After Andrew and I split up, I bought a villa with my brother and lived 5 minutes away from our family home. The girls had to stay with Andrew because I needed to get up at 4.30 a.m. every morning so I could drive to the station and catch the 5.30 a.m. train to Sydney.
This was a difficult thing to do, especially in winter. Yet I had no choice. It would take me nearly two hours each way, to and from work.
As well as holding down that full-time job, I would get home and pick Grace up from after-school care. Emma was old enough to go to my place alone and cook their dinner. I was and still am a fitness fanatic, so I would schedule at least an hour’s exercise into my day as well. It was exhausting and stressful, but I managed.
Eventually, though, this routine took its toll on me, and I became very sick with pneumonia. I can honestly say, I have never felt so awful in my life.
On the second day of my illness, my mother came over to care for me. I am a very independent person, but I was so ill, I couldn’t even get out of bed.
The first night I was ill, I phoned the on-call doctor, who came around and gave me some antibiotics. It turned out I was allergic to them, so that night I was really bad I became so ill that at one point I truly thought I was going to die. I didn’t have a near-death experience, but I believe I was about to.
I remember thinking about Emma and Grace and leaving them, but the strange thing was, it didn’t worry me; I felt it was OK. I really didn’t care that I was going to die.
Then I felt a void. I was still conscious, but I felt my soul drift off to a very dark place. I wasn’t scared, but I was aware. I believe this could have well been one of my possible “exit points,” but my soul decided it was just not time to move to the next plane yet.
The next week was horrendous. At one stage my mother called an ambulance, but when they arrived they told Mum if they took me to hospital, I wouldn’t be any better off and would be more comfortable at home under my doctor’s care.
The antibiotics started to finally help enough so that I could get up out of bed and go to the doctor’s surgery. He sent me down to get X-rays, and being the self-sufficient person that I am, I decided to take the 15-minute drive myself. As soon as I walked into the X-ray clinic, the nurses took one look at me and sat me down. They insisted I not drive myself home, and another patient, God love him, offered to drive me back. Yet I declined.
I went back to my doctor and pleaded with him to let me go to Queensland with Andrew and the girls. Even though we were not together any more, we worked hard to keep the girls feeling that they belonged to a family.
My doctor agreed to let me go as long as I took my nebuliser, puffer, and knew where every major hospital was on the way up. He also insisted that I rest. He thought the Queensland air would probably be very beneficial to me.
So, we took off and made stops on the way so we could plug my nebuliser in and I could inhale the contents. After a few days up there, I was well enough to start to walk along the beach in the morning, about 5 kms. Being a fitness fanatic and not being able to exercise is torture. I think those walks in the morning really helped me with my recovery. Still, I had been so sick that it took about three weeks before I felt better. Most of the holiday I just lay by the pool or stayed inside, reading. I couldn’t go to the theme parks or anything like that.
I often think of that time, I believe sometimes we are sent wake-up calls through illnesses like this and made to rest when we won’t make ourselves rest.
