I am Still Here

Almost 12 months had passed since the completion of chemotherapy when I realised my health and strength had returned. I was ready to challenge myself. I felt compelled to prove to myself I deserved to survive, and that I owed homage to those who hadn’t. Thus, finding purpose and meaning in my life became paramount to the point of almost a mantra. I began searching to uncover my new life direction, and I understood working for the sole reason of earning money to live was not enough. A simple conversation changed the trajectory of my life. David and I were travelling to a dinner gathering with family and friends. In the car with us were David’s parents and his friend Anne. We were discussing my job situation and how I felt I needed a more meaningful occupation and an outlet for my empathetic nature. Anne, who was a nursing sister at St George Hospital, told me I would make an excellent nurse, and everyone in the car fervently agreed. She also informed me that I could apply as a mature-age student once I turned 21, which meant I didn’t need a Higher School Certificate. My birthday was in early July, about five months away. I was excited about this idea, and everyone else’s reaction gave me the strength to consider perhaps I could make a good nurse. This one conversation was to be monumental. Over the next few days, I researched how to apply for a mature-age nursing program, then applied to both Sutherland Hospital and St George Hospital to train for three years to become a registered nurse. Not long after I applied, I received an appointment for an interview from both hospitals. St George was my first preference, as Anne told me the program there was excellent. I attended an interview at Sutherland Hospital first and the matron was pleasant and seemed enthusiastic about my application. A week later, I received a letter of acceptance and an offer of a position as a student nurse. This offer pleased me, but I chose to wait until the interview at St George the following week before I made my final decision. When I arrived at St George for the interview, the reception staff asked me to sit in the waiting area and I was told the matron would see me soon. The matron walked briskly into the waiting area and called my name. A formidable-looking woman who commanded immediate respect, beckoned me to follow her. Her facial features were stern and foreboding. She had a military air about her, and her uniform from head to foot was white. She was wearing a massive, starched white veil that resembled a tablecloth and hung well below her waist. I was soon to discover her manner and speech did not belie my first impression of her. I wanted to escape her presence, but I took deep breaths and followed her into her office. To become a trainee nurse in 1982, you had to submit a detailed work and medical history. Therefore, the matron knew my medical history and was aware I had just recovered from my second encounter with cancer. She asked me why I wanted to become a registered nurse, but she didn’t appear to listen to my answer. She fixed her gaze on me and said, ‘I think it best you complete the one-year nurse’s aide program instead of the three-year registered nurse program. It’s unclear whether you will be alive at the end of three years.’ I couldn’t believe my ears – I was completely dumbfounded! It felt as if she had punched me in the gut. I could feel tears prickling my eyes. But I refused to capitulate to her, so I took a deep breath and gathered my wits. I responded, ‘I have already been accepted into Sutherland Hospital’s three-year program, but I want to train at St George because it has a reputation of excellence.’ I also said, ‘I will not accept a training position in the nurse’s aide program.’ Then, from the depths of my being, I found courage I didn’t know I had. I added, ‘At least you know I will not become pregnant during my training and then not be able to finish.’ She looked at me for a moment before responding. ‘If I accept you into this hospital, you will tell no-one you have just recovered from cancer. I don’t want you using it to gain sympathy.’ I was flabbergasted and didn’t reply. She then dismissed me from the interview. I gathered myself together and walked out of her office. Her lack of kindness and/or compassion utterly astounded and saddened me. Worst still, her words reverberated through my brain on an almost endless loop. I kept wondering why I was being punished because I had recovered twice from cancer. Also, her fierce warning not to gain sympathy by telling people I was a cancer survivor haunted me. Consequently, I didn’t tell anyone about the cancer for many years after her tirade. Despite my awful encounter with the matron, I still wanted to train at St George. I held off replying to Sutherland’s offer in the vague hope the matron at St George would offer me a position in the registered nurse program. So, I waited while still working in the secretarial job I hated. Then fate led me down another difficult path.