Читать книгу Get me to 21 - Gabi Lowe - Страница 21

CHAPTER 11

Something is seriously wrong

In late December 2011 Jen finally arrived back from Aussie, brimming with tales of her travels. At the airport she fell into Kristi’s arms and then looked up. “Oh my God,” she said, “what have they been feeding you? You’re all tall and grown up!” She was as thrilled to be home as we were to have her back, excited to be in her bedroom and see her family.

Amidst the joy of being back I sensed that Jenna was not entirely herself. She was tired, very tired. For her first night home I’d made her favourite supper – roast chicken with gravy, crispy roast potatoes and broccoli with cheese sauce – but she wasn’t hungry. We blamed the long flight and decided to let her “sleep it off”. But after a few solid days of rest, Jen still wasn’t rushing out to socialise. Other than seeing some close girlfriends and her family she just wanted to chill at home, sleep or hang with Kristi.

Grade 11 was around the corner and she’d missed a whole term of school because of the exchange. With Kristi now moving up into Grade 8, the girls would be on the same campus for the first time in three years. They chatted animatedly about the best place to sit during break, which subjects to take, the dynamics of the school playgrounds, and which teachers to hope for.

Having seen how much independence Jen had enjoyed in Sydney, I imagined she would be champing at the bit to spread her wings and carve out new boundaries. In fact, it was just the opposite. She turned down invitation after invitation. “I’d rather stay home with you guys, I just need to catch up on some rest,” she’d say. “Next time.”

A week after Jen got home, we set off to spend Christmas in Greyton. Ali and her husband Les (they had married in 2009) had been planning this holiday carefully for months so that the whole family could be together for Christmas and we had been looking forward to this special time for a while. There was so much to celebrate now that both Natalie and Jen were home. But Jen was not her usual engaging and open self. It came as a shock to notice just how much she was struggling to breathe. The heat in Greyton was oppressive and it seemed to knock the wind right out of her sails. It struck all of us that Jenna appeared to have less stamina than Natalie, who had worked for many months to be able to walk short distances. This was not right. Although there were also plenty of fun, happy times, the undercurrents of anxiety were undeniable.

It was also a Christmas filled with so much love. It was that Christmas that Kristi met her first real love – a magnificent black Friesian stallion called Riaan. The instant bond between Kristi and this horse was magical and the farmer in the village who owned him was so taken by their special connection that he kindly allowed Kristi to ride his stallion on the mountains every day. He even let Riaan sleep over in our garden, which provided much entertainment. It was striking to see this magnificent animal on the lawn outside the window, and a delight to watch Kristi attend to his every need, brushing him, feeding him or washing him down. She took him everywhere with her and was clearly in her happy place. It was perhaps inevitable that Riaan would relocate in due course …

Jen joined in the activities, but only for short periods. She would excuse herself to go and have a nap or lie down in a cool, dark spot to read. She wasn’t well, we could see that, and Stuart and I were worried. Could her asthma be more severe than we thought? Was there something else going on? Jen thought she might have pulled her intercostal muscles when swimming in the cold water, but it didn’t seem likely.

We returned to Cape Town, but only briefly. It was time to pack for our annual Plett holiday. Jen’s breathing was laboured, to the extent that she was unable to help with the packing. It was alarming that simple things, normal daily tasks, were becoming too much for her. I sent her to lie down while we finished up.

The asthma clinic was closed until January, but I hoped that once we got to Plett everything would settle down. Jen would be happy, and we would be with our wonderful friends. Plett was our safe and happy place.

Plettenberg Bay

Fine white sand, blue skies, the smell of indigenous bush unique to the area and spectacular beaches. Plett was warm and balmy, and the ocean inviting, just the right temperature for hours of swimming and playing in the waves. Although we were thrilled to be there for the summer holidays, this year was simply not the same. Jenna had lost her love of the beach. Once her favourite playground, it had become a brutal environment for her. The heat made her asthma worse and being in the sea quite literally took her breath away. She couldn’t cope in the waves, she couldn’t swim, and she couldn’t get comfortable sitting under the umbrella. Walking through soft sand was impossible. She couldn’t even get from the carpark to the beach without stopping to pant. This was a stark and shocking contrast to the healthy, robust 16-year-old brimming with vitality the year before.

We were now desperately worried. Jenna and I visited the emergency rooms in Plett many times that holiday. Nebulising can be very relieving for those with severe asthma, but for Jen nothing was helping. I contacted the asthma clinic in Cape Town for advice via their emergency line and made the soonest possible appointment available in January. We would be back in Cape Town by the time they reopened. As Jenna continued battling to breathe, nothing made sense. Stuart and I tried to hide our anxiety from Jen and Kristi, but it was difficult. By the third visit to the local emergency rooms the nurse was suggesting that maybe Jen’s struggle was psychological. In another child perhaps attention-seeking behaviour might have been a plausible explanation, but Jen was no drama queen. Everyone was grasping at straws. Later Jen would tell us that trying to breathe was like breathing through a straw. The heat and any exertion made it much, much worse. But there was nothing more to do until the New Year and, knowing this, we tried to enjoy the time together; just at a more measured pace than the jam-packed holiday we had planned.

We balanced out Jen’s need for rest and Kristi’s need for normal teenage high-action fun, and I spent time alone with Jen when Stu and Kristi did activities like body-surfing or beaching. Jen would spend many afternoons lying on her bed, where it was cooler, Skyping Aniko and Tayla in Australia. Sometimes, when Jen was feeling quite well, we would see family friends and her Plett gang of friends. She did much better when it was cooler but, watching her carefully, I could see how quickly she tired. She had already become adept at hiding her struggle when other people were around.

Ian and Jillie’s serene home became a safe haven for us, and Jen and I were grateful we could seek refuge from the crowds, to sit quietly on their big comfy couches next to their pool and listen to the birds. Ian and Jillie were Jenna’s godparents and are our closest friends, so they were acutely aware of what was going on and were as confounded and worried as we were. They took good care of us, pampered us with love and tried to soothe our fears. We spent New Year’s Eve at their home, enjoying a braai and the company of the adults Jen loved so much. Just before midnight we kissed everyone Happy New Year and departed to scoop Kristi up from a party before heading off, all four of us, for our traditional “pop in” at the Valentines’ house. The Valentines throw the best ever New Year’s Eve parties and it’s tradition for us to pop in at midnight. The party was thumping when we arrived. My first instinct was to bundle Jen up and take her home immediately, but she surprised me. She became swept up in the moment, beaming and joyful, feeling 17 and carefree.

At 1:30 am, when Stu, Kristi and I were leaving, Jen begged us to let her stay. All her mates were going to another party and she wanted to join them. Stu and I debated it, heatedly; I didn’t want to let her go but she was happy and having a good night for the first time in weeks. It was a hopeful night. Maybe this was a good sign? We agreed to let her go as long as she stayed in touch.

She went off cheerfully, asthma pump in hand. I couldn’t sleep. I checked my cellphone every half hour.

“Don’t be a worry-whale, Mom, I’m having a great time.”

“Moving to another venue – Dyl’s place with the Plett boys.”

This last text had me concerned. “Jen, how the hell are you getting there? I will lift you guys, give me two minutes to throw on some clothes and come get you.”

“Don’t worry, Mom, we’re walking.”

“Walking! What!? How? Jen, you can’t walk … your asthma … I’m coming to get you. Leaving now!”

“Mom, please don’t do that, it’s embarrassing. I am good … I’m getting a piggy-back … Jillie just pulled up, she says she will lift us.”

I sat up waiting until Jenna called me to collect her and Liv at 5 am. It took two full days of sleep for her to recover, but she was so animated and full of stories that it felt worth it. Over time we learned to grab those moments with both hands and be grateful for them. We learned to take the good days and moments as they presented themselves, no matter the circumstances.

We got a glimpse of healthy Jen again. But it didn’t last long. Within three days she was in deep trouble, battling to breathe. We rushed back to the emergency rooms. I vacillated constantly between convincing myself she would be fine and feeling overcome with absolute dread. I couldn’t wait to get home to Cape Town.

Jenna’s journal

Monday, 2nd January 2012

Plettenberg Bay

I had to be nebulised today! It was flippin scary – turns out I should have been taking prednisone for about a week already. I have never been this bad before, I have such a tight and sore chest. I felt as if a giant fist was in the centre of my chest and squeezing hard.

I feel better now – it’s been about six hours since I have been on the nebuliser and that feeling has eased – although I must say I’m nowhere near optimum or even vaguely normal breath levels. The asthma has been awful this past year, worse in the last three months and definitely at its worst these last two weeks. Hopefully my new medication combo – Nasonex, prednisone, still two puffs twice daily of Sereflo, Fexo and Ventolin as necessary will bring me back to normal. We are going to bed now, I am sleeping in Mom and Dad’s room so that they can monitor my breathing … Tomorrow night we are going to a bonfire at Solar Beach! For now, sleep! It’s 12:06 am, night xxx

Tuesday, 3rd January (noon) 2012

I just re-awoke, and we sit debating what to do with my day. It’s windy. There is going to be an excellent swell today – Nik mentioned it last week – so Kristi is champing at the bit to get to the beach. We have eight days left. Liv and I are going to get in as much jolling as possible. I’m getting nervous for the bonfire tonight, which is a bit silly, but I don’t feel great. I could go to the beach today, but I was hoping for a Grand Caesar salad and to wander around town a little bit. I should go get ready … seriously. I can hardly be bothered standing up though. Sigh … I’m going to do that.

Monday, 9th January 2012

Plett, doctors’ rooms

We are sitting in a very air-conditioned waiting room between appointments. Anyway, yesterday we went up the river. I sat on the beach in the shade. It was boiling hot and I got out of breath if I tried to tan so I’m starting to think that perhaps extreme heat/extreme cold could trigger or exacerbate it. A troop of vervet monkeys descended from the forested river banks to join us on our tiny beach. They were absolutely adorable. The male silverback-looking one gave us an unasked-for display of his bright blue balls. The boys and Kristi went knee-boarding and we headed home at around 4 pm with the boat weighed down by all of us to a point where its top speed only just rivalled that of a snail. Anyways, at present I sit in the car outside Robberg Pharmacy waiting for Mom.

Tuesday, 10th January 2012

Last night in Plett

I’m sitting on my bed mourning the loss of my holiday. OK that’s a little dramatic … but it is our last night.