I started my blog a while ago, encouraged. I promised that I, occasionally, would share my fantastic adventures with all of you. So I quickly got some concerned messages from friends who were wondered if I was doing well. No, I did not. Not at all. From one of the best moments of my life straight to hell. A movie with a bad ending. I would find it ridiculous if I would only share the great stories and my amazing experiences. Because of that: this update.
I better start at the beginning. I left Bali with aching feet and two toenails less than when I started this journey. I landed in industrial and far too busy Auckland. A big city, like so many. Not my thing, but you have to start somewhere, of course. I will spare you the process, but the result is that I have left Auckland on one of the many tourist buses. Yes I know. Not my thing. The conditions were good, especially the price made me change my mind. I can hop on and hop off whenever I want and that until I leave this land of the Kiwis. Overall a pretty good deal.
I met people, did amazing hikes, stayed at places for a little while, went back and walked some more. Until I arrived in Rotorua. A city that smells like rotten eggs. Sulphur. Volcanoes, geysers. Wet weather doesn’t help. This Belgian guy fancied a coffee, on a weekday. I walk into a coffee shop, ask for a coffee to take away and wait. Wait and look aside. The girl next to me is looking at me too and she’s smiling at me. I smile back and start a conversation. Before I could even realise it, I was leaving the coffee shop with a cappuccino and a new phone number in my brand new Samsung Galaxy s7 edge (Yes, I’m showing off here). She had no time to talk longer, she had to go to college, but she wanted to give me her phone number. And yes, I've sent her a little text message that night, if she would like to drink a coffee with me? I did not know how long I would stay in Rotorua. A few days, probably. "Fun! Tomorrow evening? Atalia. " That I would schedule it in into my busy schedule, is what I told Atalia.
She herself was born in New Zealand. Her mother is Samoan and her father from Tokelau, a tiny island in the Pacific. She appears to be good with numbers, doesn’t like to walk and has a taste in music which is difficult to compare with mine. What did they say about opposites? That I continue traveling was well known. What the point is of trying to know each other better, is not really clear. Still, it just happens. One coffee, two coffees, evening tour to the lakes and hills of Rotorua ...
I would travel South. She seemed to be sad but also happy in a way. It was difficult to hold my finger on that feeling. I knew that if I would stay longer, the probability of leaving soon was not big. I would come back after my southern adventure anyways. She reacted strangely, I did not understand her reaction. She didn’t tell me the complete truth, that was clear, though I could not put my finger on it. Until she admitted under slight pressure why she was glad I left. She was sick. Seriously ill. Lupus. A disease, that affects, in her case, her vital organs. She was diagnosed when she was seven years old. Meanwhile had numerous surgeries, a heart attack and needed several kidney dialysis a week. She could dialyse from home, she did not have to drive constantly to the hospital. The doctors were very clear if they talked about her future, she said. How strange, I have never seen something strange or alarming in the weeks that we went out together, on the contrary. She seemed to keep her many scars hidden from me. She wanted a hug. And she immediately thought it would be the last. That I would not choose to be a part of a miserable life, that I would not like to enter this rollercoaster. And she was right. I left Rotorua a few days later. With mixed feelings and a cell phone full of messages from a 25-year-old New Zealand girl.
After spending a few nights in the other city, I could not decide what I wanted. I wanted to see her. She wanted to see me. If I look back at it, I made it a lot more difficult than it was. We made it more difficult. Eventually, I booked a single trip to Rotorua.
Of course she was happy to see me, but I’ve rarely seen such a twinkle in the eyes. It made me melt. She found it difficult to get attached to someone. After all, She couldn't know if, and when her condition would worsen. That could go fast, but as well take several years.
Again, money does not grow on trees. Time to get a job. Kiwis are nice, but pruning is not my cup of tea. We were not able to work a lot due to bad weather. Time to look for something else. Not long after that I had taken up residence at a tamarillo farm. Tamarillo, also known as the tree tomato, is a fruit that occurs mainly in South America and Portugal. Not hard to pick. Yet if they are ripe. It seemed like a good deal, a good place to be. A couple, he a New Zealander, she Irish, who decided some years ago to quit passion fruit and switch to tamarillo's. They were looking for two pickers and packers. Two semi-American girls were hired to do the packing job when I teamed up with a German guy, Tobias, to pick the whole orchard. The first weeks were superb. Being a part of the family, as they advertised their job. It can change quickly.
That it can change quickly was clear. Atalia was in the hospital. There was an infection and she felt anything but good. In her case it is more a precaution that they transferred her to the largest hospital in New Zealand, Waikato Hospital in Hamilton. Here I am, picking tamarillo's. I think it is more than justifiable that you talk about things when you live together 24/7. I thought it was more than normal to let the boss know what was going on with my girlfriend. He reacted very understanding. They all did. Tobias, the German guy that I picked with talked about his family, his Asian girlfriend. The bosses themselves proclaimed their life and took that quite literally from time to time. One argument after another, sometimes even more verbally violent than other times. The tension grew as the weeks passed by. Due to freezing weather, the harvest was not what it should be. The standards changed. After a while we were allowed to pick anything that looked even a little red. What the boss doesn’t dare to face is that it is actually his wife who is in control. She decides what will happen. The atmosphere is long gone.
Tobias and I knew what was coming. They had fired one of the girls last week because she was too slow. They complained to everyone for a full week but never had the decency to talk with the girl. After having her sacked they had hired her back a few days later. Without any explanation. It came to a conflict between the boss and I. I wondered why he was so gruff, respect-less. If we did something wrong, why he didn’t explain to us how we could do it differently. We felt we had to ask questions all the time before we knew what was wrong. That went the wrong way. I had to keep my private life to myself, that she would never get better and that she would have to go to the hospital every single week. That I had to face that. And that I didn't have to bother him with that. He’s not interested in drama, he said. It felt surreal. That someone thinks like this is pretty unthinkable. I'm not speechless very often, and I could say things that would get me fired straight away but I did not. I was actually quite polite. The farm was also close to Rotorua. An important fact for me.
Atalia was already several weeks in the hospital when they said she was allowed to go home. On Wednesday. On Saturday we would go on weekend. A cozy guesthouse in the middle of nowhere. Something to look forward to. She had already told her parents about her Belgian boyfriend. He picked tamarillos and that was the reason that the fruit bowl was filled with this intriguing tasting fruit. I'm white. I'm a backpacker. On Friday they brought her back to the hospital. It looked anything but good. It needed time.
It looked like I would have plenty of time, soon. The atmosphere at the farm had dropped. They hardly talked. Tobias had already asked me several times what I was planning to do. Not much I could do. I have no car, no way to quickly get out of here. Tobias did. And that he was not planning to stay much longer. It would be illogical that they would just dismiss me. We both did the same work. He would come with me, should they ever get the courage to fire me. If the atmosphere was ok? What atmosphere? There was none.
On Monday, the big chief had let us understand that a quota had to be reached or otherwise someone had to leave the ship. Guess who that would be. To their surprise, we got those 'unrealistic' quota on Monday and almost on Tuesday. The surprise was so big that there was no mention of it at all. Tobias talked more and more about going. Something I could follow, but on the other hand, I earned money, I got very nice food and we could not complain about our bedroom. I have to be more specific about the food. If chicken is your favourite food than this is the ideal menu. And spicy food. Very spicy food. But ok. It came closer, our departure.
I did not know it was this close. After doing the dishes I saw Tobias sitting in the couch, rather pale, with his tablet on his lap. He beckoned me that I had to come over to take a look. We use backpacker websites to find our jobs. His tablet showed such a web page with an advertisement. An ad that I recognised. A tamarillo farm was searching for two hardworking men for picking the tree tomato. As quickly as possible. For their convenience, they had skipped the ‘family section’ from the first ad. He would not stay here, he said. I could come with him, he said. I had no other choice but follow him, I said. It would be a terrible situation if I would stay and he would go. Talking about a plot twist. But no, that would never happen. It was time for our last tactical error: telling him that we would leave before we packed our bags. Anyway, his face was priceless. I would do it again, immediately. Not that I have said a word. I left the honour to Tobias. Sorry Jared, but you've played and lost. That we had to take our 'fucking stuff’, and had to get of his ‘fucking property’ immediately and disappear. The accusations were not countable. Typically him. He is without a doubt the most conniving bastard I've ever encountered. And I found this very disappointing. I hope from the bottom of my heart that you never have to experience what I’ve been experiencing. Even the biggest bastard doesn’t deserve this. Your EQ is as big as your ability to run a business. Non-existent. Do not forget to please your boss, and don’t give her too much alcohol. It’s not good for her. She does weird things after drinking too much, and that makes you angry. And we are on our way to Rotorua.
Atalia, meanwhile, was still in the hospital. I have built quite a distaste for hospitals over the years. My dad stayed in hospitals quite a bit. Those memories are not exactly what I'm looking for here in New Zealand. And I'm also not keen on visiting my girlfriend, the one I love, in the hospital. Or to meet her parents there for the first time. I decided to stay here in Rotorua. She would soon be allowed to go home.
My urge to surprise people is big. And especially when it comes to people I like, I love. Atalia and I called each other every day, obviously, but I thought it was time to see her again after several weeks of hearing but not seeing her. Tobias found a job in Auckland, Hamilton is on the way, so he would drop me off. I booked a few nights and would return on Monday. Coincidentally, she would be discharged from the hospital the same day. Finally. I didn’t tell her that I would visit her. She wanted to see me, she told me on Friday. I would start walking, I told her. It was good. I would call her on Saturday morning to let her know where I was. That she would try to rest. She could not miss me anymore. I ,therefore, had to stop with those jokes. They did hurt, because I was not really on my way, she said.
Obviously I did not walk from Rotorua all the way to Hamilton. That wasn’t necessary, I was already in Hamilton. I'd walk on Saturday morning from downtown to the hospital. I was about halfway through when she called me. I was on my way, I said. She replied that I had to stop saying that because she could not miss me anymore. That it wasn’t funny anymore. She could not handle it anymore, she said. I was really on my way, I said. I had just walked across a great lake view and I now saw a huge concrete building that resembles a hospital. She did not believe me. I told her that she better communicated her room number and floor because I don’t like to wait. I never did. Very impatient. When I was walking in the maze of corridors I could obviously not find the correct floor. I was getting frustrated and ready to turn around. She realised that I was serious. She pressed every button she had available so her nurse felt obliged to personally look for the Belgian friend of one of her patients. And she found me. How she did it, I do not know, but Atalia looked pretty good in that giant hospital bed. She was glad to see me, that was clear. And a really good feeling. After a few hours, two people walked in. Her mother and her aunt. They didn’t talk much. Not in English. They were astonished, that was clear. They did not expect me there at all. I decided to go back to my hostel in the afternoon. I would return on Sunday. Her mother made the decision to return to Rotorua that very same day when she was told that I would return the next day. You can’t blame them. Who was that guy? They had not heard a lot about me. They had never seen me before.
I came by to say goodbye on Monday morning. We would see each other again that night but in Rotorua. We would make it cozy. Take it easy. Force nothing. Several weeks in the hospital is a serious thing. I just entered the bus when my phone rang. Atalia. She could not go home. I could hardly believe it because I had personally talked to her doctors that same morning. Apparently the last blood test which they had taken was not ok at all. She should remain at the hospital. Even worse, they were thinking about the major surgery after all. The end came closer.
The major operation is something Atalia already wants since a long time. The problem is that her body is very sensitive for infections. That there is an infection going on right now. They can not figure out where it comes from. Of course, the chances are big that it comes from the kidneys but the doctors want to be one hundred percent sure before they proceed an operation. Atalia is in pain. A lot of pain. One surgery after another was not helping her body. Tissue was removed and there are tubes coming out of her body to drain the fluid. The major operation would have put an end to all of this. There is only one way. The removal of both the kidneys. The surgeons are not eager to do this, but it is getting clear that this is the only way to slightly increase her quality of life.
If I please wanted to come back? I did a lot of stupid things in my young life but jumping out of a moving bus is not immediately on my bucket list. I would love to come back but that it would only be tomorrow or the day after. After all, I had booked two nights in a hostel. And hostels are expensive. That she would try to arrange something if I wanted to. Go ahead I said. Less than an hour later, she called back to report that she had arranged a room for me. She is entitled to get a room for a family member (or lover, in this case). Which means I could stay in a motel close to the hospital. Free of charge. And that her dad would pick me up at the hostel tomorrow. The second announcement stressed me out. She told me not to worry, it's a lovely man. I'm sure her mom is also a lovely woman but she had a rather special way of showing it. I was not worried. Not about her parents. I began to realise the seriousness of the situation.
And that's s why I was sitting two hours in the car with her father. It turned out to be a very kind man who had found peace with the fact that a stranger was sitting in his car because he would visit his daughter. He saw I was worried. That I was serious about this. That probably helped in accepting me.
The following weeks were more of the same. Examinations, more tests, and many medications. Speculations. Atalia was tired. She wanted the surgery, even though she was aware of the risks. I must admit that, after a month in the hospital, I could completely understand the situation. The doctors and surgeons on one side did not want to take the risk, but when they looked at the files they must admit that this might be the only chance of a somewhat dignified life, and Atalia, which has reached her peak after all these years, wouldn’t be more happy with a clear change. Enough is enough. Sleepless nights. Long days. Together we watched Breaking Bad. I had all the seasons on my iPad and so we started a Breaking Bad marathon. The time of the day she craved for. Her head on my shoulder, my arm or chest, and slowly falling asleep for a few minutes, to be woken up a bit later because a new blood sample should be taken, or because they had to take her to the dialysis. Hospital life is exhausting. For everyone.
I remember that morning like it was yesterday. Atalia had just had breakfast when a man in a way too expensive suit entered the room. Holmes. Michael Holmes. Surgeon. Kidney Surgeon. That a lot of meetings, discussions and considerations were preceded but if she would let him that he would help her. He was not excited to remove both her kidneys but would do it if she agreed. As long as she was aware of the risks. The pain might disappear, it might not. She could be better soon, but just as well die from complications, bleedings, infections and so on. This was serious. Meanwhile, I was part of the scenery, so doctors, nurses and counsellors also talked to me. I was the one who was always there. It has its advantages. If there was leftover food they knew where to find me. And honestly, that hospital food was better than what you can find in an average hostel.
She could barely handle the pain. Painkillers decided not to work anymore. It all looked not good. She signed the papers. Tomorrow it will happen. All other operations were cancelled and Mr. Holmes would devote his day to remove two non-functioning kidneys that had caused a lot of problems. It proved to be just the beginning. After some misery with missing documents, poor blood values and miscommunication she finally ended up in theatre. It would take about six hours. It took longer than that. Much longer. Together with her mother, I was waiting in the vast corridor for someone to come save us from our suffering. It was Dr Holmes himself. He had never seen this in his career. That it was very difficult to remove everything in a responsible manner. He eventually had to remove a piece of the liver, and was actually still happy with the result. One detail. There had occurred a haemorrhage. A bleeding that they couldn’t easily stop. Not to say, couldn’t. It was ten o'clock. If the bleeding was still not stopped at midnight they would operate her again. We could see her. She was awake. That surprised me the most. She was awake. Not only awake but very active. She listened to what the nurses were discussing among themselves, she was aware of the nervous impression they left behind, and she knew all too well what was going on. She felt something bubbling in her stomach. That was the blood oozing in. That she wanted to return to theatre as quickly as possible. It had to be resolved.
After a last attempt to stop the bleeding with medication they decided to take some action. A new operation in which they would bring pads in place to stop the bleeding. It would take a half hour. We took place in that long corridor. Again. And there was Mr. Holmes. Again. 3 hours later. He made a very tiring impression. Dressed in white boots and operation clothing, he told us that the bleeding was under control. She wasn’t awake this time, was not even closed up, but they would change that tomorrow. They would give her a day to rest and take a look to close her up eventually. He would go to sleep and we'd better do the same. Sleep well.
At ten o'clock that morning I woke up. My cell phone rang. It was Mr. Holmes. They would operate Atalia again ,immediately. They wanted to be sure, and the monitor showed that the bleeding was still not fully under control. So it continued here. She woke up. Could not talk because several tubes had been in her throat for several days. She wrote things down. She felt better. She looked better. She looked so good that they decided to take her to a regular room less than twenty-four hours after her last surgery. She just looked too cheerful. And we have known what would happen.
The next morning she looked anything but good. The 41-degree fever did also not help. When she became delirious during dialysis and it became clear she was in pain, it was finally clear to the nurses that something was going very wrong. Doctors came along and decided to bring her back to intensive care. It went downhill from there. The blood kept clotting. Old bllood remained in her body. The dirt was not completely out of her body and she continued to have pain. She was delirious. She changed.
It's hard to see someone going backwards. It is difficult to realise that a person realises how much she changed. I had to keep traveling. For her. I had to take photos. I had to show them to her after I finished my trips. And she looked at me. Time after time. Afterwards they told me that she asked her parents to take care of me when it would be necessary. That’s a weird feeling. She was ready to go.
They would place a new tube in order to remove the last irritations. Of course, all of these things are temporarily. After this minor procedure she refused to wake up. What is not normal after a minor surgical procedure. Was her body tired after the many operations in the past weeks? No, there was more to it. They finally took a scan of her stomach by our insistence. Bad news. A perforated bowel. She had to return to theatre immediately. Her body was poisoned. No good news. Not at all.
One rollercoaster after another but you just go on. After the first surgery, I had a bad feeling, but that obstacle had been overcome. It could only get better. There was a lot of cleanup work, they said. A long process. The days that followed were terrible. She was still not closed, her heart rate was not lower than 152 beats per minute and she didn’t eat a lot. It needed time.
This would be the last operation. They would finally close her up. It went in the right direction. Tomorrow morning she would wake up. Would. She didn’t. The panic in the nurses eyes was freaking me out. A panicking nurse is never good. They did not know what was going on. She should be awake but she wasn’t. She had responded to pain. That was a good sign. After twenty-four hours, there was still no change. They had to bring her to theatre for a final check, again. And that they would like to talk to us. Urgent.
They have already talked to us. After the first operation. That it could go well, or it could go extremely wrong. We had to keep that in mind. There was a small chance that she would not make it. All we heard was that there was a small chance that I would go wrong. And that's all we wanted to remember. New day, new conversation, with half of the family. People I never saw before, people who never saw me before. People thought it was strange that I was there. People who do not believe what the doctors told them. The doctors were clear. Her condition had to improve otherwise there was nothing more they could do. She was at the operation table. Again. We had to really consider the worst. And that's exactly what you don’t want.
Back from the surgery she had still not been awake. The probability that this would happen soon was small because she didn’t awake last time twenty-four hours after anaesthesia. That they would keep an eye on her. We went back to the motel because both her parents and I left an impression that we were tired, exhausted. That same evening, around seven o'clock, we received a phone call. If we wanted to come to the hospital. They would like to talk to us. Forgive me my negativity as I thought the worst at that time. I honestly thought we were losing her, that we lost her. That turned out not to be so. She was alive. They had to cut an abdominal muscle earlier that afternoon because it was dead. Her toes began to turn black and her blood values were anything but good. That they would not operate her anymore, they said. We had to think to let nature do its work. Lay it in God's hands, you know. In other words, pull the plug and let her decide if she is able to breathe on her own. I've never been in a situation like this. As I mentioned earlier, my father is seriously ill, but I've never really seen him suffering this bad. Not like this. A 25-year-old who, after more than ten surgeries in as many days with no sign of improvement, is in intensive care. Terrible. That turning off the machines was the best thing we could do for her. A decision that her parents didn’t want to make. Until they saw no other way out. Her mother and I have seen the wound. That someone could survive a week like this is almost impossible to understand. It was a strong woman.
Atalia was taken to another room, the priest was called. Life support was switched off and the final battle could begin. She stopped breathing after 5 minutes. Her heartbeat lasted a little longer. Her hand in my hands. I said goodbye. A little before midnight, August 30. I did not plan this in my New Zealand adventure. Encounter someone for who you interrupt your travels. To make fun with her, make plans to immigrate permanently, happy together ... And then, before you realise what’s going on… It turns out to be a nightmare. That she looked much happier the last weeks before her death. Her eyes sparkled when I walked into intensive care. She brightened when I was in the neighbourhood. It doesn’t make it easier, I must say.
Her parents did what Atalia asked them, take care of me. Which means I helped arranging the funeral, visited the priest and so on. It didn’t help that I could sleep in her room, not really. Very sweet people. Very sweet family. The culture is totally different from what we, Europeans, are used to. Atalia was laying a few days in the living room to be driven to church on Friday for the family service. After that she returned home to go back the next day for the funeral. With lots of singing, praying and weeping people in and around the house. Day and night. And lots of food. These are intense days, a funeral in an island family. The way the whole family accepted me was admirable. They were glad I made Atalia happy in the last months of her life. She had dared to discover love.
Find the courage to carry on is difficult. Very difficult. I struggled, and I'm still struggling. I know I have promised to continue traveling and I will. I did. Exactly two months after her death, I resumed traveling. All that time I spent with her parents in Rotorua. Her parents locked me in their hearts, and I dare to say without any doubt that this has become my second family. With a picture of Atalia in my backpack, I will explore the South Island, and the rest of the world. In this way she is still a little bit with me on my journey. Though I have actually no need to take that photo. She’s with me anyways. I miss her. And she’ll never know how Breaking Bad ends.
I know that this blogpost is not the most happy one ever. I have left a lot of details out but I want you to realise that it was not all bad. I had some nice moments in the last months too. We made each other happy, and I’ll take that with me forever.
Until we write again. Soon. Ever.
In the meantime I have made some plans for the future. I’ll return to Belgium in April and will start with a massive walk. More info in my next blogpost and on my Facebook page. To do this I started a fundraising campaign. Two campaigns: one to collect money so I would be able to do the walks I want, and become able to raise money. The second one to raise money for the anti cancer fund, world kidney day and Atalia’s headstone and unveiling. You can find the links to the pages here and here.
Donating would be great, sharing would be even more awesome.
Big hug and kisses
Benny
I better start at the beginning. I left Bali with aching feet and two toenails less than when I started this journey. I landed in industrial and far too busy Auckland. A big city, like so many. Not my thing, but you have to start somewhere, of course. I will spare you the process, but the result is that I have left Auckland on one of the many tourist buses. Yes I know. Not my thing. The conditions were good, especially the price made me change my mind. I can hop on and hop off whenever I want and that until I leave this land of the Kiwis. Overall a pretty good deal.
I met people, did amazing hikes, stayed at places for a little while, went back and walked some more. Until I arrived in Rotorua. A city that smells like rotten eggs. Sulphur. Volcanoes, geysers. Wet weather doesn’t help. This Belgian guy fancied a coffee, on a weekday. I walk into a coffee shop, ask for a coffee to take away and wait. Wait and look aside. The girl next to me is looking at me too and she’s smiling at me. I smile back and start a conversation. Before I could even realise it, I was leaving the coffee shop with a cappuccino and a new phone number in my brand new Samsung Galaxy s7 edge (Yes, I’m showing off here). She had no time to talk longer, she had to go to college, but she wanted to give me her phone number. And yes, I've sent her a little text message that night, if she would like to drink a coffee with me? I did not know how long I would stay in Rotorua. A few days, probably. "Fun! Tomorrow evening? Atalia. " That I would schedule it in into my busy schedule, is what I told Atalia.
She herself was born in New Zealand. Her mother is Samoan and her father from Tokelau, a tiny island in the Pacific. She appears to be good with numbers, doesn’t like to walk and has a taste in music which is difficult to compare with mine. What did they say about opposites? That I continue traveling was well known. What the point is of trying to know each other better, is not really clear. Still, it just happens. One coffee, two coffees, evening tour to the lakes and hills of Rotorua ...
I would travel South. She seemed to be sad but also happy in a way. It was difficult to hold my finger on that feeling. I knew that if I would stay longer, the probability of leaving soon was not big. I would come back after my southern adventure anyways. She reacted strangely, I did not understand her reaction. She didn’t tell me the complete truth, that was clear, though I could not put my finger on it. Until she admitted under slight pressure why she was glad I left. She was sick. Seriously ill. Lupus. A disease, that affects, in her case, her vital organs. She was diagnosed when she was seven years old. Meanwhile had numerous surgeries, a heart attack and needed several kidney dialysis a week. She could dialyse from home, she did not have to drive constantly to the hospital. The doctors were very clear if they talked about her future, she said. How strange, I have never seen something strange or alarming in the weeks that we went out together, on the contrary. She seemed to keep her many scars hidden from me. She wanted a hug. And she immediately thought it would be the last. That I would not choose to be a part of a miserable life, that I would not like to enter this rollercoaster. And she was right. I left Rotorua a few days later. With mixed feelings and a cell phone full of messages from a 25-year-old New Zealand girl.
After spending a few nights in the other city, I could not decide what I wanted. I wanted to see her. She wanted to see me. If I look back at it, I made it a lot more difficult than it was. We made it more difficult. Eventually, I booked a single trip to Rotorua.
Of course she was happy to see me, but I’ve rarely seen such a twinkle in the eyes. It made me melt. She found it difficult to get attached to someone. After all, She couldn't know if, and when her condition would worsen. That could go fast, but as well take several years.
Again, money does not grow on trees. Time to get a job. Kiwis are nice, but pruning is not my cup of tea. We were not able to work a lot due to bad weather. Time to look for something else. Not long after that I had taken up residence at a tamarillo farm. Tamarillo, also known as the tree tomato, is a fruit that occurs mainly in South America and Portugal. Not hard to pick. Yet if they are ripe. It seemed like a good deal, a good place to be. A couple, he a New Zealander, she Irish, who decided some years ago to quit passion fruit and switch to tamarillo's. They were looking for two pickers and packers. Two semi-American girls were hired to do the packing job when I teamed up with a German guy, Tobias, to pick the whole orchard. The first weeks were superb. Being a part of the family, as they advertised their job. It can change quickly.
That it can change quickly was clear. Atalia was in the hospital. There was an infection and she felt anything but good. In her case it is more a precaution that they transferred her to the largest hospital in New Zealand, Waikato Hospital in Hamilton. Here I am, picking tamarillo's. I think it is more than justifiable that you talk about things when you live together 24/7. I thought it was more than normal to let the boss know what was going on with my girlfriend. He reacted very understanding. They all did. Tobias, the German guy that I picked with talked about his family, his Asian girlfriend. The bosses themselves proclaimed their life and took that quite literally from time to time. One argument after another, sometimes even more verbally violent than other times. The tension grew as the weeks passed by. Due to freezing weather, the harvest was not what it should be. The standards changed. After a while we were allowed to pick anything that looked even a little red. What the boss doesn’t dare to face is that it is actually his wife who is in control. She decides what will happen. The atmosphere is long gone.
Tobias and I knew what was coming. They had fired one of the girls last week because she was too slow. They complained to everyone for a full week but never had the decency to talk with the girl. After having her sacked they had hired her back a few days later. Without any explanation. It came to a conflict between the boss and I. I wondered why he was so gruff, respect-less. If we did something wrong, why he didn’t explain to us how we could do it differently. We felt we had to ask questions all the time before we knew what was wrong. That went the wrong way. I had to keep my private life to myself, that she would never get better and that she would have to go to the hospital every single week. That I had to face that. And that I didn't have to bother him with that. He’s not interested in drama, he said. It felt surreal. That someone thinks like this is pretty unthinkable. I'm not speechless very often, and I could say things that would get me fired straight away but I did not. I was actually quite polite. The farm was also close to Rotorua. An important fact for me.
Atalia was already several weeks in the hospital when they said she was allowed to go home. On Wednesday. On Saturday we would go on weekend. A cozy guesthouse in the middle of nowhere. Something to look forward to. She had already told her parents about her Belgian boyfriend. He picked tamarillos and that was the reason that the fruit bowl was filled with this intriguing tasting fruit. I'm white. I'm a backpacker. On Friday they brought her back to the hospital. It looked anything but good. It needed time.
It looked like I would have plenty of time, soon. The atmosphere at the farm had dropped. They hardly talked. Tobias had already asked me several times what I was planning to do. Not much I could do. I have no car, no way to quickly get out of here. Tobias did. And that he was not planning to stay much longer. It would be illogical that they would just dismiss me. We both did the same work. He would come with me, should they ever get the courage to fire me. If the atmosphere was ok? What atmosphere? There was none.
On Monday, the big chief had let us understand that a quota had to be reached or otherwise someone had to leave the ship. Guess who that would be. To their surprise, we got those 'unrealistic' quota on Monday and almost on Tuesday. The surprise was so big that there was no mention of it at all. Tobias talked more and more about going. Something I could follow, but on the other hand, I earned money, I got very nice food and we could not complain about our bedroom. I have to be more specific about the food. If chicken is your favourite food than this is the ideal menu. And spicy food. Very spicy food. But ok. It came closer, our departure.
I did not know it was this close. After doing the dishes I saw Tobias sitting in the couch, rather pale, with his tablet on his lap. He beckoned me that I had to come over to take a look. We use backpacker websites to find our jobs. His tablet showed such a web page with an advertisement. An ad that I recognised. A tamarillo farm was searching for two hardworking men for picking the tree tomato. As quickly as possible. For their convenience, they had skipped the ‘family section’ from the first ad. He would not stay here, he said. I could come with him, he said. I had no other choice but follow him, I said. It would be a terrible situation if I would stay and he would go. Talking about a plot twist. But no, that would never happen. It was time for our last tactical error: telling him that we would leave before we packed our bags. Anyway, his face was priceless. I would do it again, immediately. Not that I have said a word. I left the honour to Tobias. Sorry Jared, but you've played and lost. That we had to take our 'fucking stuff’, and had to get of his ‘fucking property’ immediately and disappear. The accusations were not countable. Typically him. He is without a doubt the most conniving bastard I've ever encountered. And I found this very disappointing. I hope from the bottom of my heart that you never have to experience what I’ve been experiencing. Even the biggest bastard doesn’t deserve this. Your EQ is as big as your ability to run a business. Non-existent. Do not forget to please your boss, and don’t give her too much alcohol. It’s not good for her. She does weird things after drinking too much, and that makes you angry. And we are on our way to Rotorua.
Atalia, meanwhile, was still in the hospital. I have built quite a distaste for hospitals over the years. My dad stayed in hospitals quite a bit. Those memories are not exactly what I'm looking for here in New Zealand. And I'm also not keen on visiting my girlfriend, the one I love, in the hospital. Or to meet her parents there for the first time. I decided to stay here in Rotorua. She would soon be allowed to go home.
My urge to surprise people is big. And especially when it comes to people I like, I love. Atalia and I called each other every day, obviously, but I thought it was time to see her again after several weeks of hearing but not seeing her. Tobias found a job in Auckland, Hamilton is on the way, so he would drop me off. I booked a few nights and would return on Monday. Coincidentally, she would be discharged from the hospital the same day. Finally. I didn’t tell her that I would visit her. She wanted to see me, she told me on Friday. I would start walking, I told her. It was good. I would call her on Saturday morning to let her know where I was. That she would try to rest. She could not miss me anymore. I ,therefore, had to stop with those jokes. They did hurt, because I was not really on my way, she said.
Obviously I did not walk from Rotorua all the way to Hamilton. That wasn’t necessary, I was already in Hamilton. I'd walk on Saturday morning from downtown to the hospital. I was about halfway through when she called me. I was on my way, I said. She replied that I had to stop saying that because she could not miss me anymore. That it wasn’t funny anymore. She could not handle it anymore, she said. I was really on my way, I said. I had just walked across a great lake view and I now saw a huge concrete building that resembles a hospital. She did not believe me. I told her that she better communicated her room number and floor because I don’t like to wait. I never did. Very impatient. When I was walking in the maze of corridors I could obviously not find the correct floor. I was getting frustrated and ready to turn around. She realised that I was serious. She pressed every button she had available so her nurse felt obliged to personally look for the Belgian friend of one of her patients. And she found me. How she did it, I do not know, but Atalia looked pretty good in that giant hospital bed. She was glad to see me, that was clear. And a really good feeling. After a few hours, two people walked in. Her mother and her aunt. They didn’t talk much. Not in English. They were astonished, that was clear. They did not expect me there at all. I decided to go back to my hostel in the afternoon. I would return on Sunday. Her mother made the decision to return to Rotorua that very same day when she was told that I would return the next day. You can’t blame them. Who was that guy? They had not heard a lot about me. They had never seen me before.
I came by to say goodbye on Monday morning. We would see each other again that night but in Rotorua. We would make it cozy. Take it easy. Force nothing. Several weeks in the hospital is a serious thing. I just entered the bus when my phone rang. Atalia. She could not go home. I could hardly believe it because I had personally talked to her doctors that same morning. Apparently the last blood test which they had taken was not ok at all. She should remain at the hospital. Even worse, they were thinking about the major surgery after all. The end came closer.
The major operation is something Atalia already wants since a long time. The problem is that her body is very sensitive for infections. That there is an infection going on right now. They can not figure out where it comes from. Of course, the chances are big that it comes from the kidneys but the doctors want to be one hundred percent sure before they proceed an operation. Atalia is in pain. A lot of pain. One surgery after another was not helping her body. Tissue was removed and there are tubes coming out of her body to drain the fluid. The major operation would have put an end to all of this. There is only one way. The removal of both the kidneys. The surgeons are not eager to do this, but it is getting clear that this is the only way to slightly increase her quality of life.
If I please wanted to come back? I did a lot of stupid things in my young life but jumping out of a moving bus is not immediately on my bucket list. I would love to come back but that it would only be tomorrow or the day after. After all, I had booked two nights in a hostel. And hostels are expensive. That she would try to arrange something if I wanted to. Go ahead I said. Less than an hour later, she called back to report that she had arranged a room for me. She is entitled to get a room for a family member (or lover, in this case). Which means I could stay in a motel close to the hospital. Free of charge. And that her dad would pick me up at the hostel tomorrow. The second announcement stressed me out. She told me not to worry, it's a lovely man. I'm sure her mom is also a lovely woman but she had a rather special way of showing it. I was not worried. Not about her parents. I began to realise the seriousness of the situation.
And that's s why I was sitting two hours in the car with her father. It turned out to be a very kind man who had found peace with the fact that a stranger was sitting in his car because he would visit his daughter. He saw I was worried. That I was serious about this. That probably helped in accepting me.
The following weeks were more of the same. Examinations, more tests, and many medications. Speculations. Atalia was tired. She wanted the surgery, even though she was aware of the risks. I must admit that, after a month in the hospital, I could completely understand the situation. The doctors and surgeons on one side did not want to take the risk, but when they looked at the files they must admit that this might be the only chance of a somewhat dignified life, and Atalia, which has reached her peak after all these years, wouldn’t be more happy with a clear change. Enough is enough. Sleepless nights. Long days. Together we watched Breaking Bad. I had all the seasons on my iPad and so we started a Breaking Bad marathon. The time of the day she craved for. Her head on my shoulder, my arm or chest, and slowly falling asleep for a few minutes, to be woken up a bit later because a new blood sample should be taken, or because they had to take her to the dialysis. Hospital life is exhausting. For everyone.
I remember that morning like it was yesterday. Atalia had just had breakfast when a man in a way too expensive suit entered the room. Holmes. Michael Holmes. Surgeon. Kidney Surgeon. That a lot of meetings, discussions and considerations were preceded but if she would let him that he would help her. He was not excited to remove both her kidneys but would do it if she agreed. As long as she was aware of the risks. The pain might disappear, it might not. She could be better soon, but just as well die from complications, bleedings, infections and so on. This was serious. Meanwhile, I was part of the scenery, so doctors, nurses and counsellors also talked to me. I was the one who was always there. It has its advantages. If there was leftover food they knew where to find me. And honestly, that hospital food was better than what you can find in an average hostel.
She could barely handle the pain. Painkillers decided not to work anymore. It all looked not good. She signed the papers. Tomorrow it will happen. All other operations were cancelled and Mr. Holmes would devote his day to remove two non-functioning kidneys that had caused a lot of problems. It proved to be just the beginning. After some misery with missing documents, poor blood values and miscommunication she finally ended up in theatre. It would take about six hours. It took longer than that. Much longer. Together with her mother, I was waiting in the vast corridor for someone to come save us from our suffering. It was Dr Holmes himself. He had never seen this in his career. That it was very difficult to remove everything in a responsible manner. He eventually had to remove a piece of the liver, and was actually still happy with the result. One detail. There had occurred a haemorrhage. A bleeding that they couldn’t easily stop. Not to say, couldn’t. It was ten o'clock. If the bleeding was still not stopped at midnight they would operate her again. We could see her. She was awake. That surprised me the most. She was awake. Not only awake but very active. She listened to what the nurses were discussing among themselves, she was aware of the nervous impression they left behind, and she knew all too well what was going on. She felt something bubbling in her stomach. That was the blood oozing in. That she wanted to return to theatre as quickly as possible. It had to be resolved.
After a last attempt to stop the bleeding with medication they decided to take some action. A new operation in which they would bring pads in place to stop the bleeding. It would take a half hour. We took place in that long corridor. Again. And there was Mr. Holmes. Again. 3 hours later. He made a very tiring impression. Dressed in white boots and operation clothing, he told us that the bleeding was under control. She wasn’t awake this time, was not even closed up, but they would change that tomorrow. They would give her a day to rest and take a look to close her up eventually. He would go to sleep and we'd better do the same. Sleep well.
At ten o'clock that morning I woke up. My cell phone rang. It was Mr. Holmes. They would operate Atalia again ,immediately. They wanted to be sure, and the monitor showed that the bleeding was still not fully under control. So it continued here. She woke up. Could not talk because several tubes had been in her throat for several days. She wrote things down. She felt better. She looked better. She looked so good that they decided to take her to a regular room less than twenty-four hours after her last surgery. She just looked too cheerful. And we have known what would happen.
The next morning she looked anything but good. The 41-degree fever did also not help. When she became delirious during dialysis and it became clear she was in pain, it was finally clear to the nurses that something was going very wrong. Doctors came along and decided to bring her back to intensive care. It went downhill from there. The blood kept clotting. Old bllood remained in her body. The dirt was not completely out of her body and she continued to have pain. She was delirious. She changed.
It's hard to see someone going backwards. It is difficult to realise that a person realises how much she changed. I had to keep traveling. For her. I had to take photos. I had to show them to her after I finished my trips. And she looked at me. Time after time. Afterwards they told me that she asked her parents to take care of me when it would be necessary. That’s a weird feeling. She was ready to go.
They would place a new tube in order to remove the last irritations. Of course, all of these things are temporarily. After this minor procedure she refused to wake up. What is not normal after a minor surgical procedure. Was her body tired after the many operations in the past weeks? No, there was more to it. They finally took a scan of her stomach by our insistence. Bad news. A perforated bowel. She had to return to theatre immediately. Her body was poisoned. No good news. Not at all.
One rollercoaster after another but you just go on. After the first surgery, I had a bad feeling, but that obstacle had been overcome. It could only get better. There was a lot of cleanup work, they said. A long process. The days that followed were terrible. She was still not closed, her heart rate was not lower than 152 beats per minute and she didn’t eat a lot. It needed time.
This would be the last operation. They would finally close her up. It went in the right direction. Tomorrow morning she would wake up. Would. She didn’t. The panic in the nurses eyes was freaking me out. A panicking nurse is never good. They did not know what was going on. She should be awake but she wasn’t. She had responded to pain. That was a good sign. After twenty-four hours, there was still no change. They had to bring her to theatre for a final check, again. And that they would like to talk to us. Urgent.
They have already talked to us. After the first operation. That it could go well, or it could go extremely wrong. We had to keep that in mind. There was a small chance that she would not make it. All we heard was that there was a small chance that I would go wrong. And that's all we wanted to remember. New day, new conversation, with half of the family. People I never saw before, people who never saw me before. People thought it was strange that I was there. People who do not believe what the doctors told them. The doctors were clear. Her condition had to improve otherwise there was nothing more they could do. She was at the operation table. Again. We had to really consider the worst. And that's exactly what you don’t want.
Back from the surgery she had still not been awake. The probability that this would happen soon was small because she didn’t awake last time twenty-four hours after anaesthesia. That they would keep an eye on her. We went back to the motel because both her parents and I left an impression that we were tired, exhausted. That same evening, around seven o'clock, we received a phone call. If we wanted to come to the hospital. They would like to talk to us. Forgive me my negativity as I thought the worst at that time. I honestly thought we were losing her, that we lost her. That turned out not to be so. She was alive. They had to cut an abdominal muscle earlier that afternoon because it was dead. Her toes began to turn black and her blood values were anything but good. That they would not operate her anymore, they said. We had to think to let nature do its work. Lay it in God's hands, you know. In other words, pull the plug and let her decide if she is able to breathe on her own. I've never been in a situation like this. As I mentioned earlier, my father is seriously ill, but I've never really seen him suffering this bad. Not like this. A 25-year-old who, after more than ten surgeries in as many days with no sign of improvement, is in intensive care. Terrible. That turning off the machines was the best thing we could do for her. A decision that her parents didn’t want to make. Until they saw no other way out. Her mother and I have seen the wound. That someone could survive a week like this is almost impossible to understand. It was a strong woman.
Atalia was taken to another room, the priest was called. Life support was switched off and the final battle could begin. She stopped breathing after 5 minutes. Her heartbeat lasted a little longer. Her hand in my hands. I said goodbye. A little before midnight, August 30. I did not plan this in my New Zealand adventure. Encounter someone for who you interrupt your travels. To make fun with her, make plans to immigrate permanently, happy together ... And then, before you realise what’s going on… It turns out to be a nightmare. That she looked much happier the last weeks before her death. Her eyes sparkled when I walked into intensive care. She brightened when I was in the neighbourhood. It doesn’t make it easier, I must say.
Her parents did what Atalia asked them, take care of me. Which means I helped arranging the funeral, visited the priest and so on. It didn’t help that I could sleep in her room, not really. Very sweet people. Very sweet family. The culture is totally different from what we, Europeans, are used to. Atalia was laying a few days in the living room to be driven to church on Friday for the family service. After that she returned home to go back the next day for the funeral. With lots of singing, praying and weeping people in and around the house. Day and night. And lots of food. These are intense days, a funeral in an island family. The way the whole family accepted me was admirable. They were glad I made Atalia happy in the last months of her life. She had dared to discover love.
Find the courage to carry on is difficult. Very difficult. I struggled, and I'm still struggling. I know I have promised to continue traveling and I will. I did. Exactly two months after her death, I resumed traveling. All that time I spent with her parents in Rotorua. Her parents locked me in their hearts, and I dare to say without any doubt that this has become my second family. With a picture of Atalia in my backpack, I will explore the South Island, and the rest of the world. In this way she is still a little bit with me on my journey. Though I have actually no need to take that photo. She’s with me anyways. I miss her. And she’ll never know how Breaking Bad ends.
I know that this blogpost is not the most happy one ever. I have left a lot of details out but I want you to realise that it was not all bad. I had some nice moments in the last months too. We made each other happy, and I’ll take that with me forever.
Until we write again. Soon. Ever.
In the meantime I have made some plans for the future. I’ll return to Belgium in April and will start with a massive walk. More info in my next blogpost and on my Facebook page. To do this I started a fundraising campaign. Two campaigns: one to collect money so I would be able to do the walks I want, and become able to raise money. The second one to raise money for the anti cancer fund, world kidney day and Atalia’s headstone and unveiling. You can find the links to the pages here and here.
Donating would be great, sharing would be even more awesome.
Big hug and kisses
Benny