The Hidden Journey. Christine Lister
with them – the culmination of lots of planning and dreaming.
It’s a cool, overcast day, with sneak previews of blue in the sky heralding sunshine ahead. The evenings and early mornings are cooling down leaving behind the heat of summer. Long sleeves are the order of the day.
We received a card from Kerry6; someone who knows intimately what cancer is like. She is still alive. Cancer is not a sentence of death. Perhaps my phobia will disappear now. By having to face it, deal with it, I will learn to overcome my fear. Rex certainly has. He feels good. That’s real. The rest will follow.
I feel better today, calm, forward looking. It’s not a false hope moving through me. It’s a certainty all will be okay. Our lives will change but not in ways that matter. Gregory you are not needed. I will write to you one day, but I think I can do this without you. I have grown. I am still growing. I like this life I am living. I love the man I married. This hiccup is a reminder to me he is not invincible.
Saturday 3/3/01
I feel I have this cushion of protection around me, around us. It’s a wonderful centre of calm. In spite of all that is happening I’m not deeply worried or worrying.
Yesterday I went to the nursery to buy some Grevillea Robustas and autumn trees to celebrate our anniversary. I wanted rich colours and different leaf patterns to break up the greeny-grey colour of the natives.
The garden is my palette. This is where I create, where I visualise what could be. I use trees and shrubs as symbols of people I love. Grevillea Robusta: the largest and most spectacular of all the grevilleas. Perfectly symmetrical fern-like foliage with brilliant orange brushes, a beautiful landscape tree. Stands out in a crowd. The description reads so much like Rex – it is long lived too.
Japanese maples. I’ve loved these trees for so long. Now they will be part of our autumn anniversary collection. Twenty-three years at Number twenty-three. A blaze of colour will come into our lives each autumn, forever a symbol of our love, the colour of our lives.
I love the stillness of autumn. I love the chill in the air, and the slow start to the day. My life seems so full. The future is ahead of me - growth, excitement, planning for gardens, travel, financial freedom plus such good friends and support. We have worked at it, nurtured it, and now, when we need it, we are being nourished and protected by it.
Sunday 4/3/01
Awake early. It is still pitch black outside. The headache has gone, so too the severe pulling of the muscles around my neck and shoulder. It was serious stuff but I took some pills and more pills to stop it getting a hold.
Later. I’ve been to hospital and am home again. Rex looks good again today. There is no sign of a temperature. He’s focussed on getting better no matter how long it takes and is looking forward to our trip. Big smoochie kisses.
I’m still managing to write, walk the dogs, and meditate each day plus eat. I’m trying to look after me so I can look after Rex.
Monday 5/3/01
Just touching him, feeling him, being near him lifts my spirits, lets my spirit fly. I hope the surgeon has good news.
From the bedside at Warringal Hospital
To my beautiful and supportive Wife,
Dear Christine,
Anniversaries may be a yearly thing but on this day (5th March) I can but reflect that we have experienced not just twenty-three years of married life resulting in twenty-three ‘special days’ of celebration, but to be realistic we must multiply this equation by 365.
Each day I spend with you is a bonus and consequently an anniversary and, as we go through life together, and these little speed humps appear, we just take a step back, and appraise the situation, overcome the problem together and move on.
Notwithstanding the results of this little hiccup, we are and will be positive together and come out the other end smelling of roses and remaining as close and bonded as one.
Without your love and support and loyalty I could be blasé about this event but because of our partnership and the true friends around us, we will hopefully have another twenty-three years plus together. Watch out for any runaway bus.
Thanks for being there. I know I am important in your life, as you are in mine, and you are well aware that priorities will be assessed and our future will be based (still) on all the good things we share.
Happy Anniversary to a very special person. Keep on smiling because you do wear your heart on your sleeve/face and I will know if you are concerned.
Love Rex
No card to follow due to circumstances beyond my control.
Tuesday 6/3/01
It’s dark in the mornings. The sun takes a long time to be seen. The whole of the backyard is still in shade except for a few trees touched lightly by the sun filtering through.
Rex looked so good yesterday. He was bright eyed and bushy tailed, so confident all would be well. He dispelled my tears and fears quickly. I’ll take the dogs for a walk soon, and then I’m off to the hospital again.
Wednesday 7/3/01
Painkillers, tranquillisers and wine, no wonder I’m feeling out of sorts. I’m starting to struggle at the moment, needing crutches and crutches are not good, too much, too many. I’m tired. My muscles keep tensing up and pulling.
I hope to hell the doctor has the pathology report and let’s Rex know today. Everyone is asking. I’m waiting and it’s a week today. More than enough time… It will be such a relief to have him home. I have maintained my writing each morning. It has been helpful. I’m starting to feel raw around the edges, a little vulnerable. Hopefully, the waiting will stop today.
Still autumn days are here. I want to plant on the weekend. I need to spend time in the garden. I want to make the most of autumn, of this time with Rex.
Thursday 8/3/01
Rex is coming home today. He read his own pathology report. Hearing the voices of Mum and our friends last night was wonderful. Relief abounded. Rex is safe, cleared of cancer. They’re all surer than I am. I’m still thinking about the first report and penetration into the lymph.
Friday 9/3/01
A long weekend coming up, not at Apollo Bay as planned but home here at Montmorency. We just had a nooky. It is a signal, a big sign of life, of living, of the need to mate, especially after facing the possibility of death.
Dawn is coming through slowly. Faint bluey greys and pink streak across the sky beyond the trees. There is no light on the trees yet. Birdcall is easily heard in the stillness of the morning.
No residual sign of melanoma. Wonderful report.7 It couldn’t be better. The specialist said everything’s okay. There was no sharing of the report, no talk of the possibility of further problems or the need for any follow up. Rex asked the nurse for a copy of the report. I will show it to David Lester and ask if anything needs to be followed up.
I have a funny feeling of limbo, of let down. Even though everything has worked out well, I feel flat, super tired. Maybe it’s post traumatic stress syndrome like fighters after the war. The threat is over but I’m taking time to assimilate that fact.
I just stroked his forehead. Seeing him sleeping and resting in bed beside me while I write is comforting. We’re almost back to normal. I have to play nursemaid for a week or so then all will be well. Perhaps I should wear short skirts and no knickers so he can play with me when he has his pills.
The sky is becoming lighter as I write, the birds noisier. Maybe I should walk the dogs earlier, then again maybe not.
Saturday 10/3/01
There is a shooting pain in my collarbone and the side of my neck. Something is going on inside me. I am hurting, grieving, not freed from threats as yet.
Day