It was so simple, but great advice for anyone.
I went back to my favourite hotel in Melbourne, the Lyall, and really thought about it deeply. Part of what bothered me was that this would be a cancer centre and I didn’t want to have my name dropped before the word ‘cancer’. I needed this to be a cancer and wellness centre. I could only do it if they included the word ‘wellness’ because including that would give people hope. You could go from cancer to wellness – yes!
With my friend Sue again, I went for a tour of the hospital. The original cancer centre was old, dark and dingy. It first opened in the 1920s and, like every other hospital, they used X-rays to cure cancer (or so they thought). By 1935 it was one of the largest hospitals in Australia. The patients were sitting in those old corridors. That building was dark and sad. Having gone through treatment myself, I understood the need to be in a place of comfort and light. It’s difficult enough to go through treatment, but to be in a depressing place makes it so much harder.
I had another meeting with the Austin and I said I would be very honoured to put my name on the building if it included a wellness centre with acupuncture, massage, meditation, reiki, Chinese herbs and yoga, among other mind–body treatments. This was crucial to me, although a new concept for a public hospital. They were only used to all the mainstream treatments – surgery, chemotherapy and radiotherapy.
There would also need to be group therapy for emotional support. That wasn’t available to me, but my oncologist gave me the names of two women who had the same treatments that I had embarked on. I was able to discuss it with them and understand what I was going through, which was very helpful.
Most people don’t have the funds for non-traditional ways to heal and I wanted to provide that access. I had to make wellness a condition, otherwise I wouldn’t be comfortable moving forward with the project.
During a follow-up trip to Australia, the Austin mentioned that part of the hospital called Zeltner Hall was used years ago for treatment of tuberculosis (TB), or as they called TB patients in those days, ‘the incurables’. I thought, Gosh, TB was incurable years ago and now that’s virtually gone. That’s going to happen with cancer! It gave me a vision. Another sign was that my brother Hugh had once worked at the Austin and had even given lectures at Zeltner Hall.
I also found out the hospital had to make a big decision because adding wellness to the centre increased the budget. They said they could maybe convince the government to pay for the architectural build, but afterwards the funds to run it would have to come through philanthropy. I knew that one day we could persuade the government to help us with the wellness programs – and I’m still waiting for that day! Patient attitudes are so good at the ONJ Cancer Wellness & Research Centre, and healing is taking place in a dignified, calm and positive manner.
I’m delighted that now, after seven years, the wellness philosophy has permeated the entire hospital, including offering hand and feet massages and music therapy in the patient’s room. We also have a piano in the lobby where we invite local musicians to play. A harpist has even come to visit, which was beautiful and soothing.
During Christmas of 2016, John Farnham and I sang carols for the patients and nurses in the lobby – the most memorable audience ever. I kept flashing back to my time at the Vatican with the audience in wheelchairs and gurneys and with IVs in their arms. I’m not sure how I sang with all the emotions racing through me.
This is a lifelong commitment. This is my name, my ethos, my dream.
The journey to create the ONJ Centre introduced me to some wonderful people including CEO Jennifer Williams and director of fundraising Peter Dalton, along with a slew of amazing medical professionals, architects and campaigners. Of course, the money needed to fund such an endeavour was staggering. We received almost $70 million from the government to kickstart the construction, which was generous, but not enough.
The Ludwig Institute, a worldwide research institute that would operate on the grounds, gave us funding in July of 2012. My concept was that everything would be in one building – the research, treatment and cancer care. This way everyone could collaborate easily to figure out the best individual plan for each patient.
That same year I went back to Australia to meet with influential politicians who could help, including John Brumby, the treasurer of Victoria, who gave us $69 million. (I sang ‘I Honestly Love You’ to him at the opening of the centre and totally made the poor man go crimson!) I’m very proud to say that he is now the Chairman of the ONJ Cancer Research Institute.
The support that we found took my breath away.
My commitment was to the future patients and, having been one myself, I needed to make sure the details of the place supported the idea of healing on all levels. I personally worked with iconic Aussie architect Daryl Jackson to create the most healing environment possible within this physical structure. What I felt we needed was a place with as much natural light as possible with a courtyard where people could go relax and perhaps even meditate in nature. Daryl and I spent time together discussing colours and design. It was essential to me that the rooms be serene and quiet.
‘It’s very important to me that someone who walks in these doors can have their treatment and then go outside and feel the sun on his or her back,’ I said. ‘If they’re stuck in bed, I want them to experience as much natural light streaming into the room as possible and take advantage of the beautiful views of the flowering Dandenong.’
It was also crucial to me that, wherever possible, all of the products used in the centre would be certified environmentally friendly. Healing in a clean and inspired environment was key.
I was on tour in Tampa, Florida, when the Moffitt Cancer Center invited me to visit their facility. I had just been asked to lend my name to the cancer and wellness centre in Melbourne and I was curious to see firsthand what was happening at this highly regarded treatment and research centre. I was given a lovely tour, and I was quite taken with the fact that they had a wonderful arts program and an incredible research facility. After a productive and personally fulfilling day there, I was leaving for sound check. That’s when I saw a dapper gentleman in a dark suit with silver hair. He walked into the hospital and introduced himself. It was Lee Moffitt himself.
‘You’re alive?’ I blurted out. ‘I was worried that you had to be dead to have a building named after you!’
The words just fell out of my mouth. Obviously, he was quite alive and we chatted for a little bit. He was so eloquent and passionate about his hospital, which made me even more excited about the proposed cancer and wellness centre in Australia. That night after the concert, I met Lee’s wife, Diane, at a reception.
Lee, Diane and I became good friends and as the years passed, and whenever I needed advice about my centre, I would call him. Lee even took the time to come to Australia, meet with our architect and help us by looking at the plans. Last year was the thirtieth anniversary of the Moffitt Cancer Center, and it’s been named one of the top ten in the USA. Lee is a very special man and I think so highly of him.
Thank you, Lee, for all that you achieved. It inspired me.
The first step was demolishing the old, ugly building, but we kept Zeltner Hall. I was thrilled to be there and even have a picture of me on a crane. Hard hat on my head, I dug the first hole. Yes!
On 25 June 2012, the first stage of the Olivia Newton-John Cancer Wellness & Research Centre at the Austin Hospital officially opened. It would provide extensive outpatient and radiation oncology services along with the wellness aspects I wanted. It would also offer the Ludwig Institute for Cancer Research expanded research capacity. We would have to wait a year for the second stage of the centre to open, which would provide palliative care and cancer inpatient beds. I’m especially proud that the palliative care ward is named after my mother Irene, as she inspired me to go ahead with this project.
Sharon Hillman, head of fundraising at that time, had input that was crucial and helped us get the money to kee
p the project going. She worked with me to organise a Wellness Walk where fans could help me raise money for the centre. I’m so grateful to them for showing up for our first walk, which is now in its sixth year.
When we designed the logo for the hospital, we worked with the patients, showing them different colours and symbols. At the opening, I remember having to be at the centre at 6 a.m. for press. The town car was driving up the hill and my publicist said, ‘Olivia, look! The ONJ sign is up!’ I grabbed his hand and we both got teary. Then I said, ‘Michael, that’s the best billboard I will ever have.’
The moment those doors opened, the centre would be one of Melbourne’s three leading cancer centres, which is still staggering to me.
I’ll never forget the actual opening party. I took Rona, Chloe and her fiancé, James. All my nieces and nephews who live in Australia were there along with many life-long close friends. It was a wonderful, incredible day. It was a major life moment and I was thrilled to have all of them together celebrating something so close to my heart. I wrote the song ‘Right Here With You’ with Delta Goodrem and Amy Sky for the Olympics and sang it again for this momentous occasion.
Don’t give up; here I am
And if you need a helping hand
I’m gonna be right here with you.
I can feel a knowing here between us
Yes, you walk on the path I walk too
It just takes one second one moment to change your life
But deep down you know you’ll survive
Suddenly your deepest fears are spoken
But you can’t let your spirit be broken
It takes just one second to stand up and say it’s my life
I won’t give up
Don’t give up; here I am.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the centre that night.
The one person missing was my mum, who sadly never saw the ONJ Centre because she died in 2003, nine years before it opened in 2012. It took us nearly ten years to raise the money, and I knew Mum would be so proud.
So was my dear friend Pat who came later for the opening of the centre and surprised me with a beautiful portrait she painted of me that now hangs there. Thank you, Pearl (her nickname).
What’s so important to me about the work we do there is that it’s all about supporting the whole person, physically and emotionally, while instilling an important positivity. It has been shown that people who have a positive attitude do a lot better when they’re going through cancer treatments. If you believe they will be okay, it gives you more strength. I certainly found that to be true.
Another aspect of the centre is teaching the people around the cancer patient how to best support them. I remembered telling some of my friends the news when I was first diagnosed. They began to cry on the phone (or in person) and I found that very disabling, although I knew their intentions were pure and good. Or they would quote to me stats about survival rates, which made me think about the negative. Not good! It’s important to give gentle support and maximum love while encouraging patients to put themselves first.
I make a point of always visiting the patients at the ONJ Centre whenever I’m in Australia. They’re so pleased to see me and the feeling is more than mutual. I want to visit each one, and can’t spend enough time there. It’s my name on that building and I want to see that everyone is being well cared for. And they are, in a wonderful way. The truth is, I get more out of those visits than they do. You really do get more out of giving than receiving.
On a practical level, I want to hear what’s working. I listen to their praise for the staff and how they love the good feeling in the building, including those rays of hopeful natural light that help them feel better. It does my heart good, as well, to know the staff is happy to be there every day because it’s such a beautiful place to work.
‘Are they taking good care of you?’ I asked one of the staff on a recent visit.
‘Very good care,’ she said.
‘Olivia, if you’re going through cancer, this is the place to be,’ a patient told me. That makes everything worthwhile.
The patients know that I can relate because I’ve been there. And looking into the eyes of those people is an important reminder for me of why I took this on. I understand the fear they possess while they go through this journey. If I can offer a kind word, a laugh or a hug, it makes me feel so good.
Most of all, when I visit them in their beds, I’m showing them a thriver of cancer, which provides a powerful medicine called hope. I’ve been very fortunate and I show that it can be done. You can get through this time in your life – and thrive.
I’m living proof and I don’t take it for granted.
My dream is to see an end to cancer in my lifetime. I believe my incredible scientists and researchers at the ONJ Cancer Research Institute, led by wonderful medical director and my dear friend Professor Jonathan Cebon, will find that cure and win over cancer. I say win for a reason. I don’t believe in fighting cancer because that sets up images of battles and anger. I choose to see my body as winning, which is a much healthier mental picture. Everyone has their own way of finding that victory in their mind.
Suppress it? Ask it to leave? Peace treaty?
However you want to win over it – do it!
My ultimate goal is that one day we will be able to take a giant crane and remove the word ‘cancer’ from the building because the disease will be wiped off the planet. From that moment on, it will just be the Olivia Newton-John Wellness Centre. That would be a dream come true.
And the team at the ONJ were integral when I went through my third and final win over cancer. Even though I was in America at the time, I was in constant contact with Professor Cebon and everyone there.
Thanks for being part of my winning team.
Respect me. Respect me.
I need you to protect me.
For it is you not me
Whose fate’s in jeopardy.
Although my mum sadly didn’t live to see the opening of the ONJ Centre, she’s always been my inspiration to move forward and help people.
Mum was born during World War One, when food supplies were limited. Due to a severe lack of nutrients, she grew up with serious osteoporosis, which ultimately was the cause of her death. Aside from this, she was always in wonderful health. Even in her eighties, she would run to the car. ‘Mum, slow down!’ I’d yell, but that never stopped her. Each day, she walked in the Botanical Gardens next to where she lived. No wonder I love nature so much.
One day in 2003, I was in Las Vegas working when Rona called me. ‘It’s probably the end,’ my sister said. ‘You should come.’ I cancelled my show (one of only three times I’ve done that – not bad for a career of fifty years) and jumped on a plane to Australia. Mum was eighty-nine and at home with Rona and Gregg Cave, a man who was like another son to her. He’d been an actor in his younger life and then an art curator, and always a dear friend to my mother.
Mum was fading quickly and in excruciating pain. She could have lived longer, but chose to pass on. I was with her for the last week. On the final day, she was surrounded by people she loved including Rona, me, Nancy, Jim and Gregg. She was no longer in pain.
Mum had told me that the moment after her mother, Hedwig, had died, her portrait fell off the wall in her apartment in Melbourne, oceans away from my grandmother passing in Germany. Mum took it as a positive sign from her mother. After my mother died, I went to sit with her hoping for a sign. We had candles all around the room and it was a beautiful atmosphere. In her front hall, we had a table set up with flowers, a lovely photo of Mum and a large candle I brought from America encased in thick glass.
‘Mum, give me a sign you’re okay and your spirit is okay,’ I whispered to her as I sat at her bedside. The candles in the room flickered and I assumed that this was the sign.
At that moment, Rona called out from the other room. I wondered why she was calling me when I was trying to have a peaceful goodbye with Mum.
‘Olivi
a!’ Rona cried.
I had no choice but to leave the room and walk into the hallway. That’s when I saw it. The glass around that big candle I brought had spontaneously cracked at the centre and fallen to the floor. This made me smile. Mum didn’t go for the little candles as her sign. She went big.
We felt a sense of peace, and of course, sadness. We missed our mum, but she’d had a good life.
The next few days were a flurry of giving her possessions to people – some of which she had personally pinned little paper tags to with the recipient’s name on them. She had been preparing for a long time. We donated other items. Then I rented a car and put some of her paintings and possessions inside to drive to my farm, hundreds of miles away.
I was in mourning, so the drive was a blur. Gregg, Nancy and Jim were with me and we talked about Mum the entire way. As we drove through the beautiful, fertile countryside and farmland in Byron Bay that had captured my heart so many years ago, Gregg said, ‘I should move up here.’
‘Yes, you should,’ I said.
It wasn’t long before we saw a sign: Sanctuary for sale.
Impulsively, we drove up a steep hill to find a stunning, sweeping vista. Tucked away on the left were a number of pink huts. A man came out to greet us who turned out to be a yoga instructor. He explained this land was used for weddings and as a yoga retreat. Looking around, I could see that the place was pretty run down, but naturally beautiful. I was glad that we stopped.
We left, arrived at the farm and I put my mother’s ashes in a special place in the kitchen.
Then we went to bed.
The next morning, I was making tea for me and Gregg and I told him that I’d had a dream.
‘I dreamt that we bought that property and we made a place for our friends and family to come. We called it Gaia,’ I said.
‘That’s weird,’ Gregg said. ‘I dreamt about it too. Same thing. It was our retreat. But I called it Bella Vista.’
Don't Stop Believin' Page 18