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Janet Tratt Brisbane, Queensland, Australia   Changing Gears Australia 2005 Experienced Rider

A big bowl of cookies-and-cream ice cream later and I still can’t think of anything interesting to say. ‘Tis the evening before the big deadline to have this “profile” in. I’ve procrastinated in every way possible. Can’t put it off any longer. Here goes:

My name is Janet (JT) and I’m originally from Nova Scotia, Canada. I’ve been in Australia for a little over four years now, and settled in Brisbane, Queensland for the past three. In January 2003, at age 40, I discovered a huge indentation in my right breast. Having two paternal aunts who had battled breast cancer, I bypassed denial mode and rang the doctor straight away. It was a Tuesday. Two weeks later I was the One Tit Wonder. Due to my age and the history of breast cancer in my family, the doctor agreed with my decision to have my left breast removed as soon as I had recovered from chemo.

Ah, chemo. I remember printing off sets of drawings (I’m a drafter) with a box of saltines by my side to battle the nausea. I recall having to deliver some drawings to an architect and the elevator making me so dizzy that on the return trip I had to grab onto a traffic signal pole to keep from falling over. I was okay as long as I was in motion, but as soon as I stopped, the vertigo started. I cursed at more traffic lights as a pedestrian than I ever have as a driver.

If you saw a bald woman walking around downtown Brisbane between April and June in 2003, that was probably me. I was supposed to have lost my hair just before my second chemo, but the gods were being mischievous. I was at my in-laws for the Easter Holiday and my chemo treatments were the topic of discussion. Of course everyone wanted to know if I was going to lose my hair. My partner reached over, grabbed me by the hair and pulled while saying, “The oncologist said she was supposed to lose it by now, but look – not a hair out of…” Everyone at the table stared at the hand clutching clumps of what used to be my hair. Seasoned comedians would kill for timing like that.

I discovered one really handy thing about being bald. You rarely have to share a seat on the bus, even if the bus is full. I think everyone assumes either you’re a skinhead, so they’re afraid of you, or your cancer is catching, so they’re afraid of you. Works for me. I got the seat to myself.

Then came tamoxifen – the drug guaranteed to make Mother Theresa go off the rails and get into a fistfight with Doris Day. The only emotion I had was all-consuming rage. The hot flushes, night sweats and muscle cramping were just an added bonus. I gave it a year and refused to take it any more. What’s the point of living if you hate everything? My partner said it was like living with a stranger. It’s nice to be back.

The second surgery took place in October. I now have two matching scars across my chest. I was thinking of decorating them perhaps with a tattoo of the Canadian National Railway. Maybe the Rocky Mountains? No, the terrain’s not hilly enough now. I think we’re definitely talking prairies, outback or desert. This is where I get to test the theory, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Well, it’s got me on the ride of a lifetime. I’ve gone from my first ride on the back of a motorbike at 8 years old and scared out of my mind, to the anticipation of riding a Harley for eight days up the coast of Australia. In between there was riding as a pillion to chemos and surgery on the back of my partner’s new Suzuki Bandit. (It was so worth the looks on the nurses’ faces: “You’re going home on THAT?”) We bought it shortly after my diagnosis. Life is too short to waste. At first I hated riding pillion on it as much as when I was eight years old. I got over that. As soon as I was healed from my second mastectomy I bought a Honda VTR 250. That same afternoon I had my first lesson. Five lessons later I had my Open License. A year later I bought my beautiful silver Suzuki SV650.

Am I now ready to sit my butt on a Harley and ride the sucker without dropping it? NO! But I will be when the time comes. (Really, I will, nice Harley people.)

Yesterday I went on an afternoon ride up to Redcliffe and by chance ended up browsing in a used bookstore. Didn’t end up with any books, but I did find this gem on a tattered piece of paper by the door. Why waste time trying to find the right words when someone else has already done it for you!

I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to LIVE, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.

Jack London (1876-1916)
Jack London's Tales of Adventure

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