Sweet Surrender (5 page)

Having Isabella in the house somehow seemed to mellow David. It's impossible to ignore her presence in any room – not that she's particularly demanding. It's just that she needs a lot of interaction and affection, and I realised that David was paying more attention to her than I had ever seen him give our own children. Not in a practical sense, but in terms of making eye contact with her, talking to her and keeping her company in the back room while the rest of us were busy with other things. We became very, very attached to both the children and accustomed to the house being full of life and noise and action.
We would have been happy, I'm sure, to continue living this way indefinitely, but after nearly two years, Isabella's deteriorating health forced her family to move back to Blackheath, where they were closer to the hospital where she receives treatment.

Beautiful Isabella, with her alabaster skin and long red hair, is a joy and a great worry to her parents. Isabella's journey has been a rocky one, probably from the moment of conception. There is no obvious explanation for why she failed to thrive in utero, no illness, no accident, no set of circumstances that would cause placenta and baby to remain so tiny. In her young life she seems to have spent almost as much time in hospital as she has at home, hooked up to a feeding pump that delivers vitamin-enriched formula directly into her stomach via a valve in the side of her small, thin body. The fact that she survived is, I suppose, a miracle in itself, due to the advances of modern medicine – which make life possible for infants who in previous generations would certainly have died – and to the devotion of her parents.

Having Isabella in our family has quite radically changed the way I feel about fundamental life and death issues. If you had asked me a decade ago what I thought about a child who couldn't walk, talk or sit upright for more than a couple of moments, who couldn't chew or swallow food, and who had hearing and vision problems and therefore wasn't capable of functioning in any way like a normal, healthy child,
I would have said that particular child would be better off dead. I certainly don't feel that way now.

Isabella's parents are fiercely independent and have coped with the care of their disabled child without asking for or expecting much help, even from their immediate families. From the moment it became obvious, around the age of about six months, that Isabella's problems were much more complex than just a failure to thrive, they have assumed the mantle of responsibility and done so in an amazingly positive, good-natured and accepting manner. They have never complained about their lot even though since her birth seven years ago they have not enjoyed a peaceful night's sleep, and have the constant worry of a child whose future appears very uncertain. I have enormous admiration for them both.

Medically, Isabella's condition falls into the category of ‘global developmental delays'. This is just another way of saying she has a whole cluster of different problems, some connected and some that stand alone. It took more than a year before the various government departments that support families with disabled children would offer any assistance because there had been no definitive diagnosis. In spite of testing for a wide range of disorders and syndromes, there simply wasn't a convenient label they could put on Isabella, and therefore she fell through the cracks in terms of qualifying for support.

Eventually it was acknowledged that she wasn't simply suffering from delayed development and that there were many more serious symptoms that would require ongoing treatment for the rest of her life. She needed the care of so many different specialists – starting with paediatricians and gastroenterologists, and including dieticians, neurologists, speech pathologists, physiotherapists and occupational therapists. The list goes on.

Isabella cannot ingest food normally, so finding the best sustenance for her has been a nightmare. She is fed through a tube, and her digestive system can't tolerate rich formulas, so there is a constant process of
finetuning going on in the hope that she will continue growing despite the fact that the liquid pumped into her tummy is better suited to nourishing a newborn than a seven-year-old. She has grown, certainly, but she is much, much smaller than she should be for her age. Her legs, in particular, are very short and finding clothes that fit her is always a problem.

During the period leading up to the age of four Isabella made steady, if extremely slow, progress. She could sit for more than an hour at a time, was interested in everything around her, and had started rolling around and getting up onto all fours. We all felt certain that she was on the verge of learning to crawl. She was having intensive physiotherapy, including spending increasingly lengthy periods in a standing frame that had been designed and built specifically for her size and her needs. There is a lovely aspect to all this and it's about volunteering. Groups of retired men – men who often have been carpenters or builders during their careers – give their time to build customised equipment for disabled children. They create special seats with trays so that the children can be well supported while playing with toys that are designed to stimulate their senses. They adapt beds and cots and wheelchairs to make them more suitable for the needs of a particular child. They construct standing frames which force the child to carry their own weight on their legs and feet while preventing them from toppling over.

Isabella spent hours in her special standing frame and, while we questioned that she would ever walk, we knew that this daily exercise was strengthening her legs and helping them to grow. Then something devastating happened. Isabella started to have seizures. At first they were like little flutterings of the eye, but gradually they increased in intensity and frequency, and she was diagnosed with epilepsy. This was the beginning of a downward spiral. As the seizures became worse Isabella started to lose her hard-fought-for milestones. The length of time she could sit unaided diminished, and she started falling over. Once she had been quite capable of lowering herself gently to the ground
when she felt too tired to keep sitting up, but now she just flopped down. She required a protective helmet to prevent her from damaging her skull as she fell.

Isabella also suffers from a disorder called cyclic vomiting, which means that every few weeks her system rebels, and she simply can't hold her food down for three or four days, or even longer. This results in extended stays in hospital because she can easily become dehydrated and unable to absorb the medication which protects her against seizures, thus putting her at risk of having a major ‘event'. Lynne stays all day and night with her during these hospital visits, in a small fold-down bed provided by the hospital. She gets up early in the morning and dashes back to their house in Blackheath to organise Caius while Ethan is getting ready for work. Caius goes to pre-school two days a week, but if he's having an at-home day he goes back to the children's ward with his mother and they keep Isabella company until his father has returned from work. Lynne drives him home, staying to have dinner because the hospital does not provide meals for parents, and then, no matter how tired she may be, she drives back to the hospital to spend the night with her daughter. Some nights Ethan sleeps at the hospital instead to give Lynne a break and some time alone with Caius. It's an exhausting juggling act.

Lynne keeps a daily diary in which she records everything that happens with Isabella. Her feeds, her medications, her bowel and bladder movements, her sleep and her general state of mind. Often little Isabella is happy and will appear engaged and interested, making eye contact and smiling broadly. At other times she is distressed by severe seizures or the nausea that is part of the cyclic vomiting. It's heartbreaking.

One aspect of this journey that has troubled me has been the attitudes of some – though certainly not all – members of the medical profession. Initially there seemed to be a lack of faith in Lynne and Ethan because they were young, inexperienced parents. During a couple of consultations when they reported their observations about Isabella,
their version of events was doubted. Indeed there were suggestions that they had exaggerated the seriousness of Isabella's condition, or embellished her reactions to certain feeding regimes or medications. This was outrageous, given that as her parents they were living and breathing her problems night and day while the ‘experts' were only seeing her for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. It was in response to this that Lynne decided to keep her detailed diary.

At one point, unconvinced that they were making accurate reports, one doctor wanted Isabella to be admitted to hospital for several weeks so she could be kept under observation. Lynne and Ethan took turns to stay with her and it didn't take long for the nurses, and then finally the doctor, to agree that Isabella's parents' description of her behaviour and reactions was totally accurate.

Lynne and Ethan decided to try for their second child when Isabella was about two and a half years old. They had been seeing a genetic counsellor to determine the odds of having another child with a disability, yet no definitive answer could be given. So they went ahead, feeling optimistic that this time their child would be healthy and normal. The geneticist was disapproving, feeling they were irresponsible for choosing to risk a pregnancy until given the all-clear. That could have taken years.

Lynne had a healthy pregnancy; the baby appeared one hundred percent fit in routine ultrasounds. Lynne and Ethan declined an amniocentesis at eighteen weeks because of the risk of miscarriage. This test is routinely used to check for genetic and congenital disorders, and was recommended by the geneticist. Again their decision was frowned upon. Confident in their own judgement they went ahead with a homebirth under the supervision of a midwife. Caius was born blissfully, without the slightest complication. It was such a joyful moment after what had been a tough few years.

During the course of Isabella's treatment her parents also declined surgical intervention. There is an operation that can prevent a child
from vomiting; called fundoplication, it literally means that the upper curve of the stomach is wrapped around the esophagus and stitched. Ethan and Lynne talked to a lot of people about this procedure, sought second and third opinions and decided, ultimately, that it would make Isabella's life more miserable because of the long periods of unrelieved nausea that would result. There was criticism of this decision.

They certainly were never opposed to surgical procedures per se – indeed last year she underwent a quite risky removal of her tonsils and adenoids in the hope it would help her breathe more easily. It was a success. But a recent operation under a general anaesthetic to remove some baby teeth which had become embedded in her gums resulted in a serious bout of pneumonia because she inhaled fluid at some point during the procedure. So everything brings a risk and therefore the decision to ‘intervene' is at times a very troubling one.

It's my belief that parents should be listened to with much greater respect by the medical profession. Their decisions about the care of their child should also be honoured. There can be prejudice against young parents and there is sometimes an arrogant view that ‘doctor knows best.' The doctor isn't the one getting up to the disabled child three times a night, or cradling them when they become distressed with constipation (from the medication) or bouts of violent vomiting.

Fortunately the vast majority of the specialists and paediatricians and nurses have been fantastic and have recognised the devotion with which Ethan and Lynne care for their precious daughter. Indeed the head nursing sister at our local hospital, where they used to take Isabella when they lived at the farm, told me they were the most wonderful parents she had encountered in all her decades of paediatric nursing. All we could do was give them our unqualified support in the knowledge that all their actions were directed at making Isabella's life as happy and comfortable as possible. Watching them cope with her continuing problems was certainly a reality check for me, balanced as it was against the more superficial and trivial aspects of my life and career.

Perhaps the Channel 9 executive had spoken the truth when he told me the daytime chat show would eventually go ahead, for one day in 2006 an email popped up in my inbox from the network's casting director, Henrie Stride. I assumed Henrie was a bloke, but she turned out to be a warm and friendly young woman, who told me the network was developing a new show, and that she wanted me to come in for an interview with Mia Freedman, the network's creative services director. Was this
The Watercooler
reincarnated, or something completely different? I was intrigued, and agreed to a meeting the following week.

I knew a little about Mia Freedman, who was a high-profile, clever young journalist who had trained on magazines at Australian Consolidated Press – the same background as my own. I was curious about her role at Channel 9, having followed the reports of the continuing upheavals at the network in the pages of the press. My memory of working at the station all those decades ago was of a very male-oriented environment, and I was aware that more recently the network had scored with programs like
The Footy Show
, which gave good ratings, and tried to compensate for failures in other areas, such as news, current affairs and the morning show.

For the interview I dressed in a strappy sun frock and high heels, having picked up a few clues from my previous casting experience, and decided to indulge in a spray tan to colour up my pale, freckly skin. Henrie met me in the foyer and once more I found myself in the lift heading for the executive suites on the third floor. Mia greeted me enthusiastically. A beautiful, delicate young woman with an open face and ready smile, she immediately engaged me, saying: ‘You are hot, Mary. Just look at you. Do you mind me asking how old you are?'

I was thrown off guard, not by Mia asking my age but by her use of the word ‘hot', which I had never heard in this context before (I would hear it many, many times over the next six months). It's youth-speak. When she said I was ‘hot' I momentarily wondered if I was having yet another menopausal hot flush, but no, it turned out that she meant that I looked young and groovy for a grandmother of eight. I was off to a good start.

After chatting broadly about the concept for the new show I confessed to Mia and Henrie that as I don't watch daytime television and have never subscribed to pay TV, I hadn't seen the American program
The View
. But I told them I had a good friend in Bathurst who watched the show religiously. ‘I learn a lot and I laugh' was the way my friend described it. Mia loved this take on it; she repeated it several times, smiling widely.

The program we discussed that day was to be called
The Catch-Up
, and sounded similar in most respects to the one that hadn't made it to air two years before. Mia and Henrie told me they planned to interview a lot of potential cast members but were not doing auditions, which was a great relief to me. They aimed to make up their mind quite quickly and let me know. Was I available the following year, five days a week?

I said yes.

Within three weeks they had narrowed down the field. Mia wrote:

I was the only survivor from the previous attempt to get a daytime chat show off the ground, and again I was to be the oldest. The other women cast were Libbi Gorr, aka Elle McFeast, by far the most experienced of us on-camera (she would be the anchor); a charming young radio host by the name of Zoe Sheridan; and Lisa Oldfield, wife of the former One Nation politician David Oldfield.

The concept was to throw together a mix of women of different ages and perspectives. We were told we had been chosen for what we could ‘bring to the table' in terms of our varied lives and experiences.

It would seem that my main qualification, apart from my previous experience on ABC-TV's gardening show, was the fact that I was both a mother and grandmother, and had ‘lived' life, especially in the last few years; Libbi, of course, had a high-profile media career and had recently had her first child at the age of forty-one; Zoe was enthusiastic and bubbly and had worked in radio and television, but she was also a single mother with two young daughters; Lisa was a successful businesswoman who had survived abuse as a teenager, and later a period of drug addiction, a succession of miscarriages and, more recently, aggressive skin cancer. Lisa's right-wing politics were also fundamental in her selection for the panel. There was a strong view from the production team that we needed to have lively debate on the show – that it would be ratings death if we were ‘in violent agreement' – a term used often during the pre-production period.

Our different physical appearances were another factor in the casting: a blonde (Zoe), a brunette (Libbi), a redhead (me) and a sultry
ebony (Lisa). Libbi's weight loss and association with Jenny Craig was appealing to women viewers at home with similar issues, and she was confident and sexy on camera. Lisa and Zoe were both stunningly good looking. I was to represent older viewers, but from the more youthful perspective of a typical baby boomer. I wondered why there had been no attempt to include a multicultural aspect to the casting – I had suggested several fantastic Aboriginal women who I knew could hold their own in a lively debate. Libbi's Jewishness was the only bit of ethnic variation in an otherwise very vanilla panel.

The game plan we were presented with was simple. During the early weeks of the program we should establish our individual characters and personalities by gradually revealing snippets of personal information about our lives. Then, when we had the viewers charmed and ‘on side', we should be more forthcoming about our views and engage in high-spirited conversations, taking totally opposing sides on the issues of the day. We could become heated and express our views passionately, but we must never, ever get personal or unpleasant with each other on camera. We were to portray the image of four good friends who were genuinely fond of each other but quite comfortable agreeing to disagree. Not particularly easy given that we hadn't even met!

Mia, Henrie and the executive producer, Tara Smithson, were busy organising a get-together that would be spread over several days so that we could relax and get to know each other. We had been asked to submit a short biography so we could discover a little bit more about each other before we were brought together for that first meeting. It would also provide the basis of a media release when Nine's CEO, Eddie McGuire, and other network executives gave us the green light to proceed.

I sent a fairly dry, factual summation of my career highlights and some brief personal details, as did both Libbi and Zoe. Lisa sent a long and involved first-person account of her life and her various triumphs
over adversity that read something like a misery memoir. It detailed childhood abuse, overcoming adversity to build a brilliant career, and a passionate romance with her husband, David Oldfield, based around a shared love of military history, scuba diving and pistol shooting. It would soon make its way into the wider world of the media.

Mia sent us an excited email detailing a three-day ‘love-in', which would begin with two days of getting to know each other and workshopping our chemistry and conversation skills. On the third day, we would be given full hair and make-up, and a ‘screen test' would be shot that would immediately be sent around the network for final approval.

‘
The mantra I have in my head for this show? I learn something and I laugh . . . that's the key
,' Mia wrote.

Our first meeting was in the boardroom. Déjà vu. I was a little late because of a prior commitment that I couldn't change, so by the time I arrived my co-hosts were having a casual lunch of salads and sandwiches. It was the first time I had met the executive producer, Tara, who was bright and bubbly, but of course the most important mission was meeting and getting a handle on the other ‘girls'.

‘Aren't we having wine?' I asked, typically.

I thought it would help to relax everyone, and it certainly did, although Libbi abstained as she was still breastfeeding her baby, Che. A couple of glasses later we were laughing and exchanging banter like four old friends. We were all obviously excited and feeling pretty good about ourselves. Even Lisa, who I feared would be a dragon lady, turned out to be warm, funny and engaging. Libbi was more serious than I expected, with a quick wit and the great sense of humour that had been prominent in her previous work. I liked her immediately. Zoe was also warm and funny and I thought together we would make an interesting team.

The mood sobered slightly when we were told it was time to meet Eddie McGuire. I had done some last-minute research on Eddie
because, never having followed sporting programs or quiz shows, I had only a vague idea who he was. I recalled reading in the media pages that he had been appointed CEO of the network some time back, but gave it scant thought. My son Aaron, who plays AFL and knew all about Eddie's passion for the Collingwood Football Club, gave me a quick background briefing, which was a lifesaver.

We were ushered to the inner sanctum of his office and were immediately put at ease. A man of considerable charm, Eddie is the sort who can mix it with anyone from Australia's richest and most powerful (including the Packers) to the most rabid footy fan. And even women, as I soon discovered. He enthused about his hopes for the program, and gave us some tips on how to avoid talking over the top of each other when debating issues on the panel, gleaned from his years in broadcasting.

For some reason I felt a need to strike a blow for those of us for whom sport is not the meaning of life. I suggested to Eddie that I didn't regard sport as news, that it irritated me to see sport constantly on the front page of the newspaper, and not on the back page where I felt it belonged. I was rather foolishly waving a red rag at a bull, but that's my way. He disagreed, but charmingly so. The others looked at me askance. Why was I baiting the boss? I suppose I just wanted to make it plain where I was coming from, and what he could expect of me on the show.

The morning of the third day, the screen test, we were given a makeover bright and early by the make-up artists and hairdressers. It was fun being transformed into glamour queens – little did I realise how I would eventually come to resent being imprisoned in the make-up chair for two hours every morning.

We talked through the topics we would debate before the cameras. I was disturbed that most of our discussion topics revolved around celebrities. Mia and Tara took the view that the broader issues facing women at home could best be tackled through this window. If some famous actress was having weight-loss difficulties or marital problems
or addiction issues or psychological problems, we could thrash it out by using the celebrity as a ‘hook'.

I couldn't imagine how some of the vacuous American bimbos depicted in women's magazines were significant or relevant to the more grounded and intelligent audience I hoped would watch our show. But I also felt I was on thin ice, since I really had no idea who any of these celebrities were, or what they had done. How could I talk confidently about people I had never even heard of?

We were introduced to a good-looking young man who was to be our link to this celebrity gossip. Mia was very excited when she told us that Pete Timms was to have a regular spot on the show. Zoe and Lisa gasped with apparent delight, Libbi looked bemused, and I sat looking blank. It turned out he had been a finalist on the original season of
Big Brother
, had gone on to become a minor celebrity in the gossip columns, and was now working for
Woman's Day
magazine. I tried desperately to look enthusiastic.

All made-up and ready to record the screen test, I dashed into the Channel 9 loos for a nervous pee, and realised Libbi was in the next cubicle.

‘How long do you think we'll last?' she asked.

‘A week, a month, who knows?' I responded. We giggled. It would be a great adventure, if nothing else. It was our running joke for the next five months. ‘Still here!' we'd laugh disbelievingly.

The day we shot the screen test I was uncomfortable with the subject matter chosen for debate. Libbi and I had both suggested various political issues that could be debated, but the view from the production side was that politics was generally a turn-off. It was deemed boring for women at home. We had a half-hearted attempt at discussing the coup in Fiji, which was plastered all over the front pages that day, but none of us knew very much about what was going on in Suva, and there was certainly no time for research to help us discuss it. It worked against our push for more serious content.