jmgoyder

As my sister-in-law, Jo, somehow got my brother, Mark, onto a plane from Darwin to Perth, last August (2023), a flurry of messages and phone calls were exchanged amongst the extended family. In the wake of Mark refusing further brain tumour treatment, Jo had taken him on a holiday. Mark had already overcome the first brain tumour, received extensive treatment, and recovered. When another brain tumour appeared, it felt too surreal and impossible to process. I was very much in denial, our mother more realistic. My other brother, Brin, was just as shocked as I was, I think, as we watched our big/little brother, Mark’s breathing slow down.

My mother and I went back to our motel as various of his offspring said goodbye to Mark. Of course, Jo’s phone call to us, just moments later, confirmed the worst; Mark had died.

As Mark’s older sister, I sometimes want to yell out, “Where are you, Mark?” Sometimes this in forests, sometimes ice-rinks, sometimes snow slopes, sometimes in massive piles of bright red maple leaves, Canada, PNG, Bunbury, Walpole, Heaven….

A sense of urgency? Mark would never say that.

Oh, to be left-handed!

A few days before Christmas, I was preparing to host a Christmas Eve brunch for the various family members who were available. I was decluttering at high speed when I tripped over a brick doorstop outside, dropped a full box of old candle holders and chipped glassware that I was about to bin. I hit my head on something before plummeting my right hand onto broken glass, full force. I think I may have briefly passed out, but I do remember trying to rinse my hand at the kitchen sink, then wrapping it in a towel before driving myself to the hospital. The bruise to my head and a black eye was later determined to be a concussion.

Long story short: the cuts to my right hand were to the bone, 3 tendons and 2 nerves were severed and muscle tissue in palm of hand irreparably damaged + a nicked artery. It has been over two months since this happened but as a result of micro-surgery, tramadol, antibiotics for wound infection, multiple weekly visits to the wound clinic and hand clinic, my hand is beginning to work again.

The worst thing about this experience was how badly I handled the trauma and stress of the injury. I was nasty to the people I love most; I was argumentative, weepy, irrational and awful! To those affected, I’m so sorry!

The wound clinic visits have shown how much worse it could have been for me and my heart goes out to those who have experienced much more catastrophic injuries.

I may never get proper sensation back in my right thumb and forefinger. It was my own silly fault anyway.

Oh, to be forgiven AND left-handed!