by Thea Hayes
He travelled for two and a half years, starting from Geraldton on the Great Central Road, travelling through Laverton, on to Uluru and the Olgas, and heading for Cape York where he knew there were birds he particularly wanted to see. He stayed and worked on Merluna Station, 120 kilometres south of Weipa, which operated as a working tourism cattle property on Cape York, where he was able to see most of these birds. In 2008, Bob spent Christmas with his son Matthew and family in Brisbane, and then he stayed on, doing casual jobs around the Brisbane Valley and Brisbane until June, when on a whim, he decided to spend the weekend at North Stradbroke Island.
And there he saw another bird who changed his life, on 13 June 2009.
Bob came back across to the island two weeks after we met. A few emails had flittered between us, and I was getting quite excited at the thought of his coming. We didn’t go for a drive that day. I cooked him a nice meal, and we fell in love.
Every second weekend after that, Bob came over to Straddie. We were so happy together. The girls at work on evening duty would tease me when he rang me on duty. ‘Is that your axe murderer lover?’
My friends were amazed at the romantic development of our relationship, and so was I.
My three-monthly appointment to see Dr Lumley was due. Off I went, without a worry in the world. I’d always had someone with me for these appointments, but I was feeling so confident of a positive outcome that I had gone by myself. Lo and behold, Dr Lumley found a lump in my rectum. I was devastated. I rang Penny in tears. I couldn’t believe it; just when I had met this wonderful man.
Dr Lumley gave me three options: to have an operation immediately to remove the lump—which was only about 1.5 millimetres—and hope it didn’t re-occur, to have an anterior resection (removal of the rectum), or wait another three months and see if the lump went away. I had had a cat scan which showed no cancer, so I asked the surgeon for his advice.
‘I think I would wait and see,’ he told me.
And I breathed a sigh of, sort of relief.
On Bob’s next visit I told him, ‘I have a health problem and you don’t want to stay around. It mightn’t be a good ending, and you don’t want to go through this sort of thing again.’
‘You make me angry, saying that. I love you; I want to be there to help. We will get through this together.’
I was overcome. I couldn’t believe that this man I’d known for only two and a half months was ready to face the consequences of whatever life had in store for me.
Anxious to stay nearby, Bob started looking for farm work in the outer areas of Brisbane, but nothing came up. A friend on Straddie, Barbara McKinnon, told us that her son Ben was looking for help on his sheep property Yarrawin, near Brewarrina in north west NSW, which had belonged to a great friend of ours, Tony Guerner. The property had been in the Guerner family for years.
So off he went to work for Ben. Darn it, I thought. I just get a man in my life and then I organise a job for him, 824 kilometres away.
He rang me every day.
During helicopter mustering, two weeks after starting work, Bob was driving a motor bike between two close trees. The throttle caught on one tree, revving up the bike and over it went, jamming Bob’s leg. His tibia was broken, and his fibula fractured halfway through. I decided that on my next visit to babysit Sam, I would go out to see Bob. So, after flying out to Dubbo, I caught the bus to Brewarrina.
Bob was there to meet me at the bus terminal with a brand-new plaster, still wet, on his leg. He couldn’t drive, so I had to take the wheel of his precious Nissan Patrol. You know how men love their vehicles. And just then two inches of rain fell on the dirt road to Yarrawin, which was forty-seven kilometres away. Well, what a trip. I was trying my hardest to keep the jolly Nissan on the road with Bob telling me ‘Change gear’, ‘Keep the wheels straight’, ‘Keep in the middle of the road’, which finally became very difficult and the Nissan slipped into the spoon drain.
It was impossible for me to do anything, so Bob had to get out and get around to the driver’s door without wetting his new plaster. When we started off again, we were skidding along sideways down the road, and the vehicle became covered in thick sticky mud. We eventually got back to Yarrawin with an extra 1000 kilograms of mud stuck all over the Nissan.
Bob and I had a fortnight together, living in the cottage at Yarrawin. It had been many years since my first visit to Yarrawin with Ralph and my family; I think Anthony was about twelve when Tony and Vickie were running the property. Tony had been a stockman on Wave Hill the year before I went up there. Yarrawin had been in his family for over a hundred years. This time it looked very different. The swimming pool had caved in, the tennis court was surrounded by blue bush and salt bush, fences and yards were in disrepair. I thought how lucky Ralph and I had been in the Territory to have had plenty of staff to help keep the homestead and garden in such fine condition.
On returning to Brisbane after a great two weeks with Bob, I felt very positive. Everything was going to be okay. I was on a very healthy diet. At Straddie I had private yoga lessons, and I gave up alcohol. I was going to beat this thing. I still worked at Mt Olivet twice a week.
At the end of October, I had the appointment to see my surgeon, Dr Lumley. What would he find? I was feeling well, even though I had lost a lot of weight. I was back to a size ten and thought it was wonderful. I put it down to being in love. Life was great.
28
The things I carried
I was still feeling positive when I went to see Dr Lumley in October 2009, escorted by my daughter-in-law Liz, who had kindly come down from Toowoomba to be with me for the result. Had the lump increased in size? I was praying that it might have disappeared.
The lump had grown and an anterior resection (removal of the rectum) was necessary. I was shattered. Why? When my life was going so well; when I had just met my soulmate. Bob and I had been planning to tour Australia in his caravan.
I knew the complications of the operation; a colostomy or faecal incontinence. Both would mean the end of any new relationship for me. It was just too terrible to think about.
‘When will we operate?’ Dr Lumley asked me.
‘As soon as possible please,’ I replied.
I wanted to get it over and done with. ‘Will I have a colostomy?’ I asked. I had the most dreadful thoughts.
Dr Lumley promised me I wouldn’t have a colostomy, but on the day of my operation two nurses came into my room ‘to measure me up for a colostomy’.
‘No! I’m not having one. Dr Lumley promised me.’
But they insisted. As they said, ‘It is better to mark the area before the operation, just in case a colostomy bag is necessary.’
Which, after years of nursing, I of course knew to be true. I went to the theatre in tears. When I regained consciousness, I was back in my room. Liz was there waiting beside me, and Jason took over from Liz and stayed all night. I was still only half conscious, feeling most uncomfortable with tubes everywhere, but I was able to get relief from the pain with an epidural. I was still with it enough to feel my abdomen beneath the blankets for that bag and thank you dear God, I didn’t have one.
Dr Lumley told me after the operation that I needed six months of chemotherapy. I couldn’t believe it.
‘To make sure no cancer cells had escaped,’ he said.
Did that change our plans? No, Bob and I planned to catch up in Alice Springs after my chemotherapy was completed.
My family in Toowoomba were wonderful. I had to stay at the Wesley Hospital for three days every two weeks for forty-eight hours of chemotherapy, which went on for six months. I spent the week in between staying alternately with Anthony and Liz and with Jason and Trina, in Toowoomba.
Every fortnight, with my rucksack on my back, I carried my computer to continue my memoir; my makeup, of course; the latest book-club book, and always my iPhone to receive that call from Bob. I wonder sometimes whether I would have survived without him.
Taken from my diary:
Today is the 5th June, 2010, one week before I fly to Alice Springs to meet Bob. I have just spoken to him on the phone. Bob is at Oodnadatta. I’m so excited. I can’t believe I have finally finished my twelve episodes of chemotherapy. After I have the scans on the 7th June and see Dr Grimes, and hopefully all okay, I’ll have my portacath removed, go to Toowoomba, and then I’ll be off. Wow!
A new life to unfold. Thank you, God, for being so good to me.
After having scans of my chest, abdomen and pelvis I went to see my oncologist, Dr Grimes, to get the results. My dear friend Else Storman came with me. I was feeling nervous and weepy, expecting the worst. Dr Grimes and I looked at every x-ray, and they were all clear of cancer. I was overwhelmed with joy, kissed Dr Grimes and raced out to tell Else. Jason rang and I cried, telling him my good news. Else, Jack and I celebrated with Pellegrino mineral water that night.
I stayed one night in hospital to have my portacath removed. Before I started my chemotherapy I had a portacath (a small medical device) installed under the skin on my chest while under anaesthetic. It provides continuous and easy access to a patient’s veins, which is necessary when having extended chemotherapy. Nurses are taught to access the portacath with a special needle, which connects to the intravenous fluid containing the chemotherapy drugs. A nurse arrived to take blood. I have no idea why.
‘I’ve got a cannula in my right arm,’ I cried, as she took my left arm to apply the tourniquet.
‘Can’t use that,’ she stated, as she jabbed the needle into my other arm.
After all the portacath needles I’d had, some badly inserted and causing extreme pain, and the dozens of blood tests I’d gone through, I think I had had enough.
I exclaimed, ‘I hope that’s the last prick I ever have!’
Which was met with roars of laughter from the male and female nurses attending me.
10th June 2010.
Two more days to go. Have just heard from Bob. He is driving up from Oodnadatta and is 40 kilometres out of Alice Springs.
11th June 2010.
A million things to do to be ready to leave tomorrow for Alice Springs. Racing around like a lunatic. Trying to lighten my load in my suitcase. Had so much luggage, trying to keep suitcase 23kg; rucksack full of medications, and toiletries; handbag; computer and books. Can’t wait to unload the lot in Bob’s caravan. Have to have a good night’s sleep. Set the alarm for 4 a.m.
13th June 2010.
Finally, the day has arrived. Jason took me down to Brisbane airport. Charlie came for the ride. Jason kept looking at me in a concerned way probably thinking, Is she doing the right thing?
And then I was off on the plane to Alice Springs; a new life about to start. I was going ‘walkabout’ with Bob.
29
‘Gone walkabout with Bob’
One year after we met, on 13 June 2010, I flew into Alice Springs to meet Bob. It was hard to believe that I was actually there, after the many doubts I’d had that I would make it. But I was healthy and while I had lost ten kilograms, the scans were clear and here I was about to meet Bob.
He wasn’t there when I walked through the glass door. Where is he? I stood around waiting for a few minutes before I decided I’d better go to the baggage pick-up, and on the way I saw him walking towards me. I’d dreamt about this moment and it had arrived and it was just as exciting as I had imagined. We fell into one another’s arms, hugging and kissing, drawing back and looking at one another and then hugging again. We were so happy to be together again and starting a new adventure.
We drove off in Bob’s Nissan Patrol and then began all sorts of new experiences: living in a caravan; staying in caravan parks; bush camping with no toilet or shower; washing in a bucket in front of the campfire. But because I was with Bob, I loved every minute of it.
Our first stay was a caravan park beside the starting point of the Tatts Finke Desert Race course on the outskirts of Alice Springs, a dusty, noisy iconic annual event with the reputation of being the most difficult off-road driving course in one of the most remote places in the world. After a day watching the race, we drove to Trephina Gorge in the East MacDonnell Ranges. It was a remarkable contrast. Peaceful, beautiful views of ghost gums, with the ranges looking very Namatjira-esque and blue.
The 100th Brunette Downs Races were on, so driving quickly we managed a few great days of racing, camp drafting and rodeo, similar to my old Negri racing days in Western Australia. We stayed in the Walhollow camp with the Fulchers and caught up with many of Ralph’s and my old Territory friends, who were all very curious to meet the new man in my life.
Next, we drove to Borroloola and the Gulf Country, and on the way back we came to Caranbirini Conservation Reserve. It was so peaceful, but very hot and as we were the only ones there, Bob suggested we sleep outside on the park’s wooden table. We moved the mattress from the caravan onto the top of the table and made the bed. It looked so romantic—like a picture out of Vogue. What a beautiful night it was, sleeping under the stars on that picnic table and seeing the moon surrounded by fleecy clouds through the branches of a woollybutt tree.
The next day we found the Lost City, which is very similar to the Bungle Bungles: incredible sandstone rock formations, red, orange, brown and blackish, with tight little crevices, the odd palm tree and climbing figs sprouting out of the rocks and roots growing everywhere. We went mad with the camera; we wanted to remember every little thing we saw.
We spent a night at the Daly Waters iconic Outback pub in our caravan. That night we heard the news that Julia Gillard had challenged and replaced Kevin Rudd as Prime Minister. The many tourists, along with the locals, gave an almighty cheer.
The next day we took on the Murranji Track, known as the ghost road of the drovers because of the large number of drovers who died along its length, to Top Springs, before heading towards Wave Hill Station, my old home.
I wanted to show Bob where I had lived. I wanted to introduce him to all my old Aboriginal house staff and the stockmen who had worked for Ralph. I also wanted to find Emilie, Algie and particularly Pansy, who had been Penny’s nanny.
The Wave Hill Station buildings hadn’t changed. The trees were now thirty foot high. There were only two Aboriginal stockmen on the staff. The bore run was now done by plane, which we were invited to join, flying over beautiful Wave Hill cattle country.
The following day we drove down to Daguragu, the place the Aboriginal people walked to in 1965, back when it was called Wattie Creek.
There we found Connie, Oscar and Iris, sitting on the ground outside their house playing cards.
I said to them, ‘You Wave Hill Mob?’
‘Yes, Missus.’
‘Me Missus Ralph.’ And they went crazy, jumping up to embrace me. They told us to go to Kalkarindji (the old Wave Hill Settlement) to find Pansy, and they told me that my lovely house-girl Emilie and her husband Algie had died.
At Kalkarindji it was a similar scene, with a dozen Aboriginal people sitting outside playing cards.
When I said, ‘Me Missus Ralph’, I had the same reaction. I found Pansy, Biddy, Topsy and Cushion. Biddy insisted we drive around to visit the oldies, and at the store we were inundated by the young people—many of whom I had nursed or fed or given a ‘white fella name’ to many years ago.
It was the most amazing and moving day. It had been thirty-one years since I had left, and they hadn’t forgotten me or my family. I was reminded of my children’s ‘black fella name’, ‘Jabidah’. My children had been very honoured to be given this Aboriginal name by the Gurindji tribe.
We drove on to Western Australia, calling into Nicholson Station, staying the night at Morella Gorge and visiting the ruins of Gordon Downs Station, which Ralph and I had managed for five years and where our boys spent the early years of their lives. The Aboriginal tribe who had lived there had moved to Ringer Soak after the Vesteys sold the station.
On to Halls Creek, Bungle Bungles, Gibb River Road, Kununurra, and across to Broome, stayi
ng with Graham MacArthur, Ralph’s overseer in 1969 at Wave Hill, and his wife Helen, who had often visited Wave Hill as the district nurse. Graham ran his own travel agency in Broome, and through him we booked a Kimberley cruise: one of the best cruises in the world.
We flew to the Mitchell Falls, where we hopped into a helicopter and were flown to our ship, the Kimberley Quest, which sat waiting on the Perosis Creek off Prince Frederick Waters. We landed on the roof of the boat, with the six crew members coming out to greet us. It was a stunningly scenic trip of amazing land formations, with flora and fauna not seen anywhere else in Australia. We toured in aluminium tenders—small motorised boats—to see the Aboriginal art high up on the cliffs, swim in freshwater pools, and see the ‘Mermaid tree’, a Boab tree with the ship’s name HMC Mermaid carved by the ship’s carpenter into its bark, dating back to 1820. Mermaid’s Captain was Phillip Parker King, who was on his second of four difficult voyages around Australia, charting 20,000 miles for the new colony.
There were eighteen guests and six staff. They were all very interesting people, especially one couple from Canberra, Heather and Peter Henderson. Heather was Bob Menzies’ daughter and she was also writing a book. We joked about having a book talk together on the ABC.
Back on the road, we toured Western Australia, stopping at Karijini National Park, which is near Tom Price in the Hamersley Range with its many deep beautiful gorges. Unfortunately, because of the dry conditions all the way down the coast, there were no wildflowers at all.