#iwillcarryyou

I was extremely happy. I loved my daughter & husband and had a great job. On Oct 29, 2005 I went to sleep & didn't wake up for 10 weeks. The first thing I remember was somebody saying "Squeeze my hand" I didn't squeeze, I kept thinking squeeze your own fucking hand! I thought I was still at home in bed. 

I had been feeling very tired of late, my husband is a driller on off shore oil rigs and worked a 4 week on/4 week off roster. He had been gone 5 weeks. So I thought I was tired from him being away and working full time with a baby. I was wrong. I picked him up from the airport, told him I had been feeling a little funny and was sorry but needed to have an early night and went for a lie down. I had been having a slow leaking brain haemorrhage, without knowing it, which was making me feel tired. I am lucky, I guess, that it burst the night he flew home, or I would have been dead in my bed with my daughter in her cot. 

My husband left me. I had life insurance and some money was released to me. But the authorities put me under full orders of the Public Trustee and Guardianship Board. This meant they took away all of my money and medical decisions. They took away $1,14000.00  and then forced me to take methadone as a pain killer. We thought I was severely brain damaged but I kept trying to overturn the orders, (not easy when drugged up on faux heroin), but on the 5th attempt, armed with 3 psych reports, I succeeded and got all orders removed. The first thing I did was order the Doctors to stop the methadone. At first they said no, but, finally agreed. I was allowed to reduce it by 5mg a day. I took the last 5mg on Xmas day in 2012 and it was like I just woke up from my coma! By Xmas lunch time, my Mum and I had the giggles. 

Mentally I am fine, except I suffer from short term memory loss. I am legally blind and a hemiplegic – my left arm is completely paralysed. I have the use of my left leg, except for the ankle, and have been referred for surgery to support the ankle to stop it rolling. If successful, i will be able to walk again! The worst thing that happened, the thing that has hurt the most, is the result of the methadone use. It caused me to get gum disease and the bastards ordered me to have my teeth removed. I can't wear the bottom dentures, so I think I look disfigured and hate myself. I desperately want to get implants, but, they cost  $20,000.00 and now that the Public Trustee blew all of my insurance money, there is no way I can afford them. I hate that being in the wheelchair has made me fat, but, I know if I start walking again, after the operation, the wight will drop off. But I will never feel pretty again with no fucking teeth! 

After spending 2 years in hospital and rehab trying to get better, sometimes I would think "fuck it, is all too hard!”. Then something amazing happens. Solo (of Horrorshow) guest listed me to Clipsal so I could see Bliss n Esso, Horrorshow and Jimblah play live. Illy guest listed me to his sold out Cinematic tour. James put me on the door for Sietta's Invisible River album launch, but, my carer cancelled her shift and as I can't go out alone, I missed out. My favourite group of all time is The Hilltop Hoods. They are inspirational to me for so many different reasons. These lads have had the guts to refuse to be stopped by all of the doors closed in their faces. They have refused to give up doing what they believe in. They have not compromised themselves to be successful and they are so honest and good at what they do. These lads are my heroes. If these boys, who didn’t finish high school can keep trying and never give up, then I can do the same for my daughter. 

He was my father and I was his youngest. When he was diagnosed I truly believed he would make a full recovery. Even in the last week of his life I still thought he would get better. How naive I was.

Together my family endured a lot in that year but in true force we pulled together and did what we had to do, for my father and for each other. Even though I would have hoped life wouldn’t throw us such a curve ball, I never found that year a burden; there was not a moment when I thought I don’t want to or I can’t do this.

Time after time Dad sat in that chair, a chemical milk shake being pumped into him. He called me his chemo buddy, to me that meant a small ritual of bringing him a cherry ripe, getting him a cappuccino and telling him to eat his sandwiches that the nurse had bought for him. We would discuss meaningless things like the weather, what was happening at work and the boy that I thought I liked. It was never about the conversation, it was about being in his company. Sometimes he would fall asleep and I would just watch him.

Unfortunately with the disease comes a fair share of physical pain. A massage when we spent time together was no chore, unlike when I was a child and I used to make him pay me, I think from memory the going rate was a whole 50 cents for half an hour. Now, it was all about making him feel better. If any one of us could have taken the pain away we would have done it in a heartbeat but he never would have allowed that any way.

I remember explaining to my father one day after he said he felt bad for all the stuff we had been doing for him (he had sent me back to the shop for a different kind of fizzy drink) that we wanted to do these things for him and he was allowed to be as demanding as he wanted. It takes a lot for a strong character to concede.

I’m now on the other end of the longest and shortest year of my life but if it meant being able to kiss him on the forehead and hold his hand one more time, there is no doubt that any of us would do it all over again.