My studies were not progressing brilliantly, but the notes which
My friends regularly brought to me were an enormous
help. They kept me in contact with the rate at which my subjects
were being covered, and I had access to my sister's H.S.C. notes
and summaries from my next-door neighbour.
There was still that chance of success.
My parents were conscious of the situation that my friends were placing themselves in, and made every effort to make them feel comfortable. Each time they visited me, they
received an introductory talk in the front lounge room on how
I had been, and what was happening to me. This saved them
possible embarrassment, and made their stay less traumatic for
everyone.
A parking ticket was our introduction to the Peter MacCallum
Institute on June 4 1976. The assessment by a variety of clerks
and cancer experts had taken all day, as we were shuffled from
waiting room to waiting room, along sickly green corridors. The
car sat still in the shadows of the building for too long. To make
matters worse, it was covered in the dust kicked up by
construction workers. My mother and I were weary and
annoyed.
Over the next four weeks, I was to make alternate visits to
Peter MacCallum and the Alfred Hospital. During this time, my skull and
spine would be treated with radiation and chemicals,
respectively.
