Welcome home

this is a family portrait of my grandma (sitting on the right) with four of her siblings and her mother Gertrude Ivy.

My grandmother and her sister Joyce were sitting watching a mid day movie as I entered the room. My grandmother rose to greet me and held my hands for a long period of time, which was the greeting since the news of my illness. It was at this point I realised my grandmother had a dark and almost charcoal colored black eye. "It just happened darling, my blood vessels just exploded a few days ago and now I look like a battered women, I tell them your great aunty did it to me", to this both women started cackling in a familiar and excitable way a cacophony of sounds of women who have known each other for a lifetime. I left my grandma's armed with a plastic container of stewed apple, which has been a constant gift to me since chemo began. The gift of stewed apple at one stage meant that almost nothing else was able to fit in the fridge due to the sheer amount of the stuff.

My cousin was driving me to their house in Tynong North, just past Pakenham. It was here that my aunty and uncle had prepared a completely vegan, wheat free and sugar free meal and had even purchased all organic vegetables and fruit for the occasion. We talked, did a Pilates video in the spare room and I fell asleep only to wake to the sounds of cockatoo's and parrots instead of traffic.

My family were very shocked with the news of the cancer, but just how my family deals with any news of trauma or illness they group even closer. I see my extended family constantly, and the family orbits around the idea that 'family is the most important thing'. We celebrate every possible holiday, graduation and birthday and non attendance is definitely frowned upon. When my grandfather was dying two years ago my grandmother took him home to die. One of my family was with grandma every day and minute of that month caring for grandpa and allowing him to die with dignity and surrounded by love. In his last hours all of his children and there spouses sat around his bed and sang and hugged him until he slowly slipped away from this life and into the night and sounds of grief laden sobs. His bed had been facing a wall of collages of the family, every day new photos would be removed or added to keep it interesting. My grandmothers house is like a shrine to her children and grandchildren. It is almost hard to find any clear wall space that doesn't have a photo of one of us, crocked teeth and hideously eighties fringe grinning from ear to ear in a poorly pressed school uniform, or a dated yellowing photo of one of my mother or her siblings in brown flares and a floral blouse.

My mother says the cancer makes her feel completely useless and alone. I never thought about the impact of my illness on my mother. I suppose when you care so intimately for your child even up till there adulthood it would be nearly unfathomable that they develop a malignant and serious illness in which they must become quite ill to overcome. I don't help by continuing to be an extremely independent and autonomous individual, but more and more I let her in to help with small chores or help navigate the bureaucratic nightmare that is to be part of the public health system. I go home to be with my mother, father and brother every fortnight after chemo, painted white and with a look of unease in my eyes I settle onto the couch for video's and a constant stream of meals and nibbles prepared by my mother and magazines and 'Gordon Ramsay' session with my brother. I feel content to let it go, not hold myself together, not grip the color in my cheeks and plaster a grin on my face. Just let go.