I’ve lived a life full of love, loss, hard work, and quiet strength and now, as I approach 65, I feel ready to tell my story. I’ve faced cancer three times, survived a heart attack, lost my husband and parents within a year, and worked tirelessly to keep life moving. In the past couple of years, I’ve been blessed with the unwavering support of my family and the care of the Cancer Kaiārahi Service, who showed up when I needed them most.
I’m three months away from turning 65. I’ve lived a lot of life. Some of it joyful, and some of it heartbreakingly hard, but I’m still here.
I’ve got three beautiful children, two girls and a boy, and I’m Nana to nine grandkids. The oldest is 18, the youngest just 4. Chaos and cuddles, laughter and noise! I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Each of my kids has three of their own, and they’ve filled my life with light in ways they’ll never fully understand.
I had my oldest daughter when I was just 17. I was so young, so unsure, and I made the painful decision to adopt her out. Back then, everything was closed. No contact, no updates. But I never stopped thinking about her. When she turned 15, I wrote a letter. Her adoptive parents wrote back. We met, and everything changed.
We’ve built something beautiful out of the hardest beginning. I never stopped loving her, and now I get to show her that every day.
I grew up in Winton and spent the first 20 years of my life there before moving to Invercargill with my sister, who had just moved back from Auckland. It was a big shift, but one that changed my life. That’s where I met Ben.
Ben. He was strong, kind, and a bit old-fashioned. We married when I was 22. He was the father of my youngest two children. We had a wonderful life together and everything was going great. But he passed away in 2008. Just one day after my mother died.
He was only 54.
My father had died the year before. It felt like the world had cracked open and swallowed me whole.
I’ll never forget that day. I’d gone into town to buy clothes to wear to Mum’s funeral. When I pulled into my driveway, I saw my brother’s car. Then I spotted a friend’s car parked out front. Something didn’t feel right. My brother walked out and said, “Come here.” And then the words that shattered me, “Ben’s passed away.”
I couldn't believe him. Just that morning, Ben had been putting down a hangi for a wedding. We’d exchanged a few words. Nothing special, but everything to me now:
“Are you going to be alright today?”
“Yeah,” I’d said, “You go do the hangi. I’m just heading uptown to buy clothes for Mum’s funeral.”
“If you need me, give me a ring. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Those were the last words we ever spoke. I cling to them.
He was gone in an instant. Just like his father and just like his brother. A heart attack. My kids later told me he hadn’t been well. We could all see it. He’d been checked, knew he needed more chest X-rays, but never followed through.
After that, I had no choice but to keep going, and so I worked. Two jobs. Fifty hours a week, sometimes more. I didn’t stop that grind until February this year.
I was at Wrightsons as a wool classer. I was on my feet eight hours a day. I was there for 18 years, but left at the beginning of this year. My second job was at Wormsley House, a retirement home. I’ve been there for eight years. Started out as a kitchen hand, and just last month I added cleaning in the mornings. I’m doing 21 hours a week there now.
But it’s my body that’s been through the real battle.
In 2021, I went for a routine mammogram. At the time I thought I was just tired and chalked it up to long days at the Woolstore. Two weeks later, they called me back. I knew something was off. My sister came with me. When they said they’d found a lump, I was stunned. I hadn’t felt a thing. But I was told it would have been too deep for me to notice. They did a biopsy and then surgery. I had three weeks off. My follow-up was clear. For a while, I thought I was in the clear.
Then came 2022. That year, a strange ache settled in my stomach. At first, I thought it was an ulcer. I tried all the old remedies - flour and water like Mum used to make, Dad’s trusty antacids. But nothing worked. The pain got worse. I remember one day at work, this deep, sharp ache hit me. I went straight to the doctor. They put a camera down my throat, found nothing, and then sent me for a CT scan. That’s when they found the spot on my liver.
Liver cancer.
I went to Dunedin and there they removed a third of my liver followed by three weeks of radiation. Six weeks off work. I wasn’t even allowed to sweep the floor, though I tried. I just wanted life to be normal again.
Then in 2023, I went for my mammogram again and the exact same news was delivered. The cancer was back and in the same breast. I thought, how can this be happening again? I considered a mastectomy, but I wasn’t ready. I was scared of how I’d feel without it, scared I’d feel less like me. I talked it over with my brother (my sounding board) and I decided to have just the lump removed. They told me they had got it all and, once I was healed, I went back to work.
But, I wasn’t done there. Six months later I suffered a heart attack. My body just couldn’t catch a break. Off to Dunedin again for another surgery. This time to put three stents in. I was off work for a month, praying for peace, for just one year without hospitals, IVs, and surgeries.
But it wasn’t over.
In 2024, my mammogram showed the cancer had returned. A third time. This time, I didn’t hesitate. “Take it,” I said. “Take the breast.” I was done. Emotionally, physically, I was done. The mastectomy went well, but afterward I had complications. One day, I was working the forklift at work and my supervisor took one look at me and said, “You’re not okay.” He drove me home.
I’d had a drain put in after the surgery. It fell out. The nurse left it out, thinking I was done draining. But after she left, I bent over and fluid poured out of me. I was horrified. Ever since then, my body’s been unreliable, leaking one minute, dry the next. Then came the night I couldn’t speak. I knew what I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. My boarder rushed me to the hospital. The diagnosis: Septicemia and cellulitis.
When would this end? I had had enough! But at the same time I felt grateful because of the amazing support I was surrounded by during this horrendous time in my life. My beautiful family were more supportive than I could have asked for, and the support of the Ngā Kete Cancer Kaiarahi Service was unbelievable.
