Heavenly Beverley : Wear The Best Knickers Today.

Life passes in a whirlwind. Wasn't 2000 just the other day? How did my children become adult so fast? When did all this grey hair appear? And where the hell are my glasses?

I look in the mirror, expecting to see a particular image. I am always disappointed, even though that feeling is fleeting. A middle-aged, roundish woman with coloured red hair stares back at me. Then, I remember who I am on the inside and my disappointment fades away. I am still here, I have most of my wits, my humour and cynicism have developed to new heights and I worry less about unimportant matters. I am married to the love of my life. We have a beautiful new home. We will be building a leafy and wonderfully secluded courtyard in the very near future. And I am looking forward very much to seeing my brothers again, unfortunately not altogether. David and Kerin, Michael and I will be spreading Mum and Dad's ashes in the idyllic creek next to their retirement village, their last home.

One notable absence will be brother Simon, off to present a paper at an international conference. We are getting around that problem by flying in before Simon leaves so we can spend a few days with him.

And my other brother Mike. He would have loved to have been there with the rest of us. With his wife Jenny as well. That is not possible. Just over two weeks ago, Jenny was diagnosed with an aggressive primary lung cancer. The bastard has moved so swiftly that she already has secondary lesions in her brain. Initially, she was given no hope, with an almost immediate death as her only outcome. She was flown from Cooktown to Cairns and Mike is with her. Steroids to reduce her brain swelling were started. Then today, chemotherapy. Her oncologist expects a short remission then relapse. Radiotherapy is being discussed as the brain tumours will probably not respond to the chemotherapy. She is currently considered too unwell to participate in clinical trials.

Unless a miracle occurs, Jenny will die in the not-too-distant future. She will leave a devastated family behind. She is only in her early sixties. When we met her in August, she was working full-time in the local nursery and managing the property outside Cooktown. She worried about her mortgage, her life partner, her children and grandchildren. All the usual mundane everyday thoughts.

Now Jenny is desperately ill. And very frightened. She is fighting to stay alive. A victory would be leaving Cairns Hospital to stay in the adjoining apartments for what is only viewed as a short remission. How her life has changed in a few weeks.

I am so sad. And very angry. Jenny hasn't been given a chance to slow down or smell the roses or put her feet up. She has raised her children and grandchildren and worked for her family. Money has always been tight and she has grown fruit and vegetables and kept chickens to add to their table. She cheerfully admitted that she wasn't houseproud as she preferred to be outside in her beloved garden.
Her life could now be snatched away from her with absolutely no warning.

Jenny's terrible illness has reminded me of all the restrictions we embrace without question. We save the best crockery for dinners with friends. We deny ourselves that comfort food in case we gain more weight. We wear our daggy tracky daks in the garden so we don't get our new jeans dirty. We worry about saving face, farting in public, singing badly and laughing until we snort. We are concerned about travelling to remote places or secretly watching an R rated movie (which the critics have panned) or admitting to owning a Barry Manilow album.

I watched "Saturday Night Fever" the other night. I was returned to a time of disco, highly questionable fashion and jewellery and lots of hair. Today I bellowed and boogied along to the song "Finally" whilst Michael was driving us home from Perth. We are going to see "Swinging Safari" on Sunday before we fly out to Queensland. I'm looking forward to Pilates in the morning. I have decided to wear my favourite clothes when I wish. We will catch up with my friends for impromptu afternoon teas or drinkies or chuck-everything-in-the-middle-of-the-table dinners. I intend to visit our families as often as we can and probably drive them mad.

Tomorrow is not guaranteed. Don't miss any opportunity that presents in front of us. Live, love and laugh.Wear the new knickers. Indulge in your favourite food. Catch up with somebody you love.

Today.