India was the setting – but not the cause – for Matt’s latest unlikely adventure.
By Liane Arno
“WHAT do you mean you can’t see half my face?” I asked Matt. We were in the middle of Rajasthan on our dream holiday. We travel extensively for our volunteer work but this was different. We had been planning it for ages and, reflecting it may be our last hurrah, decided to be decadent and were staying in Maharaja Palaces pretending we were the landed gentry being guided by our driver, Baldev, around the north of India without a care in the world.
Matt started to get some headaches. Not surprising really as it was over 40 degrees on most days. We made sure he was hydrated and tried to stay ahead of the pain with painkillers. But still the headaches persisted – and now this.
“WHAT do you mean you can’t see half my face?” I asked Matt. We were in the middle of Rajasthan on our dream holiday. We travel extensively for our volunteer work but this was different. We had been planning it for ages and, reflecting it may be our last hurrah, decided to be decadent and were staying in Maharaja Palaces pretending we were the landed gentry being guided by our driver, Baldev, around the north of India without a care in the world.
Matt started to get some headaches. Not surprising really as it was over 40 degrees on most days. We made sure he was hydrated and tried to stay ahead of the pain with painkillers. But still the headaches persisted – and now this.
Matt being Matt dismissed it as possibly a late onset migraine and insisted on us continuing to travel. After all it was only a week or so before we would be home. But it was clear over the next couple of days that things were getting worse. No – Matt didn’t want to go to a doctor in India.
Late one night while Matt slept I changed our booking to fly out early and cancelled some accommodation. Matt was not happy when I told him the next morning – but I was worried. Our last evening was in Agra, at sunset looking across the River Yamuna at the Taj Mahal.
Back home our GP, despite not having an appointment available for two months, kindly organised a telephone consult. On hearing the symptoms, he asked me to take Matt immediately to Emergency at Wonthaggi Hospital.
We hadn’t unpacked – we were tired – and I was worried. Matt has cancer that has metastasised to his spine and so my first thought was that his cancer had spread to his brain. I was trying to be strong but I feared the worst.
The wonderful staff reacted quickly and with concern and immediately ran some tests including a CT scan. After anxiously waiting on the results we were told that the scans were clear. We breathed a sigh of relief as it looked like it was not life-threatening but we were still concerned about the loss of vision.
A doctor came to see Matt and asked why we were there. After we explained, he said, “Well that was a mistake not to go to a hospital in India” and continued to chide us. What a dreadful thing to do to a patient in severe pain, exhausted and facing the possibility of blindness. I cut short the criticism and asked that we concentrate instead on Matt getting some treatment.
After the doctor left, Matt blamed himself for not seeking help in India, and the consequences on our lives. This was even more difficult for him because we were due to fly out to Papua New Guinea in around a week’s time for another of our volunteer stints.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Whatever happens, it won’t change our lives. We can still volunteer. It’s still 10 days before we travel – you may be better by then.”
But he wasn’t. He was transferred to The Alfred where he was diagnosed with Giant Cell Arteritis, described by rheumatologists as a “nasty disease”. It is quite rare and affects the scalp, head and arms as the blood flow is interrupted. In Matt’s case the blood had stopped flowing to the nerves in the back of his eyes. The nerves were now dead and Matt’s vision would not be returning.
Matt being Matt, sitting in his hospital bed, told me everything was okay. While he couldn’t see anything out of his left eye he could still see a little bit out of his right eye. He insisted I go alone to PNG. He said, “We committed to help. I can’t go – but you can. You said this wouldn’t change our lives.”
You can imagine how I felt. Those who know us know we are virtually joined at the hip. There was no way I wanted to leave Matt. But then – how could I not go? Once a commitment is made for Matt there is nothing that will shake it – but also because it would have meant that his concerns after the chastising doctor told him off would be true. So I agreed to go.
There were many people who couldn’t fathom that decision – you could tell by the way they looked at me after I told them. In their minds they would accuse me of not caring for Matt. And yet the exact opposite is true. I couldn’t disempower Matt and make him feel any regret.
For Matt it was a time to readjust. But not alone. With the support of our wonderful friends and community. Food was brought around so the fridge was bursting at the seams, one friend helped care for our olives recently picked and being brined, people would be “just passing” and stop by for a cuppa or a wine, one kind friend helped fix Matt’s phone and laptop to have super large font, and for it to accept Teams calls from me in PNG, shopping, pharmacy and doctor trips were organised, and other friends rang each day to make sure Matt was okay.
And of course there was ongoing support of the medical team and a bevy of specialists. The doctor I mentioned earlier was the aberration. Everyone else has been so kind and thoughtful and caring. I can’t praise them enough.
I am home now and that is the last time Matt and I will be separated. Matt has been through some tough times. I’m not a believer in a higher being but I must admit I’ve looked up to the sky recently and said, “Can’t you pick on somebody else for a change?” We were laughing last night trying to work out how many lives he has left – and it is diminishing! But he is always so positive.
Catherine asked him, “Don’t you feel angry? I would be.”
“No,” he said. And he won’t. Is it any wonder I love him?
Late one night while Matt slept I changed our booking to fly out early and cancelled some accommodation. Matt was not happy when I told him the next morning – but I was worried. Our last evening was in Agra, at sunset looking across the River Yamuna at the Taj Mahal.
Back home our GP, despite not having an appointment available for two months, kindly organised a telephone consult. On hearing the symptoms, he asked me to take Matt immediately to Emergency at Wonthaggi Hospital.
We hadn’t unpacked – we were tired – and I was worried. Matt has cancer that has metastasised to his spine and so my first thought was that his cancer had spread to his brain. I was trying to be strong but I feared the worst.
The wonderful staff reacted quickly and with concern and immediately ran some tests including a CT scan. After anxiously waiting on the results we were told that the scans were clear. We breathed a sigh of relief as it looked like it was not life-threatening but we were still concerned about the loss of vision.
A doctor came to see Matt and asked why we were there. After we explained, he said, “Well that was a mistake not to go to a hospital in India” and continued to chide us. What a dreadful thing to do to a patient in severe pain, exhausted and facing the possibility of blindness. I cut short the criticism and asked that we concentrate instead on Matt getting some treatment.
After the doctor left, Matt blamed himself for not seeking help in India, and the consequences on our lives. This was even more difficult for him because we were due to fly out to Papua New Guinea in around a week’s time for another of our volunteer stints.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Whatever happens, it won’t change our lives. We can still volunteer. It’s still 10 days before we travel – you may be better by then.”
But he wasn’t. He was transferred to The Alfred where he was diagnosed with Giant Cell Arteritis, described by rheumatologists as a “nasty disease”. It is quite rare and affects the scalp, head and arms as the blood flow is interrupted. In Matt’s case the blood had stopped flowing to the nerves in the back of his eyes. The nerves were now dead and Matt’s vision would not be returning.
Matt being Matt, sitting in his hospital bed, told me everything was okay. While he couldn’t see anything out of his left eye he could still see a little bit out of his right eye. He insisted I go alone to PNG. He said, “We committed to help. I can’t go – but you can. You said this wouldn’t change our lives.”
You can imagine how I felt. Those who know us know we are virtually joined at the hip. There was no way I wanted to leave Matt. But then – how could I not go? Once a commitment is made for Matt there is nothing that will shake it – but also because it would have meant that his concerns after the chastising doctor told him off would be true. So I agreed to go.
There were many people who couldn’t fathom that decision – you could tell by the way they looked at me after I told them. In their minds they would accuse me of not caring for Matt. And yet the exact opposite is true. I couldn’t disempower Matt and make him feel any regret.
For Matt it was a time to readjust. But not alone. With the support of our wonderful friends and community. Food was brought around so the fridge was bursting at the seams, one friend helped care for our olives recently picked and being brined, people would be “just passing” and stop by for a cuppa or a wine, one kind friend helped fix Matt’s phone and laptop to have super large font, and for it to accept Teams calls from me in PNG, shopping, pharmacy and doctor trips were organised, and other friends rang each day to make sure Matt was okay.
And of course there was ongoing support of the medical team and a bevy of specialists. The doctor I mentioned earlier was the aberration. Everyone else has been so kind and thoughtful and caring. I can’t praise them enough.
I am home now and that is the last time Matt and I will be separated. Matt has been through some tough times. I’m not a believer in a higher being but I must admit I’ve looked up to the sky recently and said, “Can’t you pick on somebody else for a change?” We were laughing last night trying to work out how many lives he has left – and it is diminishing! But he is always so positive.
Catherine asked him, “Don’t you feel angry? I would be.”
“No,” he said. And he won’t. Is it any wonder I love him?