I realised yesterday that it had been several weeks since my last blog post and, shockingly, I have absolutely nothing to say.
But that has never stopped me before!
I had lunch with some friends last week, and it was so good to catch up. One day, we might even manage to get through a lunch without talking about nursing, but somehow I think that’s unlikely!
Everyone commented on how well I looked, and it suddenly occurred to me that, finally, I actually feel it too!
Don’t get me wrong. I’m still very unfit, and I struggle if I try to do too much in one day, but things are definitely improving. Slowly, perhaps, but improving nonetheless.
On another positive note, I saw my surgeon last week and have officially been discharged. That is a very nice feeling!
Today, I even started deep cleaning my kitchen. I managed to get about halfway through, and you can actually see out of the window now!
It’s a lovely feeling to be doing things again, even the cleaning. Although I’m fairly certain that particular feeling won’t last long!
And, of course, there’s the travel planning.
I have definitely been making progress on that front!
I’ve even booked our transport to the cruise in March. As it’s over Easter, I wanted to make sure everything was organised well in advance.
And the gaps in my big US and Canada adventure are gradually disappearing.
All my flights are booked, and I have all but two of my accommodation bookings sorted. The only reason those last two aren’t done is because the websites are playing up, and I’m waiting for emails back.
Frustrating, but I’ll get there!
I’ve also decided to spend a night on Nantucket, off Cape Cod. It’s somewhere I’ve always wanted to visit, and rather than just going over for the day, I thought it would be lovely to stay overnight and have a little more time to explore. Assuming I can eventually book the hotel!
Of course, nothing is ever quite that simple!
Most of the accommodation I’ve looked at has a three-night minimum stay, and I’m only looking for one. So that’s proving to be a bit of a challenge.
But I’m determined to make it work. Somehow!
In the meantime, a couple of my Facebook friends have been keeping my travel dreams alive.
One is currently cruising around Asia, while another has just returned from a Mediterranean cruise. I’ve been enjoying following their adventures and living vicariously through their photos and stories.
And I have to admit, it’s making me even more impatient to start my own travels!
After everything that has happened this year, it feels good to have so much to look forward to.
And perhaps that’s what this post is really about.
Nothing particularly exciting. No great revelations or profound thoughts. Just lunches with friends, a clean kitchen (well, half a clean kitchen!), a few travel bookings and the everyday things that make up life.
But after a year when life has been anything but ordinary, perhaps there’s something rather wonderful about having a little bit of ordinary again.
When I was looking for a picture to start the blog, this one kept coming up – over and over – so it seems like a good place to finish.
Until next time, enjoy your story – wherever it takes you.
I sometimes feel that all I am writing about on here lately is sadness and grief, but this is slightly different.
I am part of a research group for people who have had Stage 3 melanoma, and our first meeting was last week.
There are seven of us in the group and it was really interesting listening to everyone’s stories. Every person’s experience has been very different, while still having the same underlying journey – for want of a better word.
As we were talking, something someone said really struck me. It actually had nothing to do with melanoma, but it made me think about Ian, the boys, and the different ways we have all been coping since he passed away.
I have been incredibly grateful for my friends and the support they have given me since Ian’s passing. People have been there for me, checked in on me, listened to me and allowed me to talk when I needed to.
But I suddenly realised that the boys don’t necessarily have those same supports.
People do check in with them and ask how they are going, but they don’t really talk about their feelings or about how they are coping with the loss of their brother.
And that is the key.
As much as I lost my son, they lost their brother.
Ian was my talker. He talked about anything and everything — his thoughts, his feelings, his annoyances, what was happening at work, where he wanted to travel, or whatever else was on his mind. We always had that in common. He would come around every week and we would talk non-stop.
The other boys are different. Neither of them has ever been one to openly show their feelings or talk about them in quite the same way.
Bren, in particular, keeps very much to himself – and that is okay. It doesn’t mean he isn’t feeling things; it just means I need to be more aware of when he might need to talk, or simply need a little more of my time. We can quite happily go all day in the same house without speaking much, so sometimes that connection needs to be more intentional.
Lachlan is a talker, but not in the conventional way. He will talk in great depth about something that is concerning him, but often in a roundabout way without actually talking about the thing he means. He talks his way around what is worrying him rather than directly about it. Either that or he asks the same questions – over and over, just in a slightly different way.
He is also a worrier, so sometimes I need to read between the lines and work out what he is really asking. Then I can reassure him or explain something without necessarily having to make him talk directly about it.
The difficulty is that because Lachlan talks so much, it can be very easy to switch off occasionally! I am realising that I need to listen a little more carefully, because somewhere amongst all those words there may be something he actually needs me to hear.
And perhaps that is what yesterday’s meeting made me realise.
Sometimes we assume that the way we grieve — or the ways of grieving that we recognise – are the only ways. We notice the person who cries, the person who talks about the person they have lost, or the person who openly says they are struggling.
But grief doesn’t always look like that.
Sometimes it is talking. Sometimes it is silence. Sometimes it is worrying about seemingly unrelated things. Sometimes it is needing company without conversation. And sometimes it may look as though someone is simply getting on with life.
There are probably as many ways of dealing with the good and the bad things that happen to us as there are people.
There is no right way or wrong way.
There just is.
And just as there is no right way to grieve, there is no timetable for it either.
Until next time, enjoy your story — wherever it takes you.
It has been a few weeks since I lost my son Ian, and while I am certainly not ‘over it’, I have found some ways to manage my life and emotions.
First I am concentrating on my health.
It is now about five months since my diagnosis of metastatic melanoma and almost 12 weeks since my surgery to remove three layers of axillary lymph nodes. I had a drain in my side for a total of 10 weeks, including having to have it replaced once.
Now, finally, everything is over and it is time to get back to ‘normal’ — whatever normal looks like now.
Yesterday I got back into the pool for the first time and loved it! Unfortunately, it also helped me realise just how unfit I have become (which is saying something, as I wasn’t exactly fit to start with!).
But the great thing about getting back in the pool is how much it has changed my mindset. I am finally feeling positive and maybe not quite so old! The other huge change, of course, was finally getting that drain out.
So step one is looking at how I can change things physically. My plan is to go to the pool and walk/exercise three times a week. It is good for my knees, great for my arm exercises and, most importantly, it just makes me feel good.
I am also going to start some chair exercises and yoga. I am being realistic about where I am right now. My theory is that it is better to do something — no matter how small — than to do nothing.
Of course, doing all of this makes little difference if I am not eating well, and that is the next step. I hate cooking, but I can put things together :).
So I am going to make up some mince with one of my favourite flavour combinations (turkey and Korma, anyone?), cook some sweet potato and make up bowls for lunch, adding veges, salad, cottage cheese and whatever else feels good.
I love a good smoothie/protein shake for breakfast, and the same basic lunch can become dinner, changing things up every few days. I know myself — if I give myself too many choices, it becomes decision overload and nothing happens lol.
I have also been concentrating on one major task a day and have managed to completely clean out and reorganise my room (very overdue!).
I am still struggling with some things — and admittedly part of it is sheer procrastination! — so I have decided to get a cleaner in to give my house a really good deep clean. Then I can keep it up from there. After not really being able to do much for over three months (and having boys!), my house is definitely not what I want it to be.
So that takes care of my physical health.
The harder part is my mental health.
I go for long periods when I am okay, but then, out of the blue, it all hits and I have ‘a moment’. I am letting myself do that because I know it is part of the grieving process, but I have to admit that I am still feeling pretty angry as well as all the other feelings.
This month was both Ian’s birthday and John’s — my husband’s — birthday, which just added another layer to everything.
It is not helped by the stupidity of bureaucracy.
I decided to get someone to help me sort through Ian’s estate, and I will do another post about this — and about some of the things you can do to make everything just a little less stressful for your family if they ever find themselves in a similar situation.
As just one example, Ian had an account with some money in it (we think) – a travel card. They are requesting a certified copy of his birth certificate to prove the relationship between him and me because there is no Will appointing me as an authorised person.
Despite the death certificate identifying me as Ian’s mother, they have advised that they will not accept this as sufficient evidence of our relationship!
Some days you just have to shake your head.
I feel very fortunate that I love to write. I can sit down and get all those feelings out of my head and, for now, that is kind of what this blog is doing.
Eventually it will go back to its original purpose as a travel-based blog, but this is my journey for now.
And talking about travel, that is also part of the way I am getting through things day by day.
Ian loved to travel. It was something we shared and talked about a lot. He would want me to keep travelling, and I think he would be pleased to know that I am continuing to plan.
I already had a cruise to New Zealand booked with the other two boys before all the health issues, and we will still be doing that in March. Now I will also be taking some of Ian’s ashes back to scatter there. He was born in New Zealand and was a proud Kiwi, so I think he would appreciate that.
I had also already booked a transpacific cruise from Vancouver to Hawaii and then Hawaii to Sydney for next year, so that will still go ahead. I have now added an Alaskan cruise before it, and I will be in the same cabin for all three sections — a total of 37 days.
Planning my travel is another way I deal with the sadness. I often think about what Ian would say or do and laugh, because he knows I would have ignored him anyway if what he said didn’t suit me.
So, naturally, the trip has expanded!
It is not all locked in yet, but the plan is…
South Dakota, to see Mount Rushmore, the Badlands and the surrounding area.
I then head to Boston and spend some time exploring Cape Cod, Nantucket and the area — something I have wanted to do for a very long time.
Then after a week in New York I will fly to Halifax, Nova Scotia in Canada. My father’s family came from Nova Scotia, and I am doing a tour around the Maritimes.
Then comes another long-held wish — a 17-day train trip across Canada, stopping at places including Quebec, Montreal, Niagara Falls, Banff and Lake Louise, with the final two days aboard the Rocky Mountaineer.
After all of that, I have just one day in Vancouver before getting on the ship for Alaska, Hawaii and finally home.
It will be a long trip, although not as long as the one I originally had planned for this year.
I will admit that I am less confident about leaving for that long without Ian here keeping an eye on everything. But the boys have been great, and I know they will step up when needed.
There is a lot more in the planning, but that is for another post.
For now, this is simply an update, a way to keep myself honest about my health and a place to ‘say it out loud’.
I hope you continue to follow along with all my journeys. I am not here to create a huge audience. I am happy if my friends and family can follow my travels and everything else that happens along the way — but feel free to share the link if and when it feels right.
Because, for now, this is part of the journey too.
Until next time, enjoy your story — wherever it takes you.
I wrote this a few weeks ago because it’s how I process stuff, but it wasn’t the right time to post it. But it is time. I was going to edit it but decided to leave it just how I wrote it!
It’s taken a while to get here, and even now I’m not quite sure what to write or how to write it. The last couple of months have been difficult, to say the least.
My surgery went well. Amazingly, I had virtually no pain and was allowed home just two days later. They removed three layers of lymph nodes, so it was a major operation.
Lachlan was lucky enough to come and pick me up from hospital—more about that later—and I suddenly realised why having surgery closer to home would have been easier (not that I regret my choice of doctors and hospital for a second). It is amazing just how rough the roads feel when you’ve just had surgery, especially with a drain in your side! Ouch!
The first night home was interesting, mostly because of getting in and out of bed. My bed is quite high and my legs are quite short! Eventually I worked out the best way to manage it and, with a little help, I got comfortable and actually slept surprisingly well.
Ian hadn’t been feeling well, which was why Lachlan had picked me up from hospital, but he came to see me the day after I got home. He shouldn’t have driven and was told so in no uncertain terms. He wouldn’t stay, but he agreed to let his brother drive him home.
Over the following week we spoke every day. At the beginning of the week he sounded quite unwell, but by Friday he seemed much more like himself. I remember feeling relieved.
When we couldn’t contact him over the weekend and he hadn’t been around, we went to his house.
Sadly, we found that he had passed away.
To say I was shocked is an understatement. My heart is broken. He was only 41.
Ian was kind, gentle, caring and loving, with the biggest heart. He was my rock, my listener, my confidant and often my adviser. I was so incredibly proud to be his mother, and I will miss him more than words can ever express.
The boys and I are taking things one day at a time. Some days, it’s one hour at a time.
I have also been so fortunate to have amazing friends around me while I continue to recover from surgery. Their support has meant more than they will ever know.
Since Ian died there has been so much to do. We have cleaned out his house, and there has been the seemingly endless paperwork and notifications that come after someone dies. It can feel overwhelming, so I have learned to tackle just one thing each day.
My heart is broken beyond words, but I find comfort in imagining Ian reunited with his dad, together again after so many years apart.
Consistency with this blog hasn’t been great – but in my defense, there’s been a bit going on. And I can’t see that consistency improving in the immediate future… but we’ll see.
Putting that surgery countdown up was confronting. There’s something about seeing an actual number that makes everything feel very real, very quickly.
The problem with being a nurse is that you know just enough to be dangerous to yourself. You understand the risks, the complications, the “what ifs”… but you don’t always have the comfort of certainty. It’s a strange place to be – somewhere between knowledge and not quite knowing.
I’m very aware that I’m high risk for surgery, and if I’m honest, I’ve been quite angry at myself for that. But there’s no value in staying there. All I can do now is focus on what I can control and do everything possible to support a good recovery.
The timing has been an interesting journey in itself. My surgery was originally booked for May 18, then moved to June 3 – which, at the time, felt like a gift. More time to think, to process, to get organised, and to feel ready.
And then it moved again – forward to May 20.
My brain hasn’t quite caught up with that yet.
I had a lovely, well thought out list of everything I wanted to do beforehand. Some of it is done, some of it isn’t, and I’ve had to accept that prioritising is part of this process too.
It’s interesting where your mind goes at times like this. The things that suddenly feel important aren’t always what you would expect.
One of mine has been finishing a word doc/book I started some time ago, titled “Gone – but still telling you what to do!” – a title my boys appreciated.
It’s a collection of everything: health information, finances, practical details, letters, wishes… all the things you don’t think about until you have to. I understood the importance of it before after having lived through John’s passing, but it moved much higher up the priority list.
There’s a fine line between being prepared and not wanting to face it at all.
I have had enduring guardianship and power of attorney in place, as appropriate, for years, but I’ve now also completed a formal Advance Care Directive. The boys already know my wishes – but sometimes it’s about making things easier, not just for yourself, but for the people you love.
Reading this back, it all sounds a bit morbid.
The reality is – I fully expect to come through surgery, feel pretty awful for a while, frustrate everyone (including myself) because I can’t do what I normally do… and then gradually get strong again.
And travel.
In fact, I may have just booked another cruise for March next year – optimistically assuming the compression sleeve will be gone by then – along with the month long cruise already planned from Vancouver to Sydney via Hawaii in October.
Because if there’s one thing this has done, it’s reminded me – quite clearly – not to keep putting things off. And for me – a major procrastinator – that has been quite a lesson!
Hearing that ‘C’ word related to yourself, even in its early stages, has a way of sharpening your perspective.
So I’ve been finishing things. John’s scrapbook album, Mum’s, mine, our travel books—and now I am organising the boys’. There’s something about completing them that feels important, like closing chapters properly.
And, if I’m honest, scrap booking has also been my escape. It keeps my hands busy and my mind quiet, which is sometimes exactly what I need.
This blog was always meant to be about my journey – travel, retirement, and whatever else life decides to bring along. It seems that, for now, this is where the journey begins.
When I retired, I expected change – but I didn’t expect the wave of kindness and friendship that followed. The messages, the support, the people who have reached out and kept in touch – it has meant more than I can say.
It’s also made me aware of the quieter spaces – those I thought would stay connected who haven’t. And that’s okay. Life moves on for all of us, and I haven’t exactly been reaching out either.
And to my friends overseas, who I haven’t kept in touch with as well as I should have… I will do better. And we will meet again, in about 18 months.
Until next time – enjoy your story, wherever it takes you.
And don’t forget to tell the people you love that you do.
They say life is what happens when you’re making plans.
That couldn’t be more true in my case.
Since retiring, I’ve spent a lot of time planning the year ahead -especially around travel. I even had my next blog post written. I’d decided to move it to Facebook just for the safari, as I hadn’t had time to work out WordPress before we left.
But I didn’t get to post it. I had a doctor’s appointment.
That appointment changed everything.
I had found a lump under my arm and had briefly wondered about breast cancer, but I’d had a mammogram just five months earlier and it had been clear. I wasn’t surprised when my doctor sent me for a scan, and I decided to hold off on posting the blog – it was such a good one too! 🙂
After several scans and a biopsy, the results came back: metastatic melanoma. While I knew it wasn’t good, it took a while to really sink in that this was going to change my plans.
I am someone who tends to “hibernate” when I have something to absorb or process, so that’s what I did. I just didn’t want to “people.”
One of the hardest things was telling the boys. They had already lost their dad to leukaemia, and telling them their mother had melanoma was not easy.
Ian, as always, stepped in and took charge—organising things, taking me to appointments, making sure everything was happening as it should. Brendan is very much like me and withdraws when he needs to process things quietly. Lachlan is the opposite – he needs to talk everything through, and then talk about it again.
We all cope in our own ways.
On the day I was supposed to be flying to Singapore, Ian and I went to Westmead for my first appointment with the oncologist. My GP had suggested him, even though it meant travelling a bit further, and I’m very glad she did. I feel comfortable with the team and confident in the care I’m receiving. They did offer the option of transferring to the local hospital, but I’ve chosen to stay where I am.
We came away from that appointment feeling more positive. I won’t be having chemotherapy – which was a big fear after watching John go through it. Instead, immunotherapy has proven to be more effective for melanoma. We talked about my travel plans, among many other things, and at this stage, there is no reason I shouldn’t still be able to travel later this year – possibly even as early as August, as originally planned.
Since then, I’ve had two rounds of immunotherapy (via IV), three weeks apart. I’ve also met with the surgeon, as I will almost certainly need surgery to remove up to three “layers” of lymph nodes.
That was the first time I cried.
I had known surgery was a possibility, but in my mind it was something relatively minor – an overnight stay, maybe a couple of nights. After meeting with the surgeon, it was clear it would be a 5–6 hour operation, followed by 5+ weeks with a drain and the need to wear compression garments. For some reason, that upset me more than the diagnosis itself.
Next week brings more blood tests and another PET scan. The following Monday I see the oncologist again, and Tuesday the surgeon, so I should know more then.
So why am I back writing this blog, when it was originally meant to be a travel blog?
It seems the title proved to be more apt than I realised and while, eventually, it will still include my travel, I have decided to document the other journeys and directions my life has taken.
I am a writer – if I have something on my mind, I need to get it out of my head to help process it, and I do that by writing it down – often in the middle of the night.
So a small warning – this is how I write. There’s no artifice here. What you see is what you’ll get. At times it may be more than you expected, but it will always be honest. This is me, just as I am.
This is, in part, cathartic for me. But there is also a part of me that doesn’t want to quietly disappear. Since retiring, and for many reasons, I’ve felt a lack of connection with people, and I’m finding that a little challenging.
I also hope that, in some small way, this might help someone else – whether they are going through something similar themselves, or supporting someone who is. When John was diagnosed and going through treatment, I would have really valued hearing from someone who understood. In many ways, that was how my (still unfinished) book began – but that’s another story.
Until next time, enjoy your story—wherever it takes you.
