It was the weekend after the over-turning of the world’s first voluntary euthanasia law. Twynam is Australia’s third-highest mountain, near Kosciusko, but that is of no moment to this story. And I am afraid that this is a story of great pain and despair, though tempered by times of great hope and happiness. My wife, Lynne, and I first climbed Twynam on cross-country skis in October 1992 after being driven back by blizzard or rain on two earlier occasions. It was a brave triumph for Lynne.
Four years earlier she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. In 1988 Lynne had the lump cut out and then every work day for a month she went to the hospital for radiation treatment — lying on a bench being zapped from several directions, getting up, getting dressed and going to work as if nothing happened. It was followed by a week’s intensive radiation treatment. Four tubes were sewn through her breast and in each tube were granules of radioactive iridium. Her hospital bed was behind a lead shield behind which I talked to her when I visited.
Then, for Lynne, it was gone. But I had voraciously read the medical journals at the John Curtin School of Medical Research. Later it was to be the Internet. Volumes of information pointing in one inevitable direction, better left unspoken or communicated selectively — painfully so, for my working life at least was dedicated to the principle that information brought knowledge and knowledge brought wisdom and a more fulfilling life. Not so.
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