Hi, I’m Beverley Joy of Simply Story Poetry. I’m sharing the story of my journey into poetry for several reasons. So I won’t forget it in my old age! And to leave my story as family history for them to laugh or cry over!
The main reason is to encourage my daughters and anyone else who will linger to read it, that it is NEVER TOO LATE IN LIFE to learn the how, what, where and why of something that is of interest to you, the ‘thing’ that you are passionate about, and to stick at that something until it is accomplished to your satisfaction. Oh, and enjoy the journey along the way!
A Teenage Poet
The first rhyming song I wrote was at 13. I wrote a simple children’s song in high school for a grade 8 music exam. I barely passed English in high school, and yet I excelled in music!
I wrote a few Christian songs together with my two cousins (chopped out of the picture for privacy). With our guitars, we performed for youth groups in churches throughout my hometown of Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. I left school at 16, excited to start working full-time in the 1970s.
As a teenager, I dreamed of becoming a professional singer. I dreamt of being like Olivia Newton-John (my favourite singer). But I was too shy to pursue that career path, so playing the guitar, the piano and singing remained my favourite hobbies. I was pleasantly surprised when I recently found the original notebook containing several rhyming songs I had composed and neatly handwritten as a teenager.
I left home at 18 and moved interstate. I set my guitar aside to embrace life and love, content to sing around the campfire, at occasional weddings, and at informal karaoke sessions for fun.
Beverley Joy of Simply Story Poetry
The Wilted Rose Poet
At 30, I wrote my first poem about motherhood after my first daughter was born. I hand-wrote the short poem on a pretty card for my mum for Mother’s Day. I found that card while I was sorting through my mum’s belongings after she passed away. The Wilted Rose is the story of my family’s troubled life during my childhood. The Wilted Rose includes several poems I wrote over the years, reflecting on my childhood. It is available as an ebook.
The book tells of my mother’s life…
A budding flower surviving her youth, dreaming of a happy, fulfilling future.
Living in full bloom as a young adult woman, striving toward her life goals
Wilting in motherhood from broken dreams and tragedy.
The collection of poems ‘Wilted No More’ tells of my own life…
Living a wilted life under the shadow of my mother’s wilted life
But then, a flower bud survives to grow from the ashes
A budding flower striving as a young adult to grow into a happy, fulfilling future
Then, in midlife, she is living in full bloom and thriving.
Wilted No More is a collection of poems I wrote as my adult life unfolded. These poems cover many ups and downs of my adult life – falling in and out of love, financial wins and losses, motherhood, empty nest syndrome and my time living as a Nomad Baby Boomer.
Beverley Joy of Simply Story Poetry
A Nomad Poet
In 2009, I set off with my then-husband to live in our motorhome full-time and work when necessary as we travelled around Australia. We set off on a three-month journey that lasted three years.
I wrote most of my general poems during this period of my life. They are about nature, falling in and out of love, and motherhood. We enjoyed many picturesque locations, camped up and relaxed in the Australian bush, beside rivers, oceans and creeks, which allowed my mind to relax enough to discover and sit comfortably in my ‘poetry’ space, where I wrote many full-length poems.
I was glad to settle back in my home town after 3 years of living and travelling in a house on four wheels. I also returned to my Christian faith, which I had abandoned 30 years earlier. I completed a course in Bible Story Telling, which sparked my desire to write Bible-based poems, especially stories about women in the Bible. I was looking forward to getting away from the busyness of city life to enjoy a prolonged escape into my ‘poetry’ space again. A post-COVID plan!
Beverley Joy of Simply Story Poetry
A Prison Chaplain Poet
For two years, from 2017, I was a volunteer Prison Chaplain at the Women’s Correctional Centre, serving one day a week. I started sharing my poems with the ladies as I walked around the prison units. Each week, I would hand out select poems that blended with the conversation I was having with a woman at the time.
In 2018, I accompanied another chaplain into the Men’s Correctional Centre. I started a small guitar and singing group that provided the music for the prison chapel service we conducted once a month. I would also recite a Christian poem at each service.
I was very nervous reciting my poems to an audience. Even though I practised reciting each poem many times throughout the month, I could not remember the words and had to read from my cheat sheet. I was so nervous, I couldn’t take my eyes off my sheet for fear of losing my place or making a mistake. Both the men and the women prisoners loved my poems and were encouraged by them. I was encouraged by their positive response to my poetry.
My method of sharing my poetry was clunky, messy and time-consuming. At home, I photocopied, cut and pasted each poem into a notebook as my master copy, which I had to leave at the prison office. Then each week, once inside the prison, I would photocopy poems from my notebook to give to the prisoners as loose pieces of paper.
I started thinking of how I might publish my poems in book or booklet form, or on greeting cards, not only to make them available inside the prisons but also to the general public.
When I left prison chaplaincy, I kept my notebook of poems. It is a visual, tangible goal for me. I often flick through it, knowing that one day, soon, I will hold a published book of poetry in my hands.
Until I became a prison chaplain, I had not shared my poems with anyone outside of a few, with my husband, family, and close friends. I was too nervous to share my poetry with the public. I didn’t think anyone would be interested. I felt frustrated and selfish that I had this gift, this talent, that flowed out of me, but I was too shy to share it. I would freeze up at the thought of it.
It was time to release myself from my own prison of fear and move toward my goal of sharing my poetry with the world…
Beverley Joy of Simply Story Poetry
Image – zenosfrudakis.com/freedo “I wanted to create a sculpture almost anyone, regardless of their background, could look at and instantly recognize that it is about the idea of struggling to break free. This sculpture is about the struggle for achievement of freedom through the creative process.” – Zenos Frudakis
The Book Worm Poet
Since I was a teenager, I have dreamt of running my own business. I joined a Network Marketing Company at 18. Over the next three decades, I joined and left many times, each time following small successes. Marriage and motherhood took priority in my life because they were the love of my life.
By 2018, my children were now independent young adults pursuing their career goals. Time was ticking on. My teenage dream was pressing me to turn it into a goal. It was now or never. Over the previous two years, I completed a Diploma and a Cert 4 bolstered my self-confidence. I was very nervous, but I started to believe I could be a successful businesswoman because I had gained professional knowledge and skills.
During 2018, I read some professional development books. I knew that I had to become a business-minded person. How do successful business people think? What work habits do they have? How do I change my thinking patterns?
My confidence and desire grew to the point that I formally shared my poetry with the world. I created the business name Simply Story Poetry and wrote the first draft of a poem explaining the who, what, and why of my future business. I already had plenty of content (poems). Now it was time to learn how to share them.
I knew very little about websites, but I learnt online how to basically set up my first website with WordPress. At least now I had a basic online presence, thanks to the ‘help’ sections and YouTube ‘help’ videos.
I had no knowledge of online book publishing, so I had to learn about it. So many questions running around my head like how would I present my poetry – as an ebook or print-to-order? What would my books look like – large or small, with or without artwork? Colour or black and white? Who would buy my poetry? Why would someone buy my poetry – for personal devotion purposes or to give as a gift? Would I sell them through a shopfront or sell them online?
I was nervous and overwhelmed by all the information about running a business. I needed to learn the mechanics of running a business. I needed a mentor. I needed moral support…
Beverley Joy of Simply Story Poetry
The Duo Poets
At the beginning of 2019, I moved 800 km north to the picturesque seaside township of Yeppoon, Central Queensland, Australia, where my brother, his wife, and their family lived. I lived with them for a few months until I started a part-time job for Yeppoon Beach House, the local Backpackers’ Hostel, owned by my sister-in-law’s nephew and managed by my brother’s old neighbour. I was able to rent a small unit from my sister-in-law’s niece. It’s who you know, not necessarily what you know, in a small country town! I was so thankful for their help.
My brother, Doug, and I started singing and playing our guitars on Friday nights at the Backpackers Hostel to entertain the guests. I changed the lyrics of well-known songs to personalise their messages and reflect the events at the hostel. It was a lot of fun laughing and singing around the fire pit.
Both my brother and I wrote some original songs, which we performed as well. A talent that had been dormant within each of us had ignited. I had not composed a song for over five years. Once Doug started composing that year, he couldn’t be stopped. He composed quite a few beautiful ballads and continues to write.
Soon, I hope he will let me publish them for him or with him. Next year, in 2022, after I have published all my old poetry, I plan to compose and publish the few songs I wrote that year. Then compose more poems into songs, as well as continue writing poetry. Recording my songs will draw on a whole new level of courage.
We also led the singing at our local church. I played the guitar, and Doug played his African drums. After a few months, my hands grew stiff with joint pain, and I had to stop playing the guitar. I plan to go back to playing the keyboard, my preferred instrument.
Beverley Joy of Simply Story Poetry
The Learning Curve of a Simple Story Poet
Still living in Yeppoon through 2019, my teenage dream of running my own business felt like a nightmare that was overwhelming me. But the time had come to turn the dream into an action goal.
I started my journey by studying Certificate 4 in New Small Business to gain the necessary knowledge and develop fundamental business skills. While I learned, the NEIS (New Enterprise Incentive Scheme) program in Australia provided a business mentor for 1 year to support and hold me accountable.
So, now as a mature woman, I was off and running toward my teenage dream. First, I had to define my business idea, centred around my wordsmith skills. This was achieved by developing a detailed Business Plan. As a mature woman, it gave me a fresh lease on life after divorce and Empty Nest Syndrome.
While studying, I secured a 1-year role as a Relief Manager at a boutique Backpackers Hostel in the picturesque seaside township of Yeppoon, Queensland, Australia. This was a huge confidence builder for me. This line of work gave me hands-on experience of what it was like to be responsible as a solo business manager. Being responsible for everything, making decisions and being accountable. Sure, I made a few mistakes, but overall I enjoyed it and succeeded.
February 2020 After my year of work finished, I returned to my home town to visit my family. Two weeks after returning to Brisbane, the Coronavirus shut down the world. March and April were spent in lockdown, with family members and a dear friend, living out of one small suitcase of summer clothes and my laptop.
Thinking that Covid would be a temporary glitch in my plan, I put aside my business plan for the time being and spent lockdown studying an online course with Authentic Education on how to write and self-publish a non-fiction book. As the lockdown months rolled on, I wrote the first draft of my adult life story. It was not easy for me to break out of the short sentence structure of my poetic writing style. This exercise clarified my passion and love for writing poetry. I wanted my story told in story form, so I handed my raw, amateur draft to Kate Kelsen, a passionate and established author, to rewrite it into a novel. She wrote my mother’s life story into the book The Wilted Rose in late 2021.
Still, in and out of lockdown, I spent the last few months of 2020 completing several online courses by Ted McGrath to learn how to market myself online. I was encouraged by this course as it taught a storytelling model of marketing by explaining how to connect with my audience whilst remaining authentic, being myself, and sharing my personality through my marketing. Although I felt vulnerable about putting myself out there publicly, this was the marketing style I knew I would feel comfortable and confident using.
I was ready to come out from behind my poetry desk and tell the world who I was and what I had to offer through my wordsmith skills, why and how much I wanted to send ripples of encouragement to the world through my poetry. As a New Year’s Eve resolution, I re-read one of my favourite motivational books, ‘The Artist’s Way’ by Julia Cameron. Then, I posted two existing poems each week throughout 2021. I worked part-time as an in-home Aged Care worker while posting one new poem weekly throughout 2022.
May my poetry send you ripples of encouragement.
Beverley Joy of Simply Story Poetry
The Poet Who Fought Cancer
In March 2023, I bought a car, met a wonderful man, and started a new relationship at 62. While my cousin, a mechanic, worked on my car, I shared a new poem each week. I also composed twelve of my favourite poems to music. My latest relationship inspired me to write a few love poems, too.
In April, I took the train to visit my brother and his wife in Yeppoon, Central Queensland, for the Easter long weekend. We celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary and Sue’s 60th birthday. After the eight-hour train ride from Brisbane to Rockhampton, my back hurt a lot. I spent most of the weekend in bed, dealing with sharp pain and unable to help with preparations, which was unusual and frustrating for me.
In May, I packed up my car in Brisbane and drove south to Lismore, Northern New South Wales, to be closer to my boyfriend. I put a deposit on a one-bedroom flat in the middle of town. Each week, I drove back to Brisbane for work, bringing more of my things with me on the return trips. I also started looking for new Aged Care clients in Lismore. Life felt good and busy, even though my back pain was getting worse. The long drives were getting harder, but I was so excited about this new stage in my life that I pushed through and kept going.
On Monday, June 12th, my pain became so bad that I couldn’t work. I cancelled my clients for a few days to rest. On Tuesday, I saw my doctor in Brisbane to find out what was causing the pain and how to treat it so I could get back to work and enjoy my new life in Lismore. On Wednesday, I had a spine scan, but the pain was so severe that I could barely get on and off the Exam bed. On Thursday, my doctor called me in urgently, but I waited until after visiting my daughter, Bronwyn. On Friday, he told me my L3 was damaged and I needed to go to the hospital emergency clinic right away. I chose to wait until after my family reunion lunch on Sunday. That day, a hospital doctor called and told me to come to the emergency clinic as soon as possible.
On Monday, June 19th, my brother and his wife drove me to the emergency clinic because I was in too much pain to take the bus. I was seen quickly and told I would be admitted to the hospital because my L3 was filled with a Myeloma cancer tumour. I had to stay in bed and was admitted right away. I called my daughter, Bronwyn, in tears. She was shocked and came straight to the hospital to comfort me and get more information. I couldn’t stop crying. My thoughts were muddled. She called all my work clients to cancel my appointments and let my family and friends know what was happening. I also cancelled the flat I was supposed to move into the following week.
The doctors gave me strong pain medicine while the Oncology and Orthopaedic teams ran many tests and a whole-body MRI to decide who should treat me first. Bronwyn and I waited anxiously while they discussed whether the Oncologist should use radiation on my L3 to kill the cancer or if I needed a spinal fusion to support my spine. They also worried that radiation might make my spine collapse. In the end, they decided to do a spinal fusion from T12 to L5 first, then follow up with radiation treatment.
On Monday, July 3rd, the spinal surgery went well. I stayed in the hospital for 19 days. At first, I wasn’t sure if I would ever walk on my own again. Thankfully, I went from using a wheelchair to a walker, and then to strolling by myself. We were finally able to thank the doctors, nurses, and staff before we left. We rented a wheelchair and a walker for the next month.
On Tuesday, July 11th, Bronwyn drove me three hours down the coast to Byron Bay, NSW. I lay back on pillows in the car to protect my back, which was still healing from surgery. She booked us into a beautiful treehouse in the quiet hills of Byron Bay, where I spent a month recovering while she looked after me. I could do little except rest and sleep. Even with strong pain medicine, my back still felt like I was lying on a bed of nails. My thoughts were fuzzy and dull. Music and people’s voices were distorted in my hearing.
On Monday, August 7th, my eldest daughter, Kate-Lyn, drove me to her place on the Gold Coast, Queensland, where I stayed for a week so Bronwyn could take a much-needed break. After that, I went back to Brisbane to stay with Bronwyn while I had five weeks of daily radiation. Luckily, she lived only ten minutes from the hospital. During this time, I started learning French on my phone, hoping to visit Paris one day. As my thoughts cleared, I was able to read books, which I devoured while I continued to rest and heal. One day, I sat alone in Bronwyn’s lounge room and began to cry uncontrollably. What would my future be like now? I could do the bare minimum physically. I felt stripped of my old life, which had been stolen from me. I was angry. It was not fair. I still had so much living I wanted to do. I felt empty, numb and useless. I care for other people, not people caring for me.
Friday, September 15th, was my last day of radiation. Blood tests showed there were still a few cancer cells in my L3, but the doctor said it was early and the radiation would keep working after treatment. Bronwyn and I looked back on the past three months, feeling like we had come out of a nightmare. On Saturday morning, she took me to the airport and helped me board a flight to Rockhampton, where I would stay with my brother and his wife until I was strong enough to live on my own again. That evening, Bronwyn left Australia to live in Paris with her boyfriend.
The long scar on my back was healing well, with no infection. The sharp pain had faded to a constant ache and tightness across my back. Even though I was still exhausted, I was grateful to walk around the house and cook again. My brother lived near the beach, but my back hurt too much to walk on the sand, so beach walks would have to wait a bit longer.
In November, I tried to work part-time for an Aged Care client, but my back pain forced me to stop. I flew to Brisbane to pick up my car after repairs, then drove up the coast to Yeppoon with my daughter, Kate-Lyn. We spent a few relaxing days in a country cottage at Gin Gin. One evening, we sat on the front verandah and watched a thunderstorm light up the sky. It was a perfect holiday. Kate-Lyn was busy writing her current novel, and I wrote the beginning of a poem about my cancer experience. Once we reached Yeppoon, Kate-Lyn flew home to the Gold Coast. I always miss my daughters when we are apart.
In December, I flew to the Gold Coast to spend Christmas week with Kate-Lyn. Afterwards, I took a bus to Lismore to visit my boyfriend. I felt eager and hopeful to regain my strength and move on from the cancer experience.
In January 2024, I flew back to Yeppoon to house sit for my brother while he and his wife went on a well-deserved cruise. I started applying for house-sitting jobs in March in Northern New South Wales. Over the past five months, I wrote several poems about my cancer journey. Bronwyn returned to Brisbane from Paris after becoming seriously ill and needing to come home to recover.
In February, five months after my radiation treatment ended, I was excited to start my new life after cancer. I took a relaxed three-day drive from Rockhampton to Brisbane, stopping in towns like Seventeen Seventy, Bundaberg, Maryborough and Redcliffe. Then I continued down the coast to Yamba, New South Wales, and treated myself to a few days at the historic Yamba Hotel, right on the beachfront cliff overlooking the ocean. This was the start of my new life in NSW. I wasn’t well enough to return to Aged Care work yet, but I was happy to arrange six months of house-sitting jobs around the northern beaches of NSW. My back still ached, but I was willing to wait for it to heal and for my muscles to get stronger so I could return to work later in the year.
I drove up the coast from Yamba to Eltham to start my first house sit. Unfortunately, the homeowner backed into my car, damaging the rear bumper. The car was still drivable, held together with duct tape. For two weeks, I sat on their verandah overlooking the valley and taught myself how to make an ebook. I uploaded all my poems to the platform, ready for a final edit later. I felt excited and proud. It had always been my dream to see my poems in a book.
In March, I started driving to Brisbane to pack up my things before my next house sit. As I entered Brisbane on the highway, I heard a loud bang from the front of my car. At first, I thought it was a flat tyre, but then I realised it was coming from the engine. Somehow, I managed to cross four lanes of heavy traffic and pull into a car park. My heart was pounding. Thank goodness the car didn’t stop in the middle of the traffic. In a panic, I rang roadside assistance. The mechanic told me that two out of three engine mount bolts had snapped clean off, which he had never seen before. I was very nervous and stressed as I slowly drove the car a few kilometres to my cousin, Phil, who is a mechanic. By then, my back pain was intense. I left the car with him to have a temporary fix done overnight.
I drove to the hospital for my scheduled six-month MRI and blood tests. Sadly, the radiation hadn’t killed all the cancer cells, but the number was still low, and the doctors planned to monitor it closely. The cancer hadn’t spread beyond my L3, which was unusual for this type of blood cancer, but we were grateful it hadn’t spread further. I slowly packed up my things at my eldest brother’s house, where I’d lived for two years. I planned to hire a van to move everything to a shed in Lismore until I finished my six months of house sitting. Lifting and twisting made my back and hip extremely sore, so I told my Oncology doctor about the pain in my hip.
In April, my car was fixed properly and ready to drive again. I made several trips between Lismore and Brisbane, but my back was very sore and I felt tired from shifting gears. I realised I needed to sell my manual car and buy an automatic.
In May, I hired a van, and my boyfriend helped me move my things to a storage shed in Lismore. I sold my car to my nephew and bought Kate-Lyn’s automatic car, since she was leaving for a year overseas. I enjoyed a two-week house sit back in Yamba. It was a busy time, driving around the area exploring the different towns along the way.
During June, July, and August, while house-sitting, I made many trips between Lismore and Brisbane to visit my ageing father, go to hospital appointments, and have my six-month MRI. My boyfriend and I enjoyed many happy times together.
In September, I drove to Brisbane for blood tests. Bronwyn came with me to Centrelink to apply for a Disability Pension. We were worried that my back pain and mobility hadn’t improved much over the past year, and now my upper back was hurting too. I was disappointed to realise I wouldn’t be able to work enough hours to afford to live and pay rent. The next day, Bronwyn came with me to see the Oncology doctor. He told us the cancer had spread to my hip and spine. It was now called Multiple Myeloma and needed Chemotherapy to stop it from growing. Thankfully, the cancer spots were small and were discovered early. The doctor wanted to start treatment straight away, but since Bronwyn was going overseas for a month, he reluctantly agreed to wait until she returned.
Bronwyn and I were shocked and discouraged to learn the cancer had returned. We hadn’t expected it at all. I stayed at Bronwyn’s that night, then drove back to Lismore the next day to continue my house sit. Later, I returned to Brisbane for a bone marrow biopsy to confirm the type of cancer, then went back to Lismore. Bronwyn left for her overseas trip.
On Thursday, October 3rd, I drove to Brisbane for blood tests. Afterwards, I went to the emergency department because my upper back was in severe pain. I screamed when I tried to lie down on the exam bed. The X-ray didn’t show anything, and even though I told them I was a cancer patient, the young doctor just gave me two Panadol and sent me home. Somehow, I managed to drive back to the house in Coomera. On Friday, I returned to the hospital for another test on my way to my nephew’s wedding in Brisbane, but I had to leave early. I was in pain all day, and my medication wasn’t helping. On Saturday, my shoulder muscles started spasming. I rested all weekend, but the pain and spasms didn’t stop.
On Monday, I woke up and couldn’t get out of bed. In distress, I rolled onto the floor and called 000 for an ambulance. I couldn’t even reach my handbag on the shelf. The ambulance officers told me to crawl to the front door and unlock it, which I did while gasping in pain. They arrived in 15 minutes. I couldn’t speak clearly. They gave me fentanyl so they could move me onto the stretcher and into the ambulance. Every movement made me scream as my muscles kept spasming. At Robina Hospital, a CT scan showed that my T8 was fractured by a tumour.
The next day, I was transferred to my regular hospital in Brisbane. Now my front rib was also in severe pain. A CT scan showed that the T8 had fractured and was filled with a tumour, and there were small cancer spots on my upper spine (T10 and T12), hips, back rib, and right front rib. Thankfully, a whole-body MRI didn’t show cancer anywhere else. In tears, I cancelled all my current and future house sits. I called Bronwyn in Germany and Kate-Lyn in Ireland to tell them. I insisted that they not come home early, since there was nothing they could do while I was in the hospital. All hope drained from me. I just wanted to be alone for a while to come to grips with what I had to face. ‘I should be there to support my daughters. I’m too young to be an invalid.’ I wanted to be a healthy mum, unlike my mother, who was mentally ill my whole life. (Read my story, The Wilted Rose.) I started the first of four 28-day cycles of chemotherapy. Soon, I became very nauseous, lost my appetite, and lost 10 kilos over the following weeks.
On the 21st, I had a week of daily radiation on my T8, which helped reduce my upper back pain. The day after finishing radiation, my cousin Phil picked me up and drove me to my cousin Shae’s place outside Brisbane, where I stayed for another week until Bronwyn returned from overseas. During that week, Shae and her husband, Scot took me to Brisbane for a follow-up with the Oncology doctor and my weekly Chemotherapy injection.
In November, after leaving the hospital, I was finally able to return to my last house sit and collect my things. On the way, my car’s alternator broke, leaving Phil and me stranded by the road. I called the homeowner and roadside assistance, crying and asking for help. I was in a lot of pain as we waited for Shae and Scot to pick us up and take me to get my belongings. The homeowner seemed annoyed that I had kept her waiting. I was speechless when she showed no sympathy after I explained I’d been in the hospital for cancer treatment. Instead, she told me how I had inconvenienced her daughter and herself during their holiday. I cried on the way back. The tears flooded out. The emotional weight of the whole ordeal overtook me.
Bronwyn came back from overseas and picked me up from Shae’s house. I left both my old and newer cars there, since my niece planned to buy the old one and my nephew the newer one. After my treatment, I would buy an automatic car. We went to the hospital for blood tests, then to the Leukaemia Foundation Units at Dutton Park, Brisbane, which were close by. We would live there for about eight months during my treatment. I only had one suitcase of summer clothes from my house sit. My boyfriend brought up some clothes from my shed. We had an enjoyable lunch together. But what would our relationship look like now? Would I ever be able to house sit or work again? How long would I be in Brisbane having treatment? Would I be able to drive again? It was an awkward goodbye.
I started the first cycle of daily Chemotherapy tablets, along with weekly hospital visits for blood tests, injections, and checkups. Nausea and constipation became constant struggles. Every day, my daughter urged me to ‘eat something.’ It was a daily challenge to find food that wouldn’t make me feel sick. I had to take more tablets to manage the side effects. I ticked off each day on my calendar. Patience, tolerance and inner strength are all my weary brain could focus on. My brain was fuzzy, dull and foggy. I couldn’t read books, so I listened to audiobooks on Mindfulness. I was determined to cope better with this attack of cancer. I had a Stem Cell Transplant due in April next year.
Twice that month, Bronwyn had to call an ambulance to take me to the hospital because of severe side effects from the chemotherapy. She stayed by my side, knitting to calm her nerves. Even though we had read all the pamphlets and listened to the doctors, we never knew how we would feel from week to week.
In December, I started the second cycle of daily Chemotherapy and weekly hospital visits. Nausea, fatigue, and constipation felt like they would never end. As a Christmas treat, we bought some mature plants for our verandah, since our view was just a construction site. Bronwyn eagerly learned how to care for them using Google.
January 2026. Cycle 3 of daily Chemotherapy medication and weekly hospital visits continued, as did the nausea and constipation. The fingers, arm, and foot on my left side became numb and tingly. This side effect of the Chemotherapy worried the doctors. When my tongue and mouth also went numb and tingly, I was sent for a CT scan and an MRI of my brain. Fortunately, I got the all clear, but the doctors stopped the Chemotherapy medication to avoid permanent nerve damage. No cancer was found in my body from the blood tests, but the doctors wanted me to have a large single dose of Chemotherapy followed by a Stem Cell Transplant. Even though the blood tests showed no cancer, there could still be a small number of cells in my blood. The evidence showed that this would give me the best chance of long-term remission.
In February, I felt much better after stopping the Chemotherapy. We were proud and relieved to have finished the first stage of treatment. To celebrate and get out of the city, Bronwyn and I took a short trip to Mount Tamborine before the next stage—a Stem Cell Transplant. It felt wonderful to leave the unit and have enough energy to get off the couch. We shopped for more plants and clothes, ate out, and relaxed by the fireplace on cool evenings. Bronwyn played the ukulele, and we sang pop songs together. I bought two long, flowing dresses—a new style for me. We visited op shops, and I picked up headscarves, more dresses, and boots. I was building a winter wardrobe, knowing I would soon lose my hair. I wanted to make that time as pleasant as possible and feel beautiful, even without hair.
Back to reality, I received a moderate dose of Chemotherapy through an IV. A week later, Bronwyn had to call an ambulance again because I was very sick from the side effects. Since I was scheduled for Stem Cell extraction the next day, the doctors admitted me to the cancer ward. Blood tests showed a bacterial infection in my central line, so it had to be removed after the first day of extraction. On the second day, I had IVs in both arms to finish the process. I laughed and swallowed my pride as two male nurses helped me eat and go to the bathroom all day. ‘Ok, let’s do this,’ I said, accepting the situation. The nurses were very professional. My two bags of Stem Cells were sent to the hospital freezer to be thawed and returned to my bloodstream after the high-dose Chemotherapy.
In March, I woke up and ran my hands through my hair, only to find a handful had come out. I didn’t expect to lose my hair so soon. I got out of bed and made my way to the shower, still feeling sick and tired from the Chemotherapy. As I washed my hair, more and more came out until most of it was in a clump over the drain. I went back to bed and called Bronwyn, crying. “My hair has fallen out.” She was out shopping but pulled over to cry before coming home. Her friend soon arrived with a hair-shaving kit. I asked Bronwyn to “Shave it all off.” We took photos and videos, laughing and crying together.
It was time to embrace my new look and wear my new wardrobe.
To prepare for the high-dose Chemotherapy, I had an Echo, respiratory tests, an ECG, blood tests, a chest X-ray, and a bone marrow biopsy. All the tests showed I was healthy enough to continue. However, the procedure was delayed by two weeks because bacteria were found in the frozen bag of my Stem Cells.
In April, a central line was put into my chest. The next day, I received a large dose of Chemotherapy. The day after that, my Stem Cells were thawed and transplanted back into me. Two days later, on Friday, I went back to the hospital for blood tests and a checkup. On Sunday, I became ill with the same side effects as before, so Bronwyn called an ambulance again, and I was admitted to the hospital.
The doctors and nurses warned me that this week would be the hardest for side effects. I expected vomiting and diarrhoea, which I had a little of, but instead, I was hit with waves of pain from my chest to my feet. I screamed in pain. The nurse gave me Fentanyl and other opioids, but nothing helped. Bronwyn had to watch me suffer, unable to do anything. The pain would come and go. The nurse said he’d never seen anything like it, though strange things can happen after Chemotherapy. On the third day, he called a code blue, and a pain specialist came to help. I had daily blood tests, a CT scan, and an MRI of my torso and legs, but nothing unusual was found. By the end of the week, the pain had faded and didn’t return. The central line was removed, and I was cleared to go home.
In May, I had another ambulance trip to the emergency room and spent a few days in the hospital because of severe Chemotherapy side effects. I continued with weekly blood tests and appointments with my Oncology and Stem Cell doctors. I also met with a Social Worker to talk about where I would live after leaving the Leukaemia Foundation Unit. Since I had been house-sitting full-time before my second cancer diagnosis, I didn’t have a permanent address. I was very worried. Would I be well enough to care for myself? Could I find somewhere affordable near the hospital and public transport? I didn’t want to drive until I felt much better.
In June, I went to the Look Good, Feel Great workshop for cancer patients. I met other women at different stages of treatment. We chatted and laughed while trying on wigs and enjoying donated skincare and makeup.
I continued with weekly Haematology appointments, as well as visits to the Pain Clinic and a Psychologist. Bronwyn and I had two weeks to pack and move out of the unit since my treatment was finished. I found a shared unit just a few days before moving out. I moved my things in, but couldn’t get the keys until the end of the week, so I stayed in an Airbnb until the paperwork was done.
In July, my father passed away at age 95 in an aged care home. We knew it would happen soon, but it was still more sudden than we expected. My stepmum, her son, and I were with him when he died. My brother flew down from Central Queensland. Together, my brothers, stepmum, and I arranged the burial and memorial services. I felt overwhelmed by everything that week. My left arm went numb, and my fingers and toes started tingling again.
We held the graveside service on Friday, and I moved into my new unit on Saturday. By Sunday, I was so sick I didn’t think I’d make it to the memorial service on Monday. If I’d told Bronwyn how bad I felt, she would have called an ambulance, but I stayed in bed all day with the same symptoms I had during Chemotherapy: diarrhoea, chills, nausea, and fatigue. On the day of the service, I forced myself out of bed, got dressed, and took an Uber to the church. I had to sit the whole afternoon, too weak to stand. Afterwards, I went back to the unit and collapsed into bed for another day. The rest of the month was filled with my usual weekly Oncology appointments.
In August, six weeks after moving into the unit, I had to move out. My flatmate had lied to me. He said he was a full-time social worker who didn’t drink or use drugs, but he turned out to be an alcoholic and drug addict. He made noise all night, broke glasses, slammed doors, and ate my food. The unit smelled of smoke and alcohol. I moved into a townhouse with a quiet student nurse as my new flatmate. After unpacking, I took a bus to Lismore for a week to see friends. I was sick for two weeks after coming home. The travel and activity were too much, too soon. I took a train to the Sunshine Coast to go camping with a friend for a weekend, then a bus to house-sit at my cousin’s place west of Brisbane for a week. I was disappointed that my body couldn’t handle so much travel and activity.
In September, October, and November, my Oncology appointments moved to monthly. My hair is growing back curly, which is a pleasant change from my previous straight hair. Unfortunately, the Chemotherapy didn’t eliminate my grey hairs.
Life is getting back to normal, or at least a new normal. Life is very different on the other side of cancer. Although all the cancer cells have been killed off, the damage to my spine and ribs remains. Each day is a learning curve of what I can and cannot do. My pace of life is much slower, all to avoid excruciating pain or breaks in my spine and ribs. These changes demand a lot of patience and acceptance. I feel like I have been robbed of my life, and I’m living a half-life that is foreign to me. It’s challenging to live in a fast-paced world focused on productivity and achievement when I can’t reach big goals like I used to. I just have to accept that small goals will suffice.
Simply Story Poetry 