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JAYNE WITH A WHY |
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Thursday, February 17, 2011CATHY "I'll come & pick you up at about 8.30am" she said."No worries, I'll be ready" I replied. The following morning, Cathy pitched up at my house, a few minutes early. I gathered my stuff - kissed Hubs goodbye - and off we set on the drive to Thabazimbi, some 140km away. It was a drive that I'm sure Cathy thought - or hoped - she wouldn't have to do any more. The last time she'd done the trip was with her husband George last November. Less than a month after that, George died unexpectedly. Cathy saw her oncologist last month for a check-up. He'd given her a 'break' over the festive period & she looked forward to going 2 months without chemotherapy. Physically, she looked better than ever. Psychologically, she mourned the loss of someone whom she refers to as "my Lovely". She had her first Christmas & New Year without him & naturally, it was depressing. Hubs & I saw her the day we got back from our Crimble trip & despite the sadness, she was doing well. As the weeks into the new year have progressed, I've grown to admire Cathy's inner strength. She's had to deal with the paperwork & beaurocracy of George's death & now, after the check-up with the oncologist, will have to endure another 4 rounds of chemo. When she told me there was still one "small, small" tumour left on her liver, it was said in a matter of fact way, in as much as "oh bugger, I forget to buy eggs when I was out shopping". Nothing phases her - at least on the outside. I offered to go with her to Thabazimbi & as weird as it may seem, I'm pleased she accepted my offer. So, off we set, on the 'Chemo Road'. It was an uneventful trip, bar the 3 horses that were cantering frantically in the middle of the road. They'd somehow got loose from a nearby farm & were obviously distressed & lost. We slowed right down, as did other vehicles thankfully. We arrived at the private hospital in Thabazimbi at the appointed time & there were hugs & kisses for Cathy from the staff she has got to know well over the past year. We waited for the chemo to arrive. Phone calls were made................the stuff had been ordered & was promised for delivery to the hospital for 9.30am. We waited some more. More phone calls were made. 2hrs went by & excuses made by the courier company charged with delivering the chemo ranged from the driver not knowing where Thabazimbi was to "well we are part of the transport strike you know". So fucking typical nowadays in this country - the majority of employees have Teflon shoulders* & tough tits if their work isn't performed with even a hint of efficiency. It takes on average, 4hrs for Cathy to have the chemo. By 12 noon when the stuff hadn't arrived, she told the doctor & nurse that it would be too late to have the treatment. The cancer 'clinic' is only at Thabazimbi once every 3wks, so Cathy suggested she had the treatment at a further clinic (Rustenburg, another 130km away) later in the week. This would mean driving to Rustenburg, having the treatment, staying overnight & then driving home again. It's not only inconvenient, but bloody expensive with the current price of petrol. Having said that, she didn't mind doing it, if it was what was needed to be done. Just as she was making arrangements to have the treatment done in Rustenburg, the courier driver sauntered in. After several minutes of discussion, the doctor said he could 'fast track' the drip to make sure we could leave at a reasonable hour. (Leaving the hospital any time after 4.30pm just isn't a good idea. Despite it being an almost decent road, it is lined by game farms & as the days light fades, it becomes difficult to drive. Many accidents happen due to baboons, kudu, impala or warthog wandering aimlessly in the road.) Cathy agreed to have the chemo, so the doctor put the needle in & cranked her up. First off was a bag of stuff to take away the feeling of nausea. Once that finished, she had 4 bags of the Chemo Cocktail, followed by a final & additional bag of anti-nausea stuff. I'd wondered about what I could do to take Cathy's mind off the treatment & ended up taking our 'travelling' blackjack & poker game. I must admit I'm not too clued up on poker, but I do know how to play blackjack, so I dealt us both 2 hands each & proceeded to teach Cathy the joys of the game - ha! Neither of us broke the bank, but we did have a bit of fun & I genuinely think I managed to take her mind off of the treatment. The drip speed was twice that of normal, so 2 & a bit hours later, my poor friend was as white as a sheet & thoroughly shattered. We thanked the nursing staff, climbed in the car & I drove us home. We got home just after 4pm & as she left my house to go to her own home, Cathy said she had one hellova headache brewing, but insisted she was OK. I phoned her the following day to see how she was. "Ag no man, I'm fine!" she said. She didn't/couldn't sleep the previous night, but took pills for the headache & in the morning, went to work at a local home-industry shop. On our trip back from Thabazimbi, I told Cathy that I admired her. She gave me a bit of a sideways look, as if to say "don't be bloody daft" - but I carried on & told her that I'd never come across a woman with such inner strength. She hasn't had an easy life, but in the last 6yrs has survived breast cancer, liver cancer & the sudden death of her husband of less than 2yrs. Yet despite these major knocks, she picks herself up & carries on, because she must, because she wants to. And because, as she says, she has to. I wish I had her strength. * * * * * * * * Many moons ago, on a construction site in the depths of this disease ridden, poverty stricken Dark Continent, a local man approached a foreman on the job. "Eh.......eh..........I want job" he said. "Do you want a job, or do you want to work?" asked the foreman. "Eh..........no.......eh........I want job" said the local "not wek". And that dear readers, is what we have in South Africa today.  
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