Cancer

Like many New Zealanders, my life has also been touched by cancer. I can still remember the day clearly. When I heard the news, I was standing in a telephone booth on Broad Street, Birmingham, England. Being November, the night was cold, and the usual drizzle that seems to blanket the West Midlands for half the winter had settled in. I was making my quarterly phone call home to my parents back in New Zealand. I was anxious but only because I was aware that I would be suffering the usual telling-off for not having called sooner.

When my dad answered the telephone, I remember feeling slightly relieved as it was normally my mother who made me feel more guilt towards my lack of consistent “staying-in-touch”. It did not even hit me that something was wrong. My dad and I had a conversation much like we normally would; digesting the rugby scores, discussing the rest of the family and how fast they were all growing up, commenting on any physical changes to Wanganui, and ending with the usual commentary on the local weather.

After speaking to my Dad, the phone was then passed on to my mother. As usual she admonished me for not calling earlier, and as usual I felt guilty and promised not to leave things so late next time. Then we covered much the same ground (minus the rugby) as I had gone over with my Dad. It seemed to be our typical quarterly conversation.

Then the telephone was passed back to my Dad, and I first thought that something might be. Normally our conversations would end after one round, but not this time.

“Your mother has cancer.”

It’s amazing how much four words can impact on your life, and hearing those words spoken while I was in England and my parents in New Zealand, seemed to broaden the distance between us even further. I remember not knowing what to say. I remember a lump forming in my throat. I remember tears welling in my eyes but not falling onto my cheeks.

All these things I remember clearly, but if you asked me to remember how I managed to get back to New Zealand and be at my mother’s side three days later, I couldn’t tell you. All I remember is that moment in the telephone booth and my mother smiling up at me with a drip in her arm and wires attached to all parts of her frail body when I returned home.