my nurse. This time around it's my mother.

The day before chemo 2

Well, three weeks have gone by terribly quickly, and here I am pondering that tomorrow is my next chemotherapy treatment. So, as I am preparing my sandwiches for the treatment, how do I feel?

I'm looking forward to it. Yep. Can't wait.

It's not because it will be two down, four to go. It's not because you get treated like royalty. They are supposed to give me more anti-nausea, but I know that I will still feel like crap.

It's because of the spiritual journey. Yep. If you can just let go of trying to control everything, and let the nausea and feeling bad take you wherever they need to take you, you get an amazing sense of spiritual growth.

Initially, I suspected that I was going mad. But I've read other people's cancer stories. And some, not all, some, have experienced the same thing. Amazing spiritual growth.

Ballet Concert

Today is Sabina's ballet concert.  We arrive with anticipation, and our family takes up half the front row.  Of course, Sabina's participation in the ballet is our only drawcard.  That is, until we see the seniors perform.  Wow!

All in all, the performance is a fantastic mix of young kids just having a go, to intermediates who start understanding what it's all about, right through to seniors who are very close to professional.

We had a wonderful time!  Some say that the Cancan stole the show.  For others it was the belly dance.  For me, it was the Wicked Witch of the East!

Hair one day, gone the next

Yep, I've done it. Shaved all my hair off. Or rather my husband carefully shaved it off.

The truth is this - it was an absolute nuisance. Not only was it falling out everywhere, but it also hurt. All the hair follicles became really tender, and just wanted to grow their own way. Those that did get their way were fine. But those that didn't hurt ... a lot! Constantly. All the time. And the worst was putting your head on a pillow.

Now that the hair is gone, it feels fantastic. I still have to be a little bit careful when putting my head on a pillow. But other than that, the pain is gone. And the convenience! No brushing, no styling, no products. Washing takes a few seconds. Drying takes a few seconds. I absolutely love it.

But the best part is feeling the air. Every time there is a breeze, or I move my head a little bit faster I can feel the air rushing past my scalp. It has this freshness about it - like riding a bike without a helmet.

More about hair

On Monday I finally went off and got a hair cut. It took about 7 calls to different hairdressers, before I found one that could do it that afternoon. I walked into the salon, told her what was going on, and added that a "number 6" (shave) would be just fine. She glanced at me, and responded "do you mind if I give you a style cut?" So here I am, with my pretty short, style cut.  (Apologies for poor photo quality - taken by five year old, with phone camera.)

Since then, the "one by one hair fallout" has changed to a "mass exodus". Hair is everywhere, albeit short. Mainly it sits on my shoulders, tickles my neck, and makes me feel like I've never really left the hairdresser. Gets all over the computer keyboard too. Arghhh! And screen!!! I'm over it. A number 1 (shave) is starting to look really really attractive.

I would just like to add that we are a "no hair" family. That doesn't mean that we don't have any hair. On the contrary, plenty of that around, even if not on the head. What I do mean, is that when you see a hair, you pick it up and put it in the bin, so there is "no hair". So now you can better understand why the "mass exodus" on my head is driving me bananas!

The Hair

My hair has started to fall out. Not in clumps, or batches. More like one by one.

One on my left sleeve, one on my right sleeve, one on my shoulder, one on my pocket, one on the bottom of my jacket. I think you get the picture.

I must say - textbook timing.

It's not sad, it's not distressing, it's just plain old annoying!

Since I have been threatening to shave my hair off for years, the concept of having to now cut it really short doesn't phase me at all. In fact, I am looking forward to it. Anything to make the "one by one" exodus less annoying.

Costume Trials

Sabina goes to ballet, and currently they are preparing for a concert. They have extra practices.

One of the practices is simply a costume trial session and photo shoot.

Sabina tries on a costume, and the photographer takes her photo. He then asks what her name is. Sabina gazes blankly at the photographer, and quickly runs over to Miss Lynette (ballet teacher).

"Miss Lynette, what's my name?", she asks.

"Why, your name is Sabina", Miss Lynette gazes at her kindly.

"Oh! I was so excited about trying on the costumes, that I forgot."

No more fog

Over the last few days my brain has felt quite foggy. Like, I could hold my own thought, if just that fog in my brain would go away.

This morning, I said to myself "no more fog". I devoured my breakfast, and held to that thought like to a life raft. And, to my amazement, it worked!

Of course, as a by-product I became very determined, bossy, short and sharp. I must have stayed within reason though, because the family survived the day in grand style.

Out of the fuzz

This morning I managed to walk Sabina to school, and then still walk Pete to the train station. Then I walked home. (A round trip of about 1.5km.) Oh the freshness of the air! How wonderful! Sitting at home can get so stuffy, it starts to suffocate you. Force yourself to go outside, and you immediately feel better. Fresh air is the best medicine.

As I was walking back by myself, I was actually toying with the idea of going for a short bike ride. I mean ... if a walk feels this good, how good would a bike ride feel? The wind in your face, the gentle flexing of muscles, blood pumping.

On another note - my skin has turned to alabaster. All the blackheads and pimples and impurities on my face have literally been jumping out of my skin for the last two days. Now they are all gone, and my face feels smoother than silk. I am really quite surprised that the "beauty industry" hasn't cottoned onto this yet. You know, "mini-chemo" could be right up there with botox, peels and the like.

Chemo 1 - Day 3

Well everything is going according to plan - today I am knackered.

There is this training ride we do on our bikes. From Mt Waverley we ride up to Kangaroo Ground, then St Andrews then almost into King Lake. We cut through to Yarra Glen, and then back home. It's a touch over 100km, and it's very hilly. It's supposed to give you a real kick up the backside, and get you fit for riding longer rides.

Today, I feel like I had done that ride. All my muscles are throbbing. And I am eating and sleeping to match.

Chemo 1 - The day after

Well I am up and about today, and feeling much better.  The morning was rather slow and cautious, but largely, the nausea is gone.  Mind you, they gave me 3 different tablets and an injection to prevent nausea.  That's on top of the anti-nausea tablets I am allowed to take any time.

Chemo 1

One chemotherapy session done, five more to go.

So, what was it like? How do I feel? And what have I done with my hair?

Well ... it was like this. I was busy all weekend with bullants, dogs and what not, and ran out of time to shave my head. So I turned up to chemo this morning with my full mane, tucked neatly into a pony tail, only to be advised that hair might not fall out after first chemo session - and even if it does it will start doing so in about two weeks. It's like getting an extension on your assignment. Yay.

The day oncology ward has a bunch of recliners in it. They look very similar to business class seats on an aeroplane. They even go up and down. But I don't think they can simulate turbulence. And there is heaps more floor space around you.

You get all the top class nurses that treat you like absolute royalty. There are all sorts of assistants running around serving tea, coffee and biscuits. My treatment arm was covered with a warm blanket, and I was covered with a blanket on top of that. First I was given a capsule (anti-nausea) - then we had to wait an hour to start treatment. For most of that hour my nurse talked to me like she was my favourite grandmother.

Once the needle for my drip was in, the rest of the treatment was painless. One of the drugs I am getting is red - so they have a little discreet pouch covering the bag. Very cute.

All in all the treatment took around 3 hours, and I felt great afterwards. My mother-in-law drove me home, I felt fit as a fiddle, and had some lunch. Then I started writing this blog. And then it hit me. First a bit of nausea - so I went to bed. Then more nausea. I took the anti-nausea tablets they gave me, and they worked ... a little bit. Basically, I was bed ridden for the rest of the day. It was a real effort to eat and drink anything, and the household went into shock that all of a sudden they had to do all my tasks, as well as their own.

In the end though, the household at least seemed to accept the situation and peace was achieved. The nausea continued - now I see why they treat you like royalty - you suffer enough for it later on!

Dogs

Hunters frequent the state forest next to our farm. They've been out there for days. They have a machine that makes different animal sounds. Even I can tell the difference between a real animal, and the hunters' machine sounds. And the horses usually pick up the hunters from 2km away. Mainly, they hunt deer with dogs and guns.

Well they are out there today, making their fake bird sounds. I wish they would just get over it, as I saddle up Bess and Tornado. Crownie is a bit stiff through the back, and Sabina is really keen for me to ride Bess.

We ride out. It's a gorgous day and just lovely to be out there. Somewhere in the distance the motorbikes are out, and I stay vigilant. Bess lacks forward. I put it down to her character, and the motorbike noises.

We stop for a break on the side of the road. Sabina enjoys sitting in the shade and eating her snack, while I hold the horse and pony. Tornado seems happy enough, but Bess is disturbed. She keeps gazing in the direction of home and feeling anxious. I find this rather odd, as she is such a placid easy going horse. Either she is really hanging out to go home, or I have an electric seat.

As we mount up, Bess spins around so fast that I almost fall off. Oddly enough, she spins around and wants to run away from home. Strange.

We head towards home. Sabina keeps hanging back and chatting - sometimes to me, sometimes to herself, sometimes to Tornado. Bess remains on edge. Then I see them, two grey shadows ambling hesitantly down the road. Hunting dogs? Strays? They look like two huge greyhounds - each standing taller than Tornado. Their coat looks unkept, and it gives them a wild, somewhat savage look. The one closer to us has his tail tucked under his legs.

When they see us, they hesitate. We are half their prey, and half their masters. They look confused. Sabina is torn out of her childlish fantasy pony ride. "Mama!" I take a more solid grip on my whip. Thank God I brought one, and thank God I brought the one that does damage. I move Bess to shield Sabina. "Go home!", I call out sternly. I wave the whip at them. "Go on! Go home!".

They turn around, take another look at us, then slowly walk back up the track. Sabina's got the hang of it now, and she's fully roaring at them like a ferocious tiger. Thanks to her endless tiger games she's actually got a roar worth reckoning. The dogs, break into a trot.
 
We follow the dogs. I keep a very watchful eye on them. Sabina goes back to ambling 20 metres behind me, but she keeps roaring. From the farm, Pete watches the strange procession. He can't see the dogs - just me, and a screaming Sabina behind me. He thinks that Sabina is just having a bad time, and waves to us with jolity.

Finally, when we're at the state forest gate, and I see the grey shapes slinking along at the bottom of the valley, I breathe a real sigh of relief. We start laughing at our adventure. Deep down I marvel at Bess' trust in me, and Tornado's calmness. What awesome horses we are so lucky to borrow and own. (Thanks Lisa!)

Bullant

I am busy making dinner when the sliding door opens.

"Mama!!!" cries out Sabina, full of tears.

I drop everything, race to the door, my mind conjuring up all the worst case scenarios, my heart reaching out in sympathy. I come to a sliding stop on my knees right in front of my little girl. She looks upset, for sure, her pants seem to be a bit dirty (but that's normal at the farm), but I can't really see what else is wrong.

"Mama!!!", she screams sobbing. "Get it off me! Get it off me!".

The fading light makes it hard to see, but I suddenly work out that the pants are not dirty - that's bullants crawling over my little girl - about four of them. Instantly, I brush them off with a couple of agressive strokes. Then I pick her up, sit her on a chair and rip the pants off in a single motion. It appears the bullant problem is solved.

"Ouaaa", sobs Sabina, pointing to a red spot on her leg. "That naugtie bullant! Mama, that was a naughtie bullant. I hate that bullant. It's a naughtie bullant. Why did the naughtie bullant bite me mama?"

(Yes, it's not a "naughty" bullant. It's a "naughtie" bullant. So cute!)

Sowing the seeds

So, we've put the path around the house. Now we've had some soil delivered, and Pete spreads it around the outside of the path to provide a nice sloping gradient. Then it's time to sow the grass seeds. Pete figures that the manly task is done, so he goes off to do other manly tasks - such as go for a bike ride; while Sabina and I are left to do the sowing.

We put the seeds in a bucket, and sow them one handful at a time, singing the song "Sowing the seeds of love" as we do so. Well, we don't actually know the entire song, so we just sing the two lines that we know. At one point I stop singing, and just listen to Sabina.

Her little voice is so sweet that if I was a seed of grass, I would definitely start growing!

Grand Final

It's AFL Grand Final day today. "Hmmm, how shall I celebrate?" I look around for a minute, then grab the tractor.

Half an hour later we have our very own, freshly mown, oval. Of course, it's much more the size of an equestrian arena. Mere details.

When the neighbours pop around to say hello, I suggest a game. It all ends in laughs.

The Soup

Inspired by the leek in my veggie delivery, I gaze into the cookbook. There it is - leek and potato soup. I am secretly hoping that this is something my family won't like, and I will have oodles of helpings all to myself.

I carefully cook up my inspiration, and call up the troops for lunch. I smile. "Who would like some leek and potato soup?" All hands go up. Hmmm, this wasn't part of the plan.

The soup is devoured, and I ask (foolishly) if anyone is up for seconds. All hands go up again. This is out of control! My husband hates soups, and my daughter dislikes potatoes. What's going on?

By the end of lunch a mere cupful or two of the soup remain. The troops are licking their lips and patting their tummies with satisfaction.

The Tooth Fairy

(This episode actually happened a while ago, like about a year ago, but I kept forgetting to write about it. So, here goes.)

Sabina's first tooth is moving. Oh my goodness. Already? When the tooth started moving a lot, we started discussing the tooth fairy.

"When the tooth falls out", says Sabina, "you leave it on a plate. Then, in the night", she starts whispering in a mysterious voice, "the tooth fairy comes and takes the tooth and the child with her."

The smiles immediately vanish from our parental faces, and we both exclaim a huge "What?!".

"Yes", Sabina continues, totally unphased by our huge surprise. "The fairy takes the child up into the sky. And the child puts the tooth in a special spot in the sky. Then the child comes back down."

"Phew! Thank goodness the child comes back", we both sigh with relief.

"And then", Sabina continues with mysterious voice, "the tooth becomes a star."

We gaze at each other with pride and disbelief. We both love this story, but where in the world did our daughter come up with it?

"All your baby teeth", continues Sabina, "are up there, shining down on you every night, and taking care of you."

Ok, now she's starting to become so gorgous we just want to hug her. But, wait, she's not finished yet.

"And then", she goes on, "when you die, all your stars drop out of the sky, and onto you."

And that's how you combine fantasy and imagination with science and logic. She's got it all in one - she's prevented overcrowding of stars in the sky, and she's taken care of shooting stars as well. That's our girl!

Only in Australia

Maintenance work is currently being carried out on the train line between Pakenham and Warragul, and so the train service has been replaced by buses.

Football (AFL) finals are here, and public transport is expecting a lot of traffic. Especially the Gippsland line. So they have suspended the train line work and the buses, and resumed the train service just for the footy traffic.

We saw the passenger train heading out to Warragul tonight ourselves.

God's Gift

Ever since the incident with Princess, I have been a true believer that somewhere out there, someone is trying to guide us to make the right choices. I have also believed that the someone or something, has great power to invtervene - or rather try and guide us if we are totally off our path in life. I have also believed, that the someone has a mind beyond our mind, and that we are often not meant to understand how and why things in our life unfold the way they do.

So ever since that incident, I have asked that someone for lots of things - to lose weight, to become a better horse trainer, to get clarity about where I should steer my career, to become a more involved mother, to have some time off. Oh, the list just goes on.

So I guess the burning question is ... did I get everything I asked for? Yes. You bet. Cancer gave me absolutely everything I asked for, and more.

At no point did I ever ask that someone for perfect health, vitality, positive energy and happiness.

Luckily for me, one of the things I asked for, was to further my spiritual training. This led me to realise the importance of blessing food. So now, every time we sit down to a meal together, we bless our food, and ask for health and happiness.

A sign from God

A couple of years ago I was leaning on the gate to the amphitheatre paddock and looking at the horses. Back then we still had Tosca and Princess as well as Crownie. I thought to myself "I know that I need to sell at least one of the horses, but I don't know which one". I sighed. "God, can you please give me a sign which horse to sell. But God, don't make it some subtle sign please, because I don't notice those. Can you please make it a really obvious, smack in your face kind of sign. Pretty please."

Then I turned away and went into the big shed. In the meantime, the horses ventured down the hill. Later on I came out of the big shed, with buckets of horse feed. I called the horses, and the herd came galloping up. All except for Princess. Princess was lagging behind, trotting, while a fountain of white liquid was pouring out of her nose. I stared at the horse, stupified. There was my most obvious sign from God. That's the horse I need to sell.

Fathers' Day, take two

It appears the drought is over. It's raining, raining, raining. The rivers are swelling, and paddlers of all ages and dimensions are dusting off their paddles, checking that they still fit their decks, and almost causing a network crash with their emails, messages and phone calls. Which river? What day? How many runs?

Pete has decided to do the King with his friends. A wonderful river, that at the promised level is well worth the drive. The aim was to do it today. On Fathers' Day. So of course we shifted Fathers' day and celebrated it yesterday. He got the works - lovely breakfast, present, cards, lunch at the cafe, great dinner, and of course his little girl showering him with love all day long. (Ok, maybe that wore thin eventually.)

Then, yesterday evening, he got a phone call. Trip is rained out. What do you mean rained out? Kayaking trips don't get rained out. The more water the better. Nah ... rained out. Can't get there - all the access roads to all the rivers are flooded! I have never ever heard of a paddling trip getting rained out. I mean, that's the whole idea. When the rest of your life gets rained out, that's when you go paddling. Up till now.

So this morning, Pete got up and we celebrated the whole Fathers' day all over again. Was he just lucky, or clever?

Eating and drinking

I have become an eating and drinking machine. And I am not talking about chocolates with port. I am talking veggies - especially the broccolis, caulieflowers and brussel sprouts - and meat. Some brown rice, and a bit of jelly for dessert. My drink of choice is water, water, water.

My surgery (to remove the breast cancer) was three weeks ago. It went really well. Even the surgeons (two of them) personally congratulated me on a very quick recovery. Admittedly, the four week recovery rule still applies. That is, I have another week before I can do, well, pretty much anything. Drive a car, ride a horse, do sit ups, yoga, running. My surgeon-in-charge said that I can hop on my bike today, if I am really desperate to do something. But the problem is, the only thing I am really desperate to do is eat, drink and rest. Like I said, I've become an eating machine.

I get up in the morning, I prepare my food and eat. Then I do my stretching exercises, and then before I know it's time to prepare lunch. I eat lunch. Then I need a rest. By the time I get up it's pretty much time to prepare dinner. After dinner ... more rest.

It's kind of blissful recovery time. The only problem is that I am really hanging out for a coffee. (Can't have one at the moment - doctor's orders).

Intuition

Over the last year I have had an amazing lesson in trusting my intuition.

In some ways it has been a costly lesson too - when I haven't trusted my intuition. In other ways it has been difficult to trust my intuition because of others' expectations.

However, I have now had so much proof that the only thing I should follow is my intuition (which is different to following your ego), that I have enrolled myself in a course with lady G (no, not lady GaGa) to learn how to use my intuition, and how to distinguish between intuition and ego. As she couldn't start a course immediately, I purchased a book from her and made a start on developing this skill. And I also booked myself into a healing session with lady G, as a last final resort to try and get rid of the cancer. (Rather than having it removed through an operation).

Tonight the phone rings. My husband picks it up, then he looks at me with that questioning look - "Do you know a lady G?". I snatch the phone from him. "Hello, lady G, how are you?". "I am well, but, I have a situation, and well ... I can no longer give you the course, I can't give you the healing, I simply need to stop working immediately". I thank her for letting me know, and wish her well in her situation and I assure her that I will be fine with mine.

I hang up, raise my hands up to the air, and call out "Allelluia!". To the observer it might look like I have just been let down. But the universe plays out its game like a cleverly designed multidimensional game of chess, where every move, however subtle, is carefully calculated, and events plait themselves together and weave apart as required.

The message I have just received from the universe, is that I have arrived! I do not need lady G's healing, and I no longer need the course. I am doing just fine following my own intuition, and distinguishing between it, and my ego.

I am now totally at peace with my situation, my cancer and my life. Cancer has taught me an important lesson in my life. Not just one of following my intuition. It taught me one of value. Of balance. It taught me that above all things is my health. That it's a privilige to be alive. It taught me that you can only do a limited number of things in a day, and you are fully in charge of what they are. So you should do the things that are most meaningful to your life. The opinions of others are just that ... the opinions of others.

Of course it has been, and will be a painful lesson. The operation looms a mere few days ahead of me. But I know that things will go well. I know that the universe wants me to be alive. It doesn't just want me to be alive. It wants me to achieve my dreams. That's why this is just such a small hump in the road. Because there is so much "life" still ahead of me.

Could I have learnt some, or even all of these lessons earlier? Of course I could have. Life and the universe had been sending me hints for years. Some hints were too subtle, and I never stopped to think about them. (I don't know, do you call a raptured ACL too subtle?) Other hints were too confronting, and I found them insulting, and turned away from them with arrogance. I was too tough, too fit, too much of a tomboy, feeling too much like an invincible 25 year old. It took Breast Cancer to stop me in my tracks, and make me grow up and become a woman. Or should I say ... an Amazon?

Maybe I'll take up archery on horseback?

Horses have feelings too

Tornado is a slightly cheeky pony, and one that doesn't always love the attention of his devoted five year old owner.

Putting his ears back and running away from the little girl are frequent occurrances, but he has also been driven to extremes of biting and kicking out. Of course, when these things happen, Mum steps in to call truce and both the little girl and the little pony get some re-education, as most of the time, both are at fault in some way.

I guess the pony could argue his case that "she started it", but ... well ... whatever.

Today Sabina and I head out soon after breakfast and saddle up Tornado. Sabina never eats very well for breakfast, and normally I am loaded with snacks. Not so today. Fatal mistake.

By the time we have the pony brushed and saddled, Sabina is out of energy. Some small tiny insignificant little issue sets her off, and bingo, she's in tears. I try and soothe her with words.

Tornado lets out a big sigh, walks over to Sabina and cuddles his head into her chest. Ever so gently. It works like a magic healing balm. Sabina, overwhelmed, gently cuddles his head, wipes her tears, and is all smiles again. Ready to ride.

If I hadn't seen it myself, I would have never believed it.

Water

As part of our spiritual retreat we watch DVDs. Yes DVDs. Carefully selected DVDs. Tonight we watched a DVD on water.

Have you ever wondered why water in its solid state (ice) floats in its liquid state? This doesn't follow the laws of physics of any other compound.

There are a bunch of scientists that have been puzzled by this property of water, and so, they have been studying it. This is what they have discovered, in a nutshell.

Water has a memory. If you treat it with love and gratitude it will heal you. If you treat it with anger and rage it will do you no good. Holy water is holy. It has properties that can heal you.

Water likes to flow, via gentle curves and over sloping ground, and in nature. When water pours out of your home tap it has been chemically treated, it has gone via a series of long pipes, it has been pumped under high pressure, it has flowed via right angle turns. That water feels hated. It has the memory of hate. If you drink that water it will have a draining effect on you.

The good news is, that all you need to do is bless your water with the words "Love and Gratitude" before you drink it.

For those who are interested, I am hoping to be able to host a showing of this DVD at my house, at some stage soonish.

Tough Day

I had a bit of a tough day today at the retreat. I never thought it could ever get to this point ... but I actually felt like just packing my bags, and heading home. Yes, I felt like quitting.

Of course, I come from the school of "You never quit". So, I am still here at the retreat.

I was wise enough to bring up my resistance with my teacher. And I must admit that she is a true spiritual master, in the way that she handled it. She got me right back on track and for the rest of the evening my head was spinning (I think it's still spinning now) as I tried to catch up. (I find that when you take huge spiritual shifts, your mind spins, sometimes to the point of nausea. It is very disorientating, and the sensation itself makes you want to quit.)

Now that the day is over I am really glad how it has all turned out. I have just learned probably the most important lesson of the entire course. As my spiritual teacher says - "it is in our darkest moments that we learn our most important lessons". So true.

Feeling like a kid in a lolly shop

The lady running the retreat is warm and wonderful. She also knows a lot more about wholistic eating than I do. So the pantry is stacked full of exotics I have never heard of like Agave juice and Chinese red dates. She has brewed up a pot of chai that I can't seem to get away from. She made us the most delicious porridge with ginger and Chinese red dates.

Before I went on this retreat, my parents were very worried that I might lose weight out here.

In the meantime ... I feel like a kid in a lolly shop!

Retreat

I have gone on a 10 day live-in retreat. It's FANTASTIC!

We live in a lovely cottage, that I don't have to clean. Someone else is doing the cooking. All I have to do is turn up to classes every day. Life is bliss!

Change of Diet

I have had a solid few days to do some reading about cancer.

The nurse told me to read the booklets she gave me, and not to surf the internet, and not to change my diet.

I read the booklets (which proved far too simple for the level of understanding that I require), surfed the internet, and now I am changing my diet.

So it's mainly fruit and veggies for me - preferably fresh, raw and organic. Some nuts and seeds. I am not sure about the meat yet - a lot of cancer advice suggests taking the meat out. However, most of our meat comes from next door, and we know that these are the least stressed cows in the world, fully grass fed, and kept on pretty much organic land. So for the time being, the meat stays in.

Alcohol, caffeine, sugar, bread and pasta is out.

The schedule

On Monday I got a sick leave certificate from the doctor and stopped going to work.

But it's not like I have all this free time to ponder things over. I have a new full time job. I attend what seems like a 1000 and one doctors appointments - mammograms, ultrasounds, biopsies, CT scans, bone scans, blood tests, and consultations. And in between all these, my husband and I are busy reading up on the disease, its causes, its progress, and the cures. I am seriously working 10 hours a day, 5 days a week.

The mammogram

The mammogram was a week ago. I went to the mammogram appointment after a particularly stressful moment at work. So when I went into the X-ray room and I felt tears stinging my eyes I couldn't decide whether it was the stress of work or the probability of cancer. "You're still young, you've got a good chance", said the radiologist, as she proceeded to take photo after photo after photo. Two huge tears hit the deck. She didn't seem to notice. It felt good to let the tears go, so I stopped holding back. The radiologist seem immune to them. She just kept asking for different positions, and kept taking photos. You don't take that many photos if you don't suspect something.

By the time I went in for the ultrasound, the tears were coming thick and fast. I had become a waterfall worthy of tourist attention, by Australian standards anyway. The ultrasound technician seemed just as immune to the tears. And what hurt me the most was not the fact that I might die. Because I won't die. Not from this. It wasn't the fact that I might lose a breast. (Although maybe that childhood game of being an Amazon was a bit tactless). It was the fact that there might never be another baby. And even if there is, that baby will never feed from that breast.

Meanwhile ...

Here we are busy with this, that and the other, enjoying our farm and lifestyle, making plans for a bed and breakfast, when out of the blue I get diagnosed with breast cancer. Ouch. The breaks on our life screech to a halt.

Christening the new float

So, yesterday I picked up the new float. Now, horse floats are used for transporting horses. About 50% of the time. They are also very useful for moving furniture, taking rubbish to the tip, and doing other runs that are part of every day living.

Everyone has their own idea about christening the new float.

Firstly, it gets a name "The Flummery". Then, I barely bring it home, and Pete insists on christening it by taking some kitchen cupboards up to the farm.

In the morning, at first light, I christen the float my way - I take Crownie to pony club for some cross country training. Crownie, of course, christens the float her own way.

Then I barely return from pony club, when Pete insists we use the float to pick up the trees we bought last weekend.

On the return trip, we decide to test the user experience. I jump in the float, and have a ride.

By the time we've had the float for 24 hours, it's well and truly christened.

And I haven't even mentioned the wombat. Oooops. I think I just did.

Mothers' Day

We celebrate Mothers' Day with a sleep in, presents for mum, and freshly baked croissants.

Well, it's a sleep in for me, but husband groans at the 7:40 start dictated by our little girl. On the days when I quietly get up and go horse riding, Sabina is quite capable of sleeping in till 8:30. 9:30 if you're really lucky.

While I am still lazing around in bed, Sabina brings me presents. Fist two drawings of a very happy mother. Then a notepad. She's very proud of her choice of notepad, but she's not sure if it will actually hit it off with mum. I can see that everything rides on my approval. Her happiness, her confidence, almost her entire existence. I marvel at the notepad, and repeatedly comment on how pretty it is, and how useful it will be.

The croissants for breaksfast - they are from Sabina's school. I organised them, I followed the instructions to thaw them last night, and I bake them this morning. I am still the mum. Even on Mothers' day. But it doesn't matter. Just eating these yummy croissants for breakfast together is fantastic.

Later we dash off to the local tree nursery and buy a golden elm, and a norwegian maple. The golden elm will go next to the sandpit to create a shady canopy. The norwegian maple will line the driveway.

Towards the end of the day we have an early dinner. The farrier is coming tomorrow, and I am staying the night at the farm, while Pete and Sabina are heading back to town by train. The train is running 15 minutes late. 20 minutes, by the time it hits town. My mother spends the better part of an hour waiting for them to arrive at their destination, so she can give them a lift home.

She's still a mum. Even on Mothers' day.

Seasoned

I arrive at the farm in the evening, and unpack the car. The temperature inside the house reads 17 degrees C. 16.4 on the other thermometer. In the past, a mere year ago, this would have had me rushing off to the woodpile and starting a fire.

Not so today. It's not exactly balmy warm, but the fire won't make much difference once I am in bed under my superwarm doona. And in the morning the fire will be out anyway, so really, why bother.

Letter box

I arrive at the three letter boxes, enroute to farm. The middle letter box is ours.

As I drive up to the letter boxes, I glance unintentionally at Sabina. Her eyes are fixed on something. They grow bigger, wider, more intense. She has stopped blinking, and perhaps breathing too. It's as though she has seen a snake hanging on the fence behind the letter boxes.

Yeah right! I giggle to myself, and turn around to look at the fence. OMG! I almost jump in my seat. There IS a snake hanging off the fence!

Never, ever, doubt your children's facial expressions!

Mushrooming

Sabina and I drive off into the pine plantation next door. A couple of kilometres later we park on the edge of the track, and joyfully jump out, bucket in one hand, knife in the other.

It's been raining a lot recently, and mushrooms have popped up everywhere. Mainly the poisonous ones, but there is also a solid supply of the edible ones.

First we find the "maslaki" and I show Sabina how to recognise them. She collects them into her bucket.

Then we find "rydze". They are plentiful, and growing everywhere, and Sabina is forever fascinated how they hide under the pine needles.

A short time later, with one and a half buckets of mushrooms, we drive back to the ranch.

I clean and fry a few "rydze". Sabina loves them, and asks for more.

Have generator, can ...

open garage doors, use the stove and water. How good is that?

But, can't use the lights, fridge or kettle. No, if you want to use those, you have to plug the genrator into a different power socket. Then of course you can use the lights, but you no longer have running water.

Love it!

Have generator, will ...

read instruction manual.

We have finally bought a generator. Because out here, on the perimeter, when you lose power you lose the water pump, the lights, the stove, the ability to open garage doors. It's like going back in time a 100 years.

And, out here on the perimeter, you lose power pretty often. Once a week on average.

And, sometimes, when you do lose power, you better be the one to call the power company. Because it may turn out that the problem is your very own power pole in your own back paddock, and no one else but you and your two best buddy neighbours are experiencing a black out. And your best buddy neighbours have a generator, or three, so they don't care!

So we've bought one.

And tonight, husband is sitting and carefully reading the instruction manual.

The table

We've inherited a table from our friends. The beautiful wooden table is cleaned up and assembled.

The existing table is moved out, against the sofa. We clean the floor, then move the new table into position.

The new table is beautiful, don't get me wrong. And we really appreciate getting it. But it's huge in comparison to our old family kitchen table. It has converted our meals area from a cosy farm kitchen, to a ... well, boardroom. And I just can't get used to it.

In the meantime, Sabina has placed a lamp on the old table, and converted it into a desk. She looks like a football in the middle of the football field. Or like one of those super talented children in some movie, studying materials far beyond her five years.

We look like a bunch of hill billies who struck oil, got rich quickly, and lashed out without much thought or consideration for style.

Holiday Diary: Reading

Reading is definitely a great part of any holiday. There just seems to be so much time to read.

I really enjoy reading books during holidays, but because I am forever busy packing gear, I always forget to grab a book.

Somehow, I have been blessed to find a very interesting book at each of my recent holiday destinations. When we got away to Bright I managed to find John McEnroe's autobiography, which had me reading for hours into the night, and buzzing all morning.

Here in Merimbula, "The other Bolyen girl" by Phillipa Gregory catches my eye, and I honestly cannot get away from it. I hide away with it at every opportunity, almost to the point of being rude. But the historical detail, and more so, the politics in the book have caught me in their iron grip. I learn far more from it than from any book on marriage, relationships, or business acumen.

Holiday Diary: Gear

We arrive in Merimbula with two kayaks (and associated paddling gear), two bikes, and a boot full of boogy boards, nets and other sundry beach items.

The logistics of packing all this gear takes up days of thinking before the trip even commences. Then comes the packing itself. At least one hour just for the gear alone. Then the mental note ... our car now requires a clearance of at least 2.5m. Then the unpacking. Where to put the gear at the destination. Etc, etc, etc.

So is the gear really necessary? Doesn't "getting away from it all" mean you just take your beach towel with you?

I hate to say it, but in our case, the gear is necessary. We holidayed in Noosa a couple of years ago, and found it excruciatingly painful to watch paddling and bike riding opportunities pass us by, because we didn't have our gear.

Can't we borrow it? Gosh no! I guess I can't really tell the difference between one boogy board and the next, but kayaks and bikes are tailored to our needs.

So do we use the gear? Yes, yessety yes!

Going on holidays

We're off on holidays today. For a week. To Merimbula.

We do the obligatory stop at Bairnsdale and ride the flying fox. Then on through smoke filled bush and into New South Wales. Once you see a sign that says "Eden" you pretty much know you're in heaven.

When we arrive, Opa is standing on the balcony of the "Blue House" well aware that we managed to stock up on supplies at the pub.

The Deluge

Sabina and I are at the Warragul show today, showing off Sabina's pony Tornado. Showing is taxing, and between classes we sneak away and have a ride.

Pete is cycling from Melbourne to the farm, as part of his training for the Baw Baw classic.

He calls me on the phone. "I am just outside of Pakenham, and there is a massive black cloud chasing me. It doesn't look pretty. You may need to pick me up, I'll call you again."

Pick him up??! Sabina, float, pony, and he wants me to pick him up? Sheesh.

We wait around for almost an hour, but then the rain drops start falling. Big, heavy rain drops. I bundle Sabina in the car, pony on the float, and we head off.

The rain starts coming down in merciless sheets as we drive. Then it eases off. The phone rings. It's Pete. Come and pick him up from Robin Hood Hotel. Fabulous. I U-turn.

The wind is strong, and with some trepidation I watch the tops of the trees get blown about. I pray with all my might, that a branch doesn't drop on us. With car and float, we make a pretty unmissable target.

Then, in Drouin West, just as we pass the Primary School and the CFA, the deluge commences. Initially we get sheets of rain, just like before, Then it gets stronger, and heavier. A few cars pull off. I understand that according to the laws of probability we are safer moving, and so I drive on, albeit slowly.

I can barely see the road in front of me. Then the rain gets heavier still, and I can no longer see the end of my own bonnet. My entire focus is on that one point where the rain meets the front of my car. It amazes me that a year and one month ago, this area was ungulfed in flames.

Eventually the rain eases off somewhat, and I can start seeing some of the road again. Just in time, as a big puddle looms in front of us. Hydroplaning over it with a float is not my idea of fun. Luckily, I know this road like the back of my hand, and I can judge the depth of this puddle to the centimetre.

We arrive at the Robin Hood Hotel. The wind still howling, the rain still pouring. But we are away from trees and flying branches. I breathe a sigh of relief and sit back in my seat. "Mama", Sabina perks up in the back seat. "You know how you always tell me to be quiet when the weather is on the radio?" I nod. "Well, Mama, did they tell you about this?!" she asks. I laugh. "No, Sabina, they didn't. They just said a couple of passing showers."

We see Peter standing under the eves of the Pub, huddled into an alcove. His bike resting against the wall of the pub, half in the rain. "Mama, I can use the umbrella from my show bag to go and get Papa!" I allow her to have her fun, much to the protests of the father being rescued. For he knows that he has to get saturated regardless, while putting the bike on the roof, and that a Dora umbrella is no match for this force of nature, nor is it truly wide enough for a paddler's shoulders.

I must admit I am somewhat surprised that he is standing outside the pub. I was expecting him to be inside, putting away a beer. But all is explained when bike is on the roof, and Peter and Sabina are safely in the car. "The pub is flooded", he says. "I got here, two minutes before the rain hit. Got myself inside the pub. Then it started pouring. Just outside at first. Then inside. Water started coming in everywhere. Under the doors, through the windows, down the light fittings. I swear, you could stand your glass on the bar, and it would fill with water in seconds. It was drier under the eves outside."

We drive home in the pouring rain, and watch how half of the gravel road to our farm is getting eroded away by instant mini creeks.

Meanwhile ... back at the ranch ...

Everything is fine. The back patio is looking quite flooded, and all the boots standing under the eves are pretty much full of water. I am talking, to the brim. But inside, the house is nice and dry, the sheds are nice and dry, and the horses have kept themselves nicely hidden from the sheer impact of the rain.

Warragul Show Fireworks

The Warragul show starts this afternoon and continues into tomorrow.

We grab a quick dinner at the pub, and go into the show just as it's getting dark.

Sabina is mesmerised by all things flashing and sparkling, and we are immediately drawn to a stand selling flashing ... well ... just about everything. One flashing fairy wand later, and we go towards the rides.

Sabina rides the Merry-go-round, then a coursel with swings. Next we approach the Cha-Cha, a three arm swirling thing that utilizes G-forces. I ask whether there is an age limit. No, no age limit. I suspect this is incorrect, but since Sabina is my daughter, and I love all things G-force, I decide we will go on it together.

The Cha-Cha starts spinning, and Sabina squeals with joy as the first G-forces make our legs feel weightless. Then it goes faster and faster. I love it, but I am somewhat concerned about Sabina. This is a pretty full on ride for a little girl. She's laughing all the way.

We watch the fireworks. Sabina is spellbound by the "fire in the sky". Then we grab some fairy floss, a lolly pop, and of course the obligatory show bag.

Twilight Athletics

This afternoon, after school, Sabina's school has organised Twilight Athletics at the local track. The track is impressive, as is the organisation. Children and teachers are seated in the grass area on the oval (inside the running track), while parents are watching from the stands (outside the running track).

The afternoon commences with an official opening ceremony which includes a parade of all the athletes. The athletes have been grouped into four teams: green, gold, red and blue. Sabina is in the Gold team.

Once the games are declared open, children are called up to the running track and to the long jump. Finally, I see that the Prep children are being prepared for a run.

Parents, of course, are supposed to stay in the stands, and be good spectators. But of course, "rules" per se never meant much to me, and the coach in me takes over. I run out to the group of prep children. Sabina is overjoyed to see me. But to me, this is not about mother and daughter joy. This is about strategy, tactics and running the race.

I squat down, hold her hand and say "now listen little girl. I want you to run like a leopard. Will you run like the leopard for me? Will you? Will YOU run like the LEOPARD?" Sabina nods with some uncertainty. The other children turn around and look at me with awe. "I am going to run like the leopard", says one girl. "Me too", says another. All of a sudden I am surrounded by 20 or so preps all wanting to run like the leopard. Wow. This is so cool.

I continue my little speel to Sabina about running like the leopard, until I feel she is sufficiently pumped. "I'll be at the finish line", I call out, and head to the other end of the track.

I see her line up, the starter's gun fires, and the girls are running. I can see Sabina stretching her legs and putting on some serious speed. But I also see her looking around. "Go Sabina! You go GIRL! Go Gold!", I cheer. "Go! Go! Go!". Eight girls bound across the finish line. It's clear to me that Sabina didn't come first. Maybe third? Maybe fourth? Then I see a man run up to her and hand her the red ribbon. Wow. Second. She did run like the leopard!

The games continue, and at the end Gold team comes second. Sabina is so proud, she thinks her team came first.

Training track

Sabina has just started primary school, and on Friday they are having Twilight Athletics.

Being an advocate of all things sporty, I cannot let her go unprepared. So we turn the driveway into a training track. We mark the start, we mark the finish.

We do a practice run. Sabina shows a lot of speed, but she is looking around so much that half of it is lost. And, she slows right down a metre from the finish line.

"Sabina", I kneel down to be at her level. "You're going to run fast. No looking around. Don't slow down before the finish line. Run like the leopard. Can you run like the leopard for me?" She nods.

We give it another go. Better.

Then we practice starts. "Ready, set, GO!", then "Ready, set, BANG!", just in case they have a starter's gun. Then a longer distance. I spur her on. "Mama, my legs hurt".

"Ok, time for some long jump."

We have a rest while I draw up the start of the long jump. She takes a run up, then smiles sideways at me as she takes the take off line in mid stride.

"Excellent", I say.

"Mama, now let's do it together!"

Valentines Day

I return from my horse riding, and I am greeted by a chocolate heart in a red wrapper hanging on the door. Hmmm ...

After my chocolate is consumed with delight together with my coffee we head off in the car towards Noojee. Then onwards to Toorongo falls. We park the car and proceed on foot. Sabina runs merrily up the path, stopping every now and then to see the water rushing over the rocks. After about 1km or so we arrive at the falls.


The waterfall is beautiful, especially after the recent rains. The water spreads out at the top and cascades down over the rocks like angel hair. We sit spellbound while Sabina eats a snack.

Then we continue on to another rapid. Sabina bounces along the path with renewed vigour. The rapid itself is pretty enough, but the platform jutting out into the river is really cool. It sits right over the middle of the river, with a rapid underneath, and it's made out of a metal mesh, so that you can actually see the water gushing below your feet.

We walk down another path back to the car, flicking off the odd leech. We try to avoid telling Sabina about the leeches, but when we do a full body scan at the car we have to fess up that they are not just mosquitos.

From Bright

Australia Day!

Sabina is amazed to see all the people with Australian flag tatoos (temporary ones), Australian capes and hats. Of course she wants one too!

We pack up, depart our accommodation, and drive straight up the hill to Fiona's. She's got three girls Sabina's age - great play time for everyone. We sit on the deck, watching the trees on the nearby hills. We're pretty much in the middle of Bright, but because we're a bit up the hill, you wouldn't know the town exists.

Later we drive to Milawa for lunch, where we pick up some cheeses from the renowned Milawa cheese factory. We're barely back on the main road, when Sabina says "I already want to be there!". We laugh.

Some of the length of the journey is eased by me singing. Everything from Polish folk songs I used to sing in a choir, to Polish Christmas carols, to anything else that comes to mind. Sabina sings along with me, which leaves me proud as pie.

The Recovery

Today is recovery day, and the boys compare notes and reminisce about the ride. They show off photos and tan lines.

We take a short drive down to Wandilligong, and go into the hedge maze. The maze has us totally puzzled as we wander around the same region of it for about 1/2 an hour. Finally I put my foot down, we apply the right hand rule, and with amazing ease complete the maze. Lunch follows.

Today is also Peter's birthday. In the afternoon we setup for afternoon tea outside. (Yet another hot day.) Two chocolate cakes, and two schnapps decorate the table. Friends roll in from all directions. The adults dig into the delicacies, the kids jump in the pool.

In the evening we pop out to a restaurant for dinner. Afterwards we wander over to the Bright Brewery. It's owned and run by our friends, Scott and Fiona, and we get involved in drying the dishes (in our Sunday best). But it's good to chat and catch up. As always, Fiona has some out left field ideas.

The Audax

The alarm rings. My alarm. It's 5am. You see, it is the job of "da wife" to wake up "da husband" so he is on time for the start of his ride. Sheesh. I am sure this wasn't in my wedding vows. Or was it?

Pete is gone before I know it. I am sure that ouside the world hums with multi-thousand dollar bikes, but I sleep on.

Sabina and I enjoy a lovely girls day out. First shopping for a present for Papa's birthday, then the obligatory cappucino, followed by shopping for afternoon tea delicacies, water guns and a surf mat. It is 30+ deg C again today. And we go back to our accommodation for a dip in the pool. The water guns and surf mat are a hit.

I get the odd update from Pete. "At Falls". "At Bright". Then I get one from the ride organisers - "Peter has just reached Mt Buffalo". We get out of the pool, and into town, where we stand cheering just before the finish line. (Was cheering part of my vows?)

Finally Peter finishes his ride, and we race after him. Sabina ignores all barriers and jumps into the race finish with Papa, proudly holding onto his bike.

In Bright

The little town of 2,500 people is buzzing. Over 30,000 visitors have descended on the town for the long weekend. A large proportion of them will be participating in the Audax Alpine Classic. The Audax (as it's commonly known) is a gruelling bike ride (push bike) any way you take it.

The short distance is Bright-Tawonga Gap-Mt Beauty-Tawonga Gap-Bright. 64km. You may be tempted to ask why isn't it just called "Bright-Mt Beauty-Bright"? When you have cycled up Tawonga Gap, you'll know why.

The other short distance is Bright-Mt Buffalo-Bright. 70km. From Mt Buffalo you will be able look back on Tawonga Gap and laugh.

Then there is Bright-Tawonga Gap-Falls Creek-Tawonga Gap-Bright. 130km. The only time you'll be laughing here is when you finish in Bright and realise, that the rider behind you is doing the 200km.

Then Bright-Tawonga Gap-Mt Beauty-Tawonga Gap-Bright-Mt Buffalo-Bright. 140km. See laughing instructions for the 70km ride.

Then there is the real McCoy, the original Audax, Bright-Falls Creek-Bright-Mt Buffalo-Bright. 200km. Over moutains. Laugh only when you finish.

And finally, the new special for this year, the ACE250. Bright-Mt Hotham-Omeo-Falls Creek-Bright. 250km. Over mountains. It's no laughing matter. It even has qualifying rides in order to enter.

So what are we doing here? Well, of course, Peter the bike riding endurance junkie, is doing the realy McCoy Audax 200km over mountains. His friends have more sanity, and they are only doing the 140km. Nice. Sabina ... well she's just ridden the 1km into town for an ice cream, and quite frankly I've been dragging her bike for the last 200m while she's been skipping along beside me.

We sit down at a cafe with our ice creams, and enjoy the hot day. 30+ deg C. The place is crawling with lycra lizards, dogs, children and bikini beauties. Bikes, bikes and more bikes are everywhere. And they are expensive machines too. Most of them standing in bike racks, or leaning against light posts. Unlocked. The waitress comments that they are running out of food.

Well, we're not! The cycling boys (men, perhaps) are so hung up on getting their carbs before the big day, that we've got more pasta, and more meat sauce of various kinds, than you can poke a stick at!

After dinner the boys double check their bikes, and pack their bags. Questions like "one spare tube or two?", "magnesium drink or protein drink?", "gel or pre-mixed drink?" are dominating the conversation. Everyone hits the sack early. I find a good book on the shelf. It swallows me whole. I finally manage to free myself from it just after midnight.

To Bright

We're taking a break from our farm this weekend, and heading up to Bright. We're supposed to leave at 7pm, but these plans always seem to slip. Especially when children are involved.

Then we get a call from Pete's mate. He is already up in Bright, and he's forgotten his cycling shoes. Can we please pick them up from his house? Thank goodness we're late.

Sabina wonders how can he put the shoes on the front porch if he is not home?

We pick up the shoes and drive off, into the night, up the Hume Highway.

Sabina is very excited about the trip, and attempts to stay awake the whole way. "I already want to be there", she moans. We look at each other and smile. "It's a long way", she comments. All day I had tried to prepare her for the long drive. I failed. Eventually she falls asleep.

We drive into Bright, and head to our accommodation. Our friends are still up, enjoying a drink or two.

After the storm

Last night there was a massive storm with strong winds, thunder and lightening and very heavy rain. We have two shining gums growing near our front gate, and one of them dropped a branch on the fence. Right on the stay. The stay was broken, the post snapped off. The wire is kinked, but amazingly, not broken.

Pete's day is taken up with fixing the fence while Sabina and I bring back soil and fill in gaps around the new path.