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| ISBN-13: | 9781875559992 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Spinifex Press |
| Publication date: | 09/01/2000 |
| Pages: | 122 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.81(d) |
Read an Excerpt
The C-Word
A Story About the Effects of Cancer
By Jean Taylor, Janet Mackenzie, Kath Knapsey
Spinifex Press
Copyright © 2000 Jean Taylor,All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-875559-99-2
CHAPTER 1
Surgery
Saturday 3 February
The phone rings. I bound out of bed as I'm half expecting a phone call from Maurs. Sure enough.
"The test shows I've got uterine cancer and the doctor said that I have to have a hysterectomy as soon as possible."
A cold dread takes over. Maurs has cancer. It's unbelievable. She's been spotting blood for some weeks, and we'd assumed it was the onset of menopause. She's fifty, after all. Just to make sure, she'd gone along for a Pap smear test. And this was the result.
"I'll be home in a few minutes. I hope you don't mind me telling you over the phone but I needed to talk to you straight away."
After we hang up I stand riveted, my mind a tangle of jumbled thoughts and feelings, as if all the organs of my body are closing down one by one. I'm encased in terror, unable to function properly.
Only last month a friend of ours, Diana Sands, had died of stomach cancer after it had been diagnosed only three weeks before. I don't want Maurs to die. I don't want Maurs to have cancer either. But she has.
And not only that — my mind leaps ahead — if Maurs has a hysterectomy in a couple of weeks' time, as the doctor has suggested, she won't be able to do the show, Still Revolting!!!, with the Performing Older Women's Circus in March. I can't deal with the thought of losing her support. And I don't want to face her disappointment if she has to miss out.
Maurs arrives home, finally. We cling to each other. I seem much more devastated and shocked by the news than Maurs, and cry in her arms.
Later that afternoon, at the POW workshop, I can hardly get through the afternoon, I'm so out of it. It's by far the worst time I've ever had with this particular group of womyn. In the circle afterwards Maurs tells everyone that she has cancer and that it's unlikely she'll be able to do the show after all.
I hear the words and get into even more of a panic. I'm convinced I'm no longer capable of directing this performance and feel paralysed with fear.
Tuesday 6 February
Maurs has an appointment with her doctor to get a referral to the Royal Women's Hospital. When Maurs tells me that the doctor has confirmed she definitely has cancer and that a hysterectomy is inevitable, I realise that I had been hoping that the original diagnosis was some kind of a mistake.
I'm reminded, of course, that this time last year, in the middle of training for POW's first performance, Act Your Age, Barb Anthony had dropped out to have a mastectomy after a lump in her right breast had been diagnosed as malignant. It hadn't made sense at the time, and it still didn't — how could someone so full of life and passion get a disease like cancer?
I don't mention to anyone, and especially not to Maurs who has more than enough on her plate, that this right arm and shoulder of mine, which have been quite painful for some time now, seem to be getting worse. On Sunday, for example, as I grabbed hold of a strap as I was getting off the tram for the Gay and Lesbian Pride March in St Kilda, the pain in my upper arm was excruciating. I have no idea what's causing it and it scares the hell out of me. It's impossible for me to mention anything as mundane as a sore arm to my lover who has cancer.
I mustn't forget to post Kristi's birthday present. Even though my daughter's pregnancy is now confirmed, I'm having difficulty getting my head around the fact that, all being well, we'll both be grandmothers in August.
Thursday 8 February
I have lost all confidence in myself and my ability to create a script that will do justice to POW's expertise as circus womyn. Then again, I can't afford to give in to any of these fears. I always worry far too much anyway. While I have this overwhelming and continual sense of dread and feel as if everything I'm doing is an uphill battle, Maurs seems to be coping okay.
I offered to go with Maurs to the Royal Women's today. At first she said she'd rather go on her own but has now changed her mind. Even though I'm not sure how I'll function as a support person, I'm glad I'm going.
The doctor is calm and practical. He books Maurs into the oncology clinic for an appointment on Monday, to be followed by a curette on Wednesday. If the results of the curette show conclusively that Maurs has uterine cancer, they will recommend a hysterectomy.
Surprisingly, this measured approach leaves me feeling a whole lot better. I feel as if Maurs has had a reprieve of sorts. After leaving the hospital, we walk arm-in-arm round the corner to Lygon Street where the café culture reigns supreme. Even though this Italian precinct has changed over the years, it's still one of my favourite places to eat and browse, with its bookshops, outdoor cafés and theatres. It's warm enough to sit outside and have a cappuccino and a cake while we mull over what the doctor has just said. Maurs is so positive she'll survive this cancer that I feel somewhat reassured.
By the time the results are back from the curette and Maurs then has a hysterectomy (supposing she definitely needs one), it's likely she'll be able to do the show after all.
This is such a relief. Not only for Maurs, who has put a a lot of effort into and gets a great deal of fun out of learning these circus skills. With the trauma and terrifying prospect of cancer in someone I love dearly, the whole process of getting this production together has suddenly become almost untenable.
Whatever happens, we have each other. That's the main thing.
Friday 9 February
I wake at 3.00 a.m. worrying about Maurs and POW and the whole damned thing. I'm feeling worse, if anything.
Later in the day Adrienne Liebmann rings to tell me that Jen Jordon, a member of the Women's Circus from its inception, died suddenly yesterday. It's all too much.
Over these past eighteen months or so Jen, Adrienne and I, along with three others, have been part of the Book Crew to edit the forthcoming Women's Circus book. I'm going to miss Jen's fierce insistence that noone has any right to edit her writing. I only wish I had the guts to stick up for my work in a similar way.
It's raining and cold, matching my mood; snow on the hills for sure. As I don't have the energy or the inclination for doing anything else, I catch up on the backlog of archival material. Something mindless to keep me occupied. Otherwise I'll go mad.
Monday 12 February
Kristi, my three-months-pregnant daughter, is thirty-two today.
Maurs goes into the Royal Women's for her appointment at the clinic on her own. As it's just to let her know what's going to happen on Wednesday, she says there's no need for me to go with her.
I'm utterly exhausted trying to get POW's show together.
Wednesday 14 February
Maurs has to be at the Royal Women's by 7.00 a.m.
Even though a curette is fairly straightforward, it's the first time Maurs has ever had an operation. She's never even been a patient in a hospital before, so she's apprehensive. And cracking brave despite it all. And yet, knowing how tired I am, Maurs kindly lets me stay in bed while she heads off on her own.
Later that morning when I visit, I'm relieved to see Maurs sitting up in bed, still groggy but otherwise okay. Apart from the after-effects of the anaesthetic she feels as if she hasn't had anything done to her.
Maurs has to stay under observation for a few hours and can't leave until she's seen the doctor. As she's already arranged for Ruth Harper, one of the members of POW, to pick her up and take her home at around 5.00 p.m., I stay for an hour or so before heading across to Footscray for Jen's funeral. In her capacity as a solicitor, Ruth has drawn up two documents giving me both Enduring Power of Attorney and Medical Power of Attorney at Maurs' request, so that Maurs is covered in the event of incapacity due to her illness. Because lesbians are not protected by law, these are important documents to have just in case. I find though, that I cannot, because of their implications, even bring myself to read them and put them safely away.
I take part in the memorial gathering at the Women's Circus warehouse space after the service to do justice to Jen's courageous and talented, albeit tortured life, culminating in a bit of flag-waving and ritualistic burning down by the Maribyrnong River. By the end of the afternoon, I feel I've been able to work through my grief.
So much so that, even though it's been a long day, I feel more than capable of getting on with the business of directing POW's three-hour rehearsal that evening. Then I go back to Maurs' place to snuggle against her in bed.
Friday 16 February
While I'm trying to get this production off the ground, Maurs rings to say she has the results of the curette already!
According to the doctor, the pathology report indicates it's definitely a non-aggressive (whatever that means) cancer of the uterus. He's recommending that the hysterectomy be performed on 6 March.
"I told him," Maurs goes on to say, "that as we'll still be in the middle of the show on that day it wasn't convenient for me to have it done then."
"What did he say to that?" I hold my breath.
"He just asked if 13 March would suit me better. How about that now!" She's jubilant. "I said yes, of course."
I'm not absoutely convinced. With beds supposedly at a premium, I'm surprised the hospital staff are willing to do this for a public patient. How come there doesn't seem to be any extreme urgency to cut it out straightaway either, as so often seems to be the case with cancer?
"Maurs," I have to say, "are you sure about this? I don't want you jeopardising your health in any way. The show could manage without you if it has to, you know."
"Jean," she answers, "I'm sure. A week's not going to make a great deal of difference. And he wouldn't have agreed unless he was convinced it was going to be all right, would he? Don't worry," she reiterates as she has all along, "I'm going to beat this, I'm convinced of it."
I'm rapt. More for Maurs' sake than anything else.
"I couldn't bear not to finish the show, you know that," she adds now. "This way I can go into the operating theatre with a clear mind."
Can't argue with that.
Saturday 17 February
It's fantastic. The workshop/rehearsal this afternoon lasts almost seven hours and is very successful. All in all, we (almost) have a show that is more challenging in every way than last year's.
Later, at the AIDS candlelight vigil in the City Square, I'm reminded of that scene I wrote for Amazon Theatre's production of Della about a lesbian attending an AIDS vigil. It ended with the words: I suppose I went because Della is dying and there's no memorial vigil for womyn who die of cancer.
Not that Maurs is anywhere near dying, I tell myself hurriedly. But I think about all the lesbians I know who have died of cancer.
Tuesday 20 February
I've decided I won't give up my day job. Even supposing I had a day job to give up. I am just not cut out to be a director. The job's too nerve-wracking altogether. And far too much of a strain on top of worrying about Maurs.
A pity really, because I do seem to have the creative drive and the organising skills to be a director. The script I wrote from the scenes devised by the performers during workshops is just about completed. And we've blocked and rehearsed almost all of the scenes of this show within five weeks.
Maurs is still on board and gearing up to organise the Tech Crew. We start bumping in, that is, preparing the performance space for the show, on Thursday. As Maurs is being much more ambitious with the lights this year, I expect it will take us several days to do it all. I'm glad Maurs is here. She's confident and knows what she's doing.
I try not to even begin to imagine what life would be like without her if this cancer is not operable or curable or manifests again. All the fears I have in the middle of the night, I have to put them aside.
Saturday 24 February
Most of the lights are up, with the jigsaw mats covering the floor wall-to-wall. It's looking more like a theatre space, I think, as I look around the warehouse space during the Women's Circus information day.
What I'm doing here, apart from catching up with womyn I haven't seen in weeks, I'm not sure. Maybe to feel part of it again. Since the tour to Sydney to perform for the Sydney Festival in January, I haven't signed up to do any physical training workshops nor any of the gigs for International Women's Day.
Is this an indication that my involvement with the Women's Circus has run its course, perhaps? It is my sixth year, after all. And POW takes up so much of my spare time and energy.
I have an altercation with Donna Jackson, the artistic director of the Women's Circus, about which of us is going to use the warehouse that afternoon — Women's Circus or POW? Maurs has pains in her stomach and lies on the floor with her hands across her pelvis to give herself reiki. During rehearsal, Rosemary Mann slips and falls off the stilts breaking her elbow.
I have to carry on, taking the performers through the entire script, from the fire at the beginning to the three-high group balances at the end, as we slowly rehearse one scene at a time. It all takes six hours, but we make it.
As the trainer/director I feel responsible for Rosemary's fall, although I'm far too exhausted to let it get to me too much.
Tuesday 27 February
Maurs is very confident about the outcome of the operation. She's certain that as it's uterine cancer it's contained, and the surgery will clear it up completely, as it did for Margaret Taylor, one of the members of POW's music group a couple of years ago. Reminding myself about this relatively successful story relieves some of my fears.
This painful right arm of mine seems to be getting worse. I now have a sore elbow, intermittent pains in my forearm, and excruciating agony in the upper arm if I move it a particular way. Lying on the shoulder at night is almost impossible. I still don't say anything to Maurs about it. The pain is perhaps indicative that some changes in my life are long overdue. Where to start though?
Maurs gets her letter from the Royal Women's, confirming that she's to be admitted at 9.00 a.m. on 12 March. The reality of the hysterectomy hits us so badly we both feel ratshit. But we have to keep going. It's our last run-through for POW's performance this evening. Crazy-making, but there it is.
Wednesday 28 February
I'm awake before 5.00 a.m. full of dread.
By the end of the day, my mood has changed considerably. After last night's ragged run-through, I was doubtful we even had a show. However, halfway through the dress rehearsal all my doubts and fears were swept away as the womyn picked up the performance and ran with it. For the entire one hour, fifteen minutes.
To say that I am on a high would be an understatement.
Thursday 29 February
Opening night, and I take a couple of aspirins for a tension headache. I really must find a way of not worrying so much about every little thing.
I get into outfit and make-up the same as everyone else because I prefer to be on stage, even though I leave most of the performing to the others. It seems to work okay.
I love watching Maurs and Mary Daicos do their very funny clowning routine on the ladder. The show would not have been the same without Maurs. She's not only an inimitable clown, and a strong base for the group and double balances, where the womyn climb on each other and create new forms to impress or intrigue an audience, or to make them laugh. She's a consummate and reliable performer all round, really. Not that I'm prejudiced.
Given how easily and competently Maurs has taken to the physical training and developed her clowning potential over these past twelve months with POW, it's strange that she's stayed with the Tech Crew in the Women's Circus and not diversified into the performance side of it with them.
Sunday 3 March
Three performances down (and last night's was the best yet!) and two to go. The creative process is what life's about, I decide.
Whenever I'm round the Koori community, as we are today at this Brunswick Music Festival street party, I can't help thinking how much we non-Aboriginals have missed out on learning from these resilient and talented people.
Later on, I stand in front of Megaera's drawing of Maurs during the opening of Megaera's big womyn exhibition "Abundant Beauty" at the YWCA. I'm glad I bought this for Maurs for her fiftieth birthday last year. With so little time now before the operation, this nude portrait will also serve as an indelible reminder of how Maurs is now, her belly rounded and without scars.
Tuesday 5 March
I'm in the backyard, happily pottering between the computer in the front room, trying to finish off the story I wrote about the Women's Circus in Beijing, and basking in the sunshine. Then Maurs appears, to tell me she has to be out of her house by tomorrow afternoon. As a temporary measure she's arranged to move into Ellen Kessler's place. Ellen, one of the Tech Crew members of the Women's Circus, has been really supportive since Maurs found out she had cancer.
What a bombshell!
Instead of having a nervous breakdown, as I'm tempted to do, I ring up and book a bus ticket to Adelaide for the National 10/40 Conference next month.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The C-Word by Jean Taylor, Janet Mackenzie, Kath Knapsey. Copyright © 2000 Jean Taylor,. Excerpted by permission of Spinifex Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Acknowledgements,Preface,
Introduction,
1996,
1 Surgery,
2 Radiotherapy,
3 Intracavity Caesium,
4 Chemotherapy,
5 End of the Year,
6 1997 — Interim,
1998,
7 January, February,
8 March, April,
9 May,
10 June, July, August,
11 1–24 September,
12 The Funeral,
13 1999,