The First Year

 

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The First Year

By Lisa G Hunter

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Winter

Outside

Our new house is on a hill overlooking the main road, some 60 meters away. Outside the glass door, is a wheelbarrow stacked high with firewood. I step out, picking up a few split logs for the wood heater. From the deck I can see a solitary car move slowly past. I wonder if the driver can see me, disheveled in my fresh-out-of-bed state. The car’s red paint flickers between the tree trunks and disappears. A few birds contribute to the dawn chorus. Otherwise it’s quiet.

I turn. The trimmed lawn is a rich vivid green, forming a civilized carpet between the house and the dam. Mist rises from the surface of the water. The chilled air bites my skin. There are no clouds, and the dawn light reflects off the tops of the trees. Beyond, the wild bushland looms, dark, thick with bracken undergrowth and tree trunks.

Inside

When we moved in, almost three years ago, we placed book shelves against the feature wall in the lounge room to subdue the strong, mustard-yellow colour, which we didn’t really like.

Eventually, we realised by moving the bookshelves to the opposite wall, we would have more room to move, and the room would look warmer. The paprika-coloured couch now has its back to the mustard yellow. Entering the room, the first impression is of dark brown bookshelves against an insipid white plaster. Turning into the room a rich pallet of spicy colours takes focus, strong enough not to need a print on the wall.

I have an ambivalent relationship with the colour scheme. While I spend hours re-imagining the decor, on a cold winter day I can’t imagine a colour-scheme as warm and welcoming as the one we have.

Objects

Downsizing seemed like a good idea. We carefully selected the items we would place in our new home: the special things which would form the crux of our new life. The square, eight-seater dining table, the sideboard, the huge white dresser to hold the crockery and the small pine dresser to hold the glassware and porcelain plates.

My beloved pair of Baltic pine Victorian book cases were too tall, so they were swapped for flat-pack shelves in black-brown. Choosing to encourage visitors by having a guest room, we tried to fit two large studies into one small room. The rest would have to be stored in the Bungalow for sorting and selling or giving away.


Actions

I take my camera to the bushland behind our house. It’s scrubby, with small, twisted eucalyptus trees surrounded by thick, ferny, bracken fronds. A track clinging to the boundary, cleared wide enough to drive a car around, allows safe walking. The bush in the centre is unexplored. I worry about snakes, spiders and other biting insects which are probably hiding in the undergrowth.

The first photographs are wide-angled shots of tree trunks. Some focus on the texture of the bark, others on the height of the tree, including the canopy. The more artistic ones focus on a well-lit bracken frond. Mostly, they’re photos of paths blocked, dense growth, skies obscured, earth covered by dead leaves.

I resolve to take a daily walk around the track, leaving my camera in the house.

Reflections

I walk three times a day. I begin to shed layers accumulated while commuting from our former home to the city for work. Stress lifts, kilograms fall and my mind drifts.

The amorphous mass of trees and bracken begins to transform. I find landmarks: the broken trunk, the skull shaped hollow, the branch with twisted bark. Each day, the colours change with the light. Every now and then, I notice a flower. Each day, something different catches my eye. Details emerge.

People

She posed the question smoothly, with a smile, in the same tone of voice she would use to request help in preparing a meal. Do you have any butter? Can I put this plate on the table?

“Will you leave this place to me when you die?”

Our easy banter was severed. Death and money were taboo subjects in my family. I laughed to cover my shock at her rudeness.

Miscalculating my thoughts, she pressed the point, as if I would melt at the thought. “I would benefit.” She smiled too sweetly, her eyes crinkling too much, her smile frozen. She clearly thought her benefit would be my only concern. I thought about her siblings, and my siblings. I didn’t plan on dying for many years, and if I did, there would be many who would be considered. It would never be to one — whichever one.

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Spring

Inside

The sideboard next to the dining table is covered with photographs given to us by family. Each photo is encased in a differently styled frame, chosen by the giver. None of them match. Among the faces is a sketchy black and white ultrasound of Tanner, before he was born. The frame is white, and in pink writing beneath the photograph it says ‘Love You Nanna’. I remember I cried when this was given to me. My stepson’s new wife included me unquestionably and this was a new experience for me.

Outside

Our knowledgeable friend is doing an Orchid survey on our land. I tell her not to bother. We don’t have any orchids. I’ve been walking around the track for months now, and there are hardly any flowers.

Carefully she inches up the path, staring at the ground intently. Following her pointing hand, I see tiny round leaves the size of a drawing pin head. Singly, or in groups, they seem to cover the ground. Distinctions in shape, colour and edge indicate different species. It seems we have Australian Terrestrial Orchids growing everywhere - Greenhoods, Helmets, Mayflys, Mosquitos, Blunthoods are all flowering now, and to come are Waxlips, Tigers, Rabbit-ears, Pink Fingers, Suns and probably more.

Our knowledgeable friend can tell all of this from the leaves I have been walking on, day after day, without noticing. I bring my camera out again.

People

“We can’t tell you anything officially for a week, until the results come in. However, three of us, the surgeon, the radiologist and myself have had a chat about the ultrasound. We all agree it looks nasty. We think you need to prepare yourself for bad news.” The nurse gave me an encouraging smile, indicating they were all there to help me.

So began my breast cancer diagnosis. I’d never had a mammogram before and as far as I knew I was healthy.

After the options and processes were explained, I went back to the cubicle and changed from the white dressing gown into my clothes. Emotionally, I didn’t feel anything. My head was filled with a To Do list of preparatory tasks.

Objects

For more than twenty years, we have been carting books which used to belong to Richard’s mother from house to house without really looking at them.

Trying to sort out the Bungalow, I pull a box of books out from the stack. Richard’s mother’s books are among the contents. The spines face up, showing titles: Australian Terrestrial Orchids, Native Trees and Shrubs of South Eastern Australia, Wild Flowers of South Eastern Australia, Birds of Australia, The Enchanted Canopy… book after book of exactly the information I needed to know.

I close my eyes and thank the woman I have never met. She died of cancer before I knew Richard.

Actions

I opt for a lumpectomy with reconstruction surgery. Because I am not having a mastectomy, there could be random cancer cells in the remaining breast tissue. The cancer had also reached one of my lymph nodes.

After surgery, I’m to have preventative chemotherapy, radiotherapy and hormone therapy.

Reflections

I’m clam, working through things one step at a time. My family are not as strong. I find myself comforting them, telling them I am going to be OK, guiding them to my calm place.

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