Outback Midwife by Beth McRae

Author:Beth McRae
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia
Published: 2015-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

A month later the three of us went back down to Melbourne to learn Dad’s fate. The neurologist spoke to him first then asked to speak to Faye, as Dad’s primary carer. When she returned to the waiting room Dad was in the toilet. She looked wretched.

‘The tumour is malignant and aggressive,’ she said. ‘The doctor says Dad has 18 months at the most to live; he might not make it to Christmas, and he definitely won’t be here at Easter.’

Deep down I’d always felt sure Dad’s chances weren’t good, but to have it confirmed was shattering. I went into denial mode, hardly able to take in the news. There must be some way to prolong his life? Faye said the doctor had suggested radiation therapy. ‘He hasn’t told Dad the cancer is terminal, and I don’t think we should,’ she added.

We agreed it was best Dad remained hopeful the treatment could cure him, and indeed after the meeting he seemed sure that the radiation would blast the cancer and he’d soon be better. We certainly didn’t want to destroy his optimism, or for him to give up.

Back at home, I knew I had to break the news to the girls that Poppy was very ill. I tried to explain their grandfather’s condition without breaking down on them. They didn’t like it when I cried, so I’d had to hide a lot of tears from them recently.

‘Is Poppy going to die?’ Clare asked.

‘I don’t know, love,’ I replied. ‘The doctors are doing everything to help him.’

Although this seemed to appease 13-year-old Clare, I was dismayed to see Lauren’s face crumpling. ‘I don’t want Poppy to die,’ she said, as tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

‘I know, darling,’ I said, struggling to keep it together. ‘But we have to try to be positive, and do our best to help Poppy feel better.’

Dad’s four-month course of radiation therapy began two weeks later. It left him sore and exhausted, and every session drained him a little more. After each course, I’d stay at Faye’s to help nurse him while Ian took over running our household, making dinner and ferrying the girls to and from school. He never complained about this, bless him, although I discovered much later that he too was struggling to cope with what was going on in our lives. I was so immersed in helping Dad and trying, still, to get over Mum’s death that Ian picked up the slack at home without either of us realising quite how much he was doing. It was like we were both on autopilot, and neither of us talked about the strains we were under.

‘That bugger hasn’t got me yet,’ Dad announced after his last session – feisty old Dad! He was keen to get back to life on the farm and, to our huge relief, despite a tender-looking patch of shaved scalp, he did seem well at this point. The farm had been tended to by my brother-in-law, Paul, while Dad was away, but now the radiotherapy was over, it was good for him to have something else to focus on.

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