Amidst the gum trees on the mountain, a profound sense of solace envelops the soul. The crisp mountain air carries whispers of eucalyptus, creating a symphony with the rustling leaves. As sunlight filters through the branches, casting a dappled glow on the earth below, a serene calm settles in. Surrounded by the sturdy trunks and fragrant foliage, one finds refuge from the chaos of daily life. The mountain becomes a sanctuary, a place to reflect, recharge, and find solace in the embrace of nature’s timeless beauty.
But this haven of the mountain among gum trees stood in stark contrast to the turbulent journey of breast cancer treatment following my diagnosis in December 2022. Literally a few days before Christmas, I was told I had stage 3 breast cancer. I stood in the consultants car park, clung to my husband, crying my eyes out. Thinking of our life, our beautiful daughter then still in primary school, and felt fear and trepidation for our future.
The next few months were a blur. Two operations, three months of chemotherapy, and two months of radiation. In the realm of medical procedures, stress weaves through the fabric of each moment. The scent of eucalyptus is replaced by the antiseptic aura of hospitals, and the rustling leaves are drowned out by the hum of machinery. The battle against breast cancer demands resilience, patience, and strength, as me and my family had to navigate treatments, uncertainties, and emotional upheavals. While the mountain offered me glimpses of tranquility, the path of breast cancer treatment is a challenging expedition, where finding solace became a courageous pursuit within the complexities of healthcare.
You also, unwittingly, begin to characterise people in your life. Mine were classified into three groups: the dependables, the interdependables and the undependables.
Sometimes the nurse would take my phone off me as the chemotherapy entered my veins, with a brisk “you don’t need people like that in your life.” I began to gravitate towards people who either respected or understood the challenges I was facing. Being a cancer patient gives you a clarity of focus, as you know you only have limited energy reserves. In that clarity comes a level of release. You intuitively know what you need to do to survive.
Then back home after those chemo Fridays with the jam donuts at St John God Berwick, the solitude I found on my verandah and the clarity I was given when breathing in our mountain air allowed me to see these groupings. You do not need additional stress going through cancer. You learn to be selfish because you don’t have a choice. You’re fighting for your life and the future.
And during this tumultuous journey of breast cancer treatment, the mountain with its gum trees became a steadfast companion, providing a source of strength and solace. In moments of uncertainty, the memories of the serene mountain retreat became a mental sanctuary, offering respite from the challenges of medical procedures and emotional turbulence. The scent of eucalyptus lingered in my thoughts, offering a comforting embrace even within the sterile hospital environment. As the seasons changed on the mountain, so did my resilience, fueled by the memories of tranquility. It reminded me in part of those hazy covid lock downs, where being locked down to my beautiful township really didn’t seem that arduous.
Then, the final (big) operation just before Christmas 2023 allowed me to hear those words from my surgeon: there is currently no cancer in you. At this time, your pathology tells us that you are cancer free. I cannot tell you the relief those words give. The tightness in your chest, around your heart slowly unravels.
Now still living with the post-operatic twinges and pains, but looking back at a turbulent year, and the mountain remains a symbol of endurance. It stands as a testament to the healing power of nature, helping me move forward with newfound courage, reminding me that, like the mountain, I too can weather the storms (because let’s face it, cancer can and does come back!) but for now, I can embrace the promise of brighter days ahead and enjoy my gorgeous corner of this part of the world.
To read more of Bethany’s beautiful prose click here.
To contact Cancer Council Victoria for cancer counselling support or to donate to cancer research click here.
