May maketh days of diamonds – and some of stone

Fun at the Triennial Lyceum Congress

May has brought a bagful of new experiences, including reaching the first anniversary of the death of husband, Olivier on May 11. It was a date that I was dreading, yet it would draw to a close the worst year of my life where sorrow had soaked my being.  I wanted desperately to avoid any more sadness and that would require beginning a new phase of life alone.  Contentment would replace sadness and that horrid sense of loss.

I made a lightening decision to go to Perth for the Triennial International Congress of Lyceum Clubs and booked myself on the post-congress  tour to Margaret River and Albany.  I have only been a Lyceum member for three months and few women from Adelaide attended, so it was a leap of faith to decide to go.  This would be stepping right out of my comfort zone and leaving my security nest, our beautiful home. No-one could say I have wallowed in a sense of despair beyond the first few months, but I have not been able to throw off that daily feeling of emptiness and, yes, lingering sadness behind the happy events I managed to snatch this past six months of 2013.

Lyceum Congress attendee Di Collins with keynote speaker WA’s chief scientist, Professor Lyn Beazley.

The women’s congress would be a first for me and as it unfolded in the luxurious Duxton Hotel in the company of dynamic women from around the globe, it was absolutely the right move to refocus on a new independent life as a widow.  When Olivier was in his dying days, I told him that “In future I will return to my girlfriend life and my writing’’.  Being in the company of  women of an amazing level of intellectual grasp, of all ages, from many countries was a life-changing experience.  It  catapaulted me out of my introverted sense of loss into an enlightening view of a big wide world of new experiences.

After three days of exhilarating keynote speakers, superb food, social programs and meeting a host of new people,  I took a four-day post-congress bus tour to the South-West of Australia to Margaret River and Albany.   There were 29 of us and some were married couples, others had been career women who never married, and still others, like me, were  widows.  We were an eclectic bunch who blended beautifully.  About half our number came from overseas – from Finland, Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands and the United States bringing a wonderful richness of exchange as fellow tourists.

May 11 – a Saturday – was spent in quiet reflection at Margaret River lunching at Thompson Estates’ winery and touring the rugged coast.  It summoned in me a past kind of happiness when Olivier and I stayed wiht his French friend Guy, the winemaker of Eagle Vale winery. It was very close and I telephoned him to find he did not know of Olivier’s death. Strangely, it was therapeutic to tell him of my journey with Olivier and his peaceful death and the struggles of the past 12 months.   We promised to catch up when he and his wife Chantal visit Adelaide in July.  It all triggered fond memories of that glorious estate with its sweeping vineyards, dams and bushland, which Guy had developed over 25 years.  I had experienced it all with Olivier.

Back on the bus, half a dozen friends and my sister sent SMS messages in memory and it touched me deeply.  Over these days  I discovered two important aspects of recovery.  The journey built on an emerging awareness of freedom and that my future will be created by my own decision-making;  that it can be filled with chances which I could “catch on the wind’’.  Life could still be an exciting adventure, even though it would be absolutely different from my fulfilling marriage to Olivier.

I returned home after 10 days with a notebook filled with new friends and overseas contacts.

 

Vanessa and Scarlett at the Mayday Morning Tea

However, the greatest joy in May has been my grand-daughter Scarlett, and the rich family life I enjoy with son Tyson and daughter-in-law Vanessa.  As an example, Vanessa brought Scarlett to a fund-raising morning tea for the State Library Foundation in the gardens of historic Buxton Manor in North Adelaide. In my eyes, she stole the show, even though she wasn’t the youngest baby there. Vnessa ensured she wore a pretty bonnet to the hatty event.  Olivier would have loved to have met her, if only for a few months. C’est la vie, it wasn’t to be.

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Every Dollar helps beat cancer

Tyson and Vanessa at the Relay for Life event

My month of May has been devoted to fund-raising for cancer research as a memorial to my husband Olivier who died 12 months ago this month.  Relay for Life, for instance, was a big event for our family (even though I copped out of the 19 hour relay around the Adelaide Showgrounds Oval).  My son Tyson and daughter-in-law Vanessa were heavily involved and Vanessa, a master organiser was the volunteer team captain co-ordinator.  Relay for Life is an impressive community event supported by many survivors of cancer, relatives of victims, carers and many many supporters.   Nor must I forget that other valuable group – the carers – and I recall that last year I walked the carer’s first lap to kick off the event, but I cried all the way because I knew husband Olivier could not be cured and that he didn’t have long to live.   This time, though, I  walk around the oval in admiration at the exciting array of organisations and schools, workmates and various community groups who are meeting this year  in memory of a loved one who died of cancer.

Interestingly,  after I had circumnavigated the oval doing my journalistic thing of asking different groups in their colourfully decorated tents why they had taken part in the relay and its big overnight commitment,  I was moved, particularly by my own children. They had written placards with reasons why they had marshalled their friends and workmates to form teams to walk for half an hour at a time throughout the night.  Countless camping tents around the perimeter testified to the fact that most people got at least some sleep. . My sister Anne and I joined Vanessa’s PWC tent in the afternoon, where they ran a sausage sizzle. We sat in deck chairs sipping soft drinks  and we soaked up the magnitude of this amazing community event bringing people of all different backgrounds and creeds together for the one purpose: they wanted to raise funds for a cure for cancer.

An army of Relay for Life walkers

Here is a photograph of the adult children with their individual placards and I am so proud of them for raising $4000.  Sandra Herbig, Vanessa’s mother, made T-shirts and caps and babies’ bibs for sale and countless pots of jam and pickles which were sold on the day and also at the Monster Garage Sale the Cancer Council held behind their headquarters on Greenhill Road. On Tyson’s list are the names of two of my husbands, my former husband Graham, Tyson’s dad, who was inflicted with melanoma and his step-father, my dear Olivier, known as Ole in the family, who was a victim of advanced prostate cancer.  And regard what Vanessa has said “Cure”, the reason she has spent so much time volunteering and committee work for the Cancer Council helping team captains build healthy, happy teams, who are usually all sponsored heavily.

My effort was much more humble, but a success which I will build on for next year’s fund-raiser.  I held a Relay for Life lunch in Olivier’s and my home and invited a dozen friends who were asked to make a $10.00 donation to Relay for Life and bring a plate to share. Sandra and Vanessa organised a trading table and voila, we raised $256.00 by having a good time. What impressed me was the fact that some friends could not attend, but they still donated $10.00 which means Vanessa received $60.00 in donations.

Every dollar is a valuable contribute to cancer  research and we only need to peruse the survival rates for some cancers to know that this is money is absolutely vital  and well spent. Vanessa tells me that almost $200,000 was raised and when the additional pledges and donations are counted the Cancer Council of SA expects to pip the record amount.

ANGELINA CUTS RISK OF CANCER

Courageous Angelina Jolie

Before the hail of praise on Hollywood actress Angelina Jolie fades following her shocking revelation of a double mastectomy and breast reconstruction, it’s important to note a few frank facts.

Gorgeous Angelina, who oozed sensuality in that Oscars high split black velvet dress, learnt that she had the “faulty’’ BRCA1 gene at age 37. The news presented Angelina with horrid odds: that she faced an 87 per cent likelihood of developing the same disease as her mother,  Marcheline Bertrand, who died of ovarian cancer at age 56.   The sexy star, so blessed with her perfect partner, Brad Pitt and fist-full of lovely children, was living in the shadow of a looming death sentence. And she was brave to analyse her dim prospects and take steps to radically reduce her risk of contracting the disease.   Most women, presented with this serious scenario do nothing.

However, before thousands of women rush off to genetists,  Cancer Council medical spokesman,  Dr. Graeme Suthers,  says less  than 10 per cent of women’s reproductive cancers are linked to “familial factors’’ and under  5 per cent of these are linked to the rare BRCA1 and 2 mutant genes.   A genetist, Dr Suthers, who heads the familial cancer programs, says the truth is more than 90 per cent of reproductive cancers have nothing to do with genes or familial factors. For the vast majority of cases, there is much we can do in preventative measures to keep ourselves safe.

The first, vital thing a woman can do to allay her fear is to be aware of risks. Then  prepare a family history – a list of who has died or suffered from which cancer and take it to your GP asking “is there any reason for concern?’’.

We need to be diligent through “surveillance’’ of symptoms, through self-examination,  regular mammograms through Breastscreen SA’s free screening programs and to accept the link between lifestyle excesses and developing cancer.

Yet only 57 per cent of women in the target group of 50-69 have regular mammograms to detect any tell-tale signs of cancerous tissue.  Mammograms have discovered countless lumps, most of which are treated with lumpectomies. Screening has radically reduced the numbers of women dying from breast cancer.  And the outcomes continue to improve.  The five-year breast cancer survival rates now stands at 77 per cent. Ignorance or avoidance of the BC issue is no saviour when statistics show  a high 1/12 chance of developing breast cancer in our lifetime.   It is a disease of the good, long life, we boomers have enjoyed.

The harsh fact is that cancer is NOT something that comes out of the blue, that we are awfully unlucky to be inflicted with in such a cruel way.

“That is the wrong perspective,’’  says Dr Suthers . “The right perspective is to see that there is an inevitability about this disease.

“We all have a fuse, a patterning or a “rusting’’of the genetic codes and while we might vary (in the onset of the disease) cancer is there for all of us if we live long enough.’’

“I do want to normalise it for people to understand cancer is one of the consequences of the degradation of the genetic code which is in every cell of our bodies; it is something that is part of our peaceful, developed world.’’

Therefore cancer becomes a significant part of our lives as is happening now for ageing boomers in their 60s.

Therefore, Angelina has done us all a great service with her  first-person article “My Medical Choice’’ published in the New York Times.  It surely flushed Australian women out of their complacency. Cancer clinics across Australia have taken a flurry of calls since.

“Yes, we have had more enquiries and we are saying if women are concerned don’t shy away from it, but see your GP,’’ says Dr Suthers. “Running away from it and not addressing it won’t make it go away.”

The Curse of that Reproductive Cancer Gene

Our family had seen  many female relatives die of reproductive cancers. My mother had a string of aunties who died of cancer and her own sister, my auntie died in our home of ovarian cancer, aged 52;  Both of her daughters are among six of my cousins diagnosed with cancer, three of whom died.

It wasn’t until a cousin, six months older  than me, became terminally ill with ovarian cancer that she begged us all to go and be tested for the BRCA1 gene, which she had. We discovered that the gene runs like a poisonous dart through my mother’s bloodline and of the 11 girls born to mum and her four siblings, seven have the BRCA1 gene.  Of these, six have had reproductive cancers, three of whom have died relatively young.   My sixth  cousin, 18 months younger than me,  found through the genetic process that she had early stages ovarian cancer, which was successfully treated and the  seventh cousin with the faulty gene, aged in her low 50s, had a double mastectomy and a hysterectomy.   My sister and I do not have the gene, nor do two other cousins.  To me, having this faulty gene means breast cancer is almost inevitable. Ovarian cancer has a 50 per cent risk so no wonder Angelina is going to have her ovaries removed too.

In the Company of Women

Outgoing president Elitje Brill-Meuer of the Netherlands and president elect Ingrid von Rosen from Stockholm.

 

It was a lightening decision to travel to Perth in May for the Biennial International Congress of Lyceum Clubs as a means of coping with the first anniversary of the death of my husband, Olivier.. Yet for me, as the congress unfolded in the luxurious Duxton Hotel in the company of dynamic women from around the globe, it was absolutely the right move to refocus on a new independent life as a widow.  When Olivier was in his dying days, I told him that “In future I will return to my girlfriend life and my writing’’.  Being in the company of  women of an amazing level of intellectual grasp, of all ages, from many countries was a life-changing experience.  It  catapaulted me out of my introverted sense of loss into an enlightening view of a big wide world of new experiences.

I discovered two important aspects of recovery.  The journey built on an emerging awareness of freedom and that my future will be created by my own decision-making;  that it can be filled with chances which I could “catch on the wind’’.  Life could still be an exhilarating adventure, even though it would be absolutely different from my fulfilling marriage to Olivier.

After three days of exhilarating keynote speakers, superb food, social programs and meeting a host of new people,  I took a four-day post-congress bus tour to the South-West of Australia to Margaret River and Albany.   There were 29 of us and some were married couples, others had been career women who never married, and still others, like me, were  widows.  We were an eclectic bunch who blended beautifully.  About half our number came from overseas – from Finland, Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands and the United States bringing a wonderful richness of exchange as fellow tourists.  The trip through vineyards, along rugged coastlines and spectacular landscapes blew away the cobwebs of grief and I really enjoyed myself – alone, yes, but in the company of women. May 11 fell on the Saturday, the day where we had morning tea at Busselton and lunch at the idyllic Thompson’s Winery at Margaret River.  It was ironic that I couldn’t escape the memory of Margaret River with Olivier, when we holidayed together at the Eagle Vale winery, just down the road, which was operated by one of Olivier’s French friends.  And it surprised me that, instead of free-flowing tears, I felt fond memory.

I returned home after 10 days with a notebook filled with new friends and overseas contacts. Along with my suitcase and photographs, I brought a fresh new perspective on my life henceforth.

Keep Calm and Carry ON in KI

It is a delightful, calm Friday evening on the ferry to Kangaroo Island and we are laden up for a holiday from heaven with adult children and adorable grand-daughter Scarlett, a nine month old bundle of joy.

Our destination is American River where we will stay in a holiday house which has not been visited for 18 months.   Daughter-in-law has planned the weekend down to the last nappy change, with bundles of baby clothes, bed linen, food, drink, vegetables, fruit, bottles, baby formula and two bags of clothes and shoes.

However, idyllic holidays have a habit of throwing up surprises to test the calmest nerves.  Upon arrival, we reconnect the electricity, unload the car, pack the refrigerator, make the beds and relax. It isn’t until one of us uses the toilet that we discover that there is no water. “No worries,’’ says adult son. “I will discover the cause and rectify.’’ This American River haven has no mains water and the water supply is pumped from two huge above-ground water tanks into the house.

Five minutes later he rushes into the house yelling his head off, jumping up and down, pulling off his shoes and tearing off his jeans and we watch in fits of laughter as myriad black bull-ants pour like treacle onto the white tiled floor.

“I trod on an ant hill, and they invaded me!’’ he exclaims. “We will have to wait until morning to switch on the water.

“Well, we have water in the baby’s bottle and water in the kettle, so we will be fine overnight,’’ says Scarlett’s mum.

I am on night duty, so Vanessa, my daughter-in-law  tells me how to pour out 25 per cent of the cold water from the bottle and refill it up to the 220 ml mark with boiling water.

“She will wake somewhere between 2 and 3 am,’’ she adds.

In the dim night light I watch our sleeping beauty awash with happiness.  At 3am, Scarlett wakes with the ferocity of a fog horn. She is fiercely hungry.

In a half-daze at this dreadful hour when the kettle whisles I top up the cold water and look aghast as the clear plastic bottle turns a murky green.

Saturday night dinner at Aurora Ozone Hotel, Kingscote, KI.

“Yuk, it’s green!,’’ I mutter in shock.
The kettle water  is slimey.

“Heck I reckon that’s poisonous!” I muse.  At this pivotal point baby’s dad arrives to see why Scarlett is making such a racket at  her bottle’s delay.

“She is used to 45 second bottles,” he says. “That’s how long a microwave takes.”  (Our first discovery here was that the microwave doesn’t work.)

We agree instantly that this mixture would surely poison precious babe. But we have no other water.

“We will need to go to the camping ground on the foreshore,’’ I grumble.  Luckily, I know where facilities are in American River.) Baby, by this time, has worked out something is amiss and has upped her pitch.

We deposit struggling child with mum in bed and with her screams ringing in our ears, we take  the car into the black pitch of night with tall, empty jug in hand.

The collected water is boiled on the stove (it takes 15 minutes), bottle is washed and then its 200ml steaming contents are placed into into the freezer.  A long 25 minutes later, (time spent creatively trying to placate grizzly grand-daughter),  formula is added and  bottle is stuffed into baby’s mouth.   In  the silence, I sit and soak up this delicious moment as Scarlett guzzles her milk. Time flips back 30-odd years when I held her dad, who woke every night until he was three, and I think what a blessing is family and precious grand-children who let us relive snippets of the joys of raising children.  It’s 4am as I gently lay this gorgeous little girl, now blissfully sleeping, back into her cot.  But, I am wide awake counting my blessings and I take an hour to drift off to sleep.

However, another shock awaits as we wake to an idyllic sunrise,  blue skies and unseasonal warm autumn weather for May. Birds sing and the world seems wonderful again.

Bright-eyed once more, adult children walk downstairs to make a startling discovery. Those bull-ants have built a huge kingdom alongside the house and have made a feast of the pipes to the pump. “It’s stuffed,’’ declares my son. “The pipes are shredded. There will be no pumped water this weekend.’’

“How can bull-ants do that?” I ask. “They would have eaten me alive if I had fallen on their nest.”

Well, what does one do in waterless circumstances on such a beautiful place of natural beauty as Kangaroo Island? We take to the road visiting its tourist highlights – Flinders Chase Information Centre, Admiral’s Arch, Remarkable Rocks and Vivonne Bay.  Wherever we went, the good folk of KI heated up Scarlett’s water in the microwave and she drank on the road.