Daughter of a Cancer Patient - Haven

As teenagers we do what we want because we believe we are invincible. Usually, we grow out of that stage and become a bit more responsible and aware of life and its ups and downs.

I didnt. Yes I did become a bit more responsible but I still believed that I was immortal and that aura touched my family as well. It was a big wake up call when A ended up in hospital and suddenly my world came crashing around me.

Home, particularly my bed, has always been my safe spot. But one night, just after I checked up on the parentals and switched off the lights, I felt scared. Even home has become a scary place where spiders roam, ghosts tap you on the shoulder and monsters lurk under the bed. The safe haven of home has gone. Even now the worry hasnt ceased.

Daughter of a Cancer Patient - Broken Telephone

Broken telephone is this game I used to play in school. A group of friends would sit in a row, someone would whisper something into the ear of the person sitting next to them, that person would pass on the message to their neighbour and so forth until the last person has to repeat what they think is the original message. Most of the time the final message was nothing like the original message.

Sitting all the way in Australia I feel like the last person playing broken telephone. News about prognosis and progress, side effects and other changes start with the doctors, move on to the parentals and other family members and eventually makes it way down to us. The message I get is usually along the lines of 'he is fine, the chemo is working, any side effects are because of the chemo'. The real details are not there, either deliberately omitted or just lost along the way.

When I was at home there were phone calls, especially from fellow mallus, who want information and progress on A's health. After answering numerous calls myself , I wondered how accurate the news being passed on would be. I figured that some might add a bit more drama to the story (these are mallus after all), so my response to all the questions became 'he is fine, the chemo is working, any side effects are because of the chemo.'

Try broken telephone that message and get it wrong!

Daughter of a Cancer Patient - Fighting foods

Thank goodness for the internet! Just before I left to go back home I spent some time searching the net for everything related to stomach cancer. Diagnosis, prognosis, statistics, symptoms, care, etc. So I had loads of info on what needs to be done in terms of care.

Other people also had loads of advice for us. Of course, we listened to the doctors and nurses who had the knowledge and experience to help us. We also had a number of family friends telling us what to do based on what their family had gone through. And there were also people who found an interesting article or two about a new breakthrough using all natural ingredients.

Top of the list was the article that said lemon is much stronger than chemo in killing cancer cells. The reason this is not widespread news, according to the article, is because laboratories want to create a synthetic version that will make them millions. (Google research on this topic revealed that its a hoax). Either way, A did not end up eating lemons everyday because it was too acidic for the stomach to handle.

Then there was the time that I saw M going out into the garden at 11 at night. Because someone had told her drinking fresh aloe vera juice is great in treating cancer, so she wanted to cut a leaf from the plant we had in the garden. Then she peeled the skin, squeezed out the gel, mixed it with water and sugar and gave that to A to drink. That treatment lasted a while.

There were days when pomegranate was very popular, then mangos had a chance to join the fight, then grapes, gooseberries, a herbal tea concoction we found on the internet.. many other foods rich in anti oxidants were called to the battle.

One last food to mention. We were at an uncle's house and there were a couple of other uncles and aunties visiting at the same time. Talk moved on to cancer and how best to keep A's health up, especially when he had lost his appetite. M said that she gives him kanji vellam (rice water that is kept after the rice has been cooked) because it full of nutrients. "Yes" chorused 5 adult voices around the room. "Kanji vellam is the best choice. Its so healthy and nutritious!"

Last time I checked, kanji vellam is full of starch.

Daughter of a Cancer Patient - Reality

Cancer is one of those things that seemed to happen to other people. You know, like evil mothers-in-law, sex tapes gone global, loud farts in public etc. Other people. The people you dont know, or you are not close to.

Cancer picked our family last year December. Being half way across the world meant that while I heard the news and had the conversations, it was still something intangible. I was not around to see the weight loss, or the grimace of pain. I didnt see the appetite whittle from 4 slices of bread for breakfast to barely 1 slice. There were a lot more signs.

So I packed my bags and returned home. I had to. Family support, because I wanted to see for myself, because it wasnt as bad as they said it was, because he sounded fine over the phone, because I still hung on to that aura of immortality that I have carried since I was a teenager. Not me, not us.

He looked a lot thinner when I saw him, but apparently that was much better than December, before the protein meal shakes. "OK", I thought. "He looks fine. We will see the doctor, start the chemo and all will be good."

Yeah, all went well. Until the side effects of the chemo reared their head. Every research and every advice we had received from the doctors warned about hair loss, nausea, diarreah, struggling to swallow etc. Those are the more common symptoms.

Well, I have one more to add to the list. Excessive sweating because the body cant handle the toxicity of the chemo and starts to reject it. Loss of sodium from the excessive sweating and loss of appetite, even for liquids. Memory loss because of the loss of sodium. Extreme tiredness from the electrolyte imbalance. And finally, a seizure when the sodium level is critically low.

2 hours of sleep in the car in front of the Pietersburg hospital, a drive back to the Joburg hospital with P conveying news from the ambulance, arriving at the hospital to see him walking about, sitting on the bed and chatting about random stuff to take his mind off things, visitors popping in and out to make sure everything was ok, the doc telling us that luckily there was no clot from the seizure, making sure he was stable and eventually getting home. That was literally and figuratively the longest day of my life. And at the end of the day, when I realised what a narrow escape we have had, thats when reality sunk it.

Immortality had disappeared. This was the real deal, with fears, doubts, questions and worries, and only a prayer to get us through.

Salute to the intelligent people out there

Today I met someone who impressed me on many levels. He is from Port Moresby in Papua New Guinea, a friend of the family. I met him in Melbourne. This is the first time he has been out of his country; a man in his late 30something.

For someone who has only studied until Grade 10 and has never ventured out of the country until now, he has as much knowledge about his career and the world as any educated jet setter. He works in accounting and is quite senior in the company. He knew a lot about what is happening in his country, its neighbours, its investors and more.

We talked about South Africa, Mandela, mining, South African economy and AIDS. Now this is the part that blew me away - he asked me about the Zulus and nodded his head in recognition when I mentioned King Shaka and the wars going on during apartheid.

There have been times where I have had to point out that South Africa is a COUNTRY in the CONTINENT of Africa. There are occasions when I explained that Black people in South Africa have many cultures within the race, and these cultures are different from the other Black people in Africa. And no, although its fun at times, we do not have lions in our backyard and elephants on our streets.

So when I met someone who knows so much about the world without actually having been to all the places to experience other cultures, he deserves a lot of respect. Especially when he is familiar with certain aspects of country's history that a lot of foreigners dont even know about.

This is my salute to the intelligent people out there. Not the braniacs who split the atom and reverse gravity. But to the worldy people who make the effort to know what is beyond their own space.

South Africanism

I get a warm fuzzy feeling every time I put my hazards on to say '' thank you" and the driver behind me flashes "its a pleasure". Its a South African thing, I have realized.

The Aussies dont have this concept because I had to explain it in detail to H. I was not looking at his face so I dont know if his eyebrows came together in confusion or whether his jaw dropped in amazement that this action is in place for strangers to take part in or his facial muscles had rearranged themselves into delight at the polite nature of South African motorists.

I am so tempted to 'hazard' the next motorist I encounter on Aussie roads. There is a chance they might slam on their breaks in preparation for an emergency stop. Or, given the number of South Africans in Australia, they might just flash back at me! How glorious would that be?? :)

What would I do in return?
A) Drive like a South African taxi driver to remind them of home
B) Stick my head out and yell "Hoe gaan dit??"
C) Turn up the volume and blast "Ek will nou huis to gaan, na mamma toe.."
D) (I cant think of anything civilised to do. Oh dear..)

Fed Square, Melbourne

Two suits, a couple, walk by hand in hand, the wife clutching a big posey of flowers. They swing their hands as they head towards their destination – perhaps a restaurant to celebrate something, or a performance on their date night

An African mother strolls across the square with 5 kids in tow. Another one is in the pram, shielded from the sun with a blue towel. Back in the day in poor countries, families would have a large number of kids in the fight against the high mortality rate, in the hope that someone would survive to carry on the lineage. Today, in a rich country free of plaguing diseases, the children’s chances of growing up and growing old are high. It is like some people have not really adapted and continue to bring the trends of a struggling culture to a new place. Call me racist / sexist / feminist / unmotherly or just crude, but looking after 6 kids is not an easy feat in African or in a western country.

The place is full of tourists.. German, Taiwanese, Indian and Asian (and all other segments of them), Dutch, Austrian. And those are just the ones that were called out or I spotted.

Mother with child. Mother is wearing bright blue tights, bright green skin tight top and puke green jersey. Colour madness makes her stand out.

Mature chubby lady in very short dress sits down on the steps. Her friend is more sophisticatedly dressed for a night out. Friend is also better looking. Guess who gets hit on tonight.

Trams rumble past every 5 mins, often crossing each other. How many people sit in those trams and catch the eye of someone in another tram? A hello? An attraction? An “I know you” start of recognition?

Pigeon struts along my feet. Earlier there were a couple of pigeons, 1 seagull and 3 sparrows having a phat chat behind me.

Lady with auburn hair tied in a messy knot on top of her head. Skin is that porcelain type that magazines adore. Subtle red face from the sun, upturned nose.. There is something Frenchish about her looks and demeanor.

Two guys roll a large suitcase each. Tourists.

The foreign couple next to us tossed a piece of biscuit to one of the sparrows. While the sparrow was trying to swallow a bit of that biscuit, another sparrow came by and stole the piece. While the second sparrow was trying to chow down on his stolen treat, the first sparrow returned and claimed back is piece. And so this dance continues until the biscuit is finished.

Indian guy in a blow up costume arrives. Big mickey mouse shoes and a huge bobble head. Thick white skin coloured gloves. He must be boiling in there. He struggles to walk up the stairs of Fed Square. The white ladies have to assist him. He looks so despondent.. and I cant even see his face!

Jogger jogs, families photograph each other with the station or the square in the background. Aboriginal man, scruffy looking, walks across the street. In a usually busy street, he has enough space for himself and his aura.

Man with dog walking across the square for their evening walk, probably to the Botanical Gardens. The dog is a brown and black mutt, but a very regal walk and look to him.

Train station in front of us, trams dropping people off in front of the station, cabs stopping by Fed Square. Many cars constantly turning at the intersection. Occasional motor bike or scooter zooms by. Horse drawn carriages take tourists and couples through the city. Many people put their laptops and books in a backpack and cycle home. Skateboarders, runners, walkers, strollers, sitters, readers, meeters and greeters, photographers and memory capturers. Musicians, travelers, buskers and runaways. Birds, babies, boys, babes. Ice cream and slurpies and an occasional bottle of water.

This is 30 mins of Federation Square.