Tag: Melanoma

My solar powered watch

My solar-powered watch stopped working today. How could that be? The sun has been out every day for the past month and temperatures have soared into the mid 30s for days on end. I know it has been really hot because my air-con has been running almost non-stop for weeks. Ironically, the sun powers the air-conditioning via solar panels on the roof, yet it seems to have trouble charging my watch.

I know many people who love the heat. I’m just not one of them. Heat triggers my migraines, and I feel sluggish and uncomfortable when I go outside. Most days I work from the office, where the air-conditioning is turned up so high that I had to find a shop that sold woollen cardigans in the middle of summer. I dare not leave the house without it lest I freeze. Shopping centres, theatres and libraries are no better. The temperature can drop by 20 degrees when entering an establishment. This oddity reminds me of going to Europe in winter, where they turn up the heat so high that going to a café feels like entering a sauna. It seems we can’t get temperature regulation right.

Since Peter’s diagnosis with melanoma, I’ve been terrified of being out in the sun. For the record, that’s called heliophobia. Helio- from the Greek word Helios which means sun and phobia, also from the Greek, meaning excessive fear, in case you were wondering about its etymology. Yet even before Peter’s diagnosis, I wasn’t much of an outdoor girl. I could never cultivate a tan and burn far too easily. To the best of my knowledge, peeling skin has never been considered attractive. Maybe this has contributed to my nocturnal habits.

My watch is still at its 6:45pm impasse. Putting it under a lamp hasn’t brought it back to life. I’m now wondering how often I go outside during the day. The answer is, not that often. I walk the dog early and then again at sunset. I guess that’s not enough sunlight to recharge my watch. Maybe, like me, it’s suffering from a chronic vitamin D deficiency.

Melbourne Cup Day

Sirius, Melbourne Cup winner 1944

Roger could recite every Melbourne Cup winner going back to his birth year, 1944. It was his favourite party trick. Starting with Sirius, he could name them all and knew details about most. He loved horses, had a fervent interest in racing carnivals, but never had a bet. The last horse to be committed to his phenomenal memory was Verry Elleegant, the first horse to ever win the Melbourne Cup from barrier 18.

While I admired his passion, I could never reconcile the love of horses with racing. My heart broke every time I heard about an accident on the field. These horses rarely survive. It also seems to me that we don’t need to encourage betting in a nation that has the greatest per capita losses from gambling worldwide.

The day that Dunaden won the Melbourne Cup is seared into my memory. My husband, Peter, was returning to work after several months on sick leave. He had a part of his lung removed after we discovered that his Melanoma had spread. Things were going well; he felt better and was looking forward to returning to work. We dared to be optimistic.

I received a muffled phone call at about 10am on Cup Day. He was calling from the waiting room of the hospital where he had received his previous treatments. ‘I’m alright,’ he said in the way he did when he wanted to shield me from distress. I had to prise the details out of him, the way I always did when I needed to know the truth.

‘I wasn’t feeling well on the train and when I got off, I collapsed. People helped me up and eventually I had enough strength to walk to the medical centre. They sent me straight to hospital.’

At that moment, I knew. I knew we were at the starting post of a race against time and the odds were stacked against us. It was a race we would never win, no matter how much I pleaded with the specialists. We were riding on their mercy and time was running out. I didn’t believe in miracles, but I dared to hope. I dared to hope for Christmas, then New Year.  After that, I hoped for our daughter’s birthday and our wedding anniversary. He never made it to either. The race had run its course.

Melbourne Cup Day makes me anxious. I am taken back to these dark times of loss. The loss of a partnership of over two decades, the loss of innocence for my daughter, and the loss of a deep love. I am also reminded of a more recent loss, that of losing a second chance at love with a man whose joyful connection to the Melbourne Cup is all the more lamentable now that he too has run his final race. Yet I can’t help but feel grateful to have accompanied both of my valiant men on their final stretch to the finish line.