“Some would say I’m unlucky to have gotten sick; I say I’m lucky I lived.” – Trent’s story

Where do you start with something that consumed your life? Nearly ended your life? Stopped you from enjoying what life has to offer?

From the age of 27, when I was diagnosed, to where I sit today, 15 years later, it’s been like a rollercoaster, both physically and emotionally. This disease can take you to the lowest of lows but can help you enjoy the highest of highs. Everyone has a different experience with this disease and works through it in their own way. There is no right or wrong way to handle it. My personal experience was to set small goals along the way and try to stay positive. Sometimes the goals were probably selfish, but sometimes you have to be selfish. Sport played a massive part in my recovery, but the reality is that none of us would be able to get through it without the support of the people we hold dearest—our family and friends.

I grew up in northwest Tasmania as a very active person. As with most boys growing up in our region, it was cricket in summer, footy in winter, and basketball all year round. Mix that with fishing, diving (snorkeling, anyway), and surfing, and you can see how active and fit I was. I had a great family upbringing, accompanied by the typical meat-and-three-veg dinners most nights—along with too many cokes and chocolates.

At 17, basketball gave way to more cricket and footy, but with that came training and a healthy diet. Still, there were no signs of illness. At 20, I moved out of home with my girlfriend and friends, and with that came a change in lifestyle as we enjoyed life. On the weekends, we drank far too much alcohol, which led to lots of Sunday hangover cures from KFC. I was still a fit person who enjoyed training consistently with plenty of general fitness work to look after my body. By my early 20s, through to when I first started getting sick, I was a genuinely good sportsman—not elite, but certainly among the top performers at a local level.

I was married with three beautiful daughters, each born within four years of each other. Never in a million years did I picture the fight I was about to embark on or the hell I would put them through, watching me fight it.

It started during the footy season in 2008. Part of my role on the team was to tag the opposition’s best players, which required a great fitness base to run out games. At the start of the season, this was something I had no issue with, but as the season went on, I found myself running out of breath quicker than usual. It wasn’t enough to alarm me or even really raise an eyebrow—I just figured it was part of getting older. Around this time, I also started to notice small traces of blood in my stool. Only the tiniest trace. Again, I didn’t think it was anything to worry about. Life went on.

This continued for the duration of the footy season but didn’t really progress at the time. I just wasn’t getting better. Being a 26-year-old male, I continued to ignore it. Maybe, if I had made the choice to see someone about it, my life would have been different. Looking back, it was the brief gap between footy and cricket season when I started to go downhill. Again, at the time, I was too stubborn to notice or think much of it. But there were definitely signs.

My bowel movements were starting to get painful. I was lacking energy. I had become moody, which was very unusual for me. I was losing conditioning. All signs that Crohn’s sufferers can relate to, but as mentioned earlier, I was too stubborn to think there was something wrong. I just put it down to getting older, being tired because of the kids, and wanting to keep my lifestyle the same as it was.

I made it about a quarter of the way through the cricket season and was still performing okay, but it was taking its toll. That was the first time I started to think there might be something wrong with me. My wife was telling me there was, but I wouldn’t listen. I threw myself into work and cricket even more, thinking that if I just worked harder at training, my fitness would return.

Toward the end of the season, I was genuinely struggling to get through games. A game against Penguin at Penguin in the last round was when it really hit home that there was something more wrong with me than just a lack of fitness. Late in the game, I hadn’t made any runs or bowled much when the captain asked me to come back on, and I had to say I couldn’t because I was just spent. I had nothing more to give. I blamed it on a flu and moved on.

There was no more talk about it for a while. As the cricket season wound up, I started to feel “better.” I finished the season, had the usual club celebrations with dinner, and there was only one thing left: the players’ trip. A trip renowned for drinking and eating shit food. Amanda, my wife, requested I not go, as we were heading away on a family holiday to Scamander right after I got back, and she could see I was unwell.

Day 1 of the 4-day trip started fine. A few drinks and some food that night, and all was going well. But it wasn’t long until it took a turn for the worse. My next three days were spent back and forth between the couch and the toilet. Initially, in my stubbornness, I blamed it on the “hangover.” Clearly, those who knew me well recognised that this wasn’t true and that something was seriously wrong with me.

It got worse as the weekend went on to the point where I was labeled “the corpse” by many on the trip. By the time it was time to go home, I tried to hide how unwell I was from my family so as not to ruin the trip. But it was impossible to conceal by this stage. I was living on the toilet, couldn’t eat anything, and had no appetite or even thoughts of wanting to drink. We were there for a week. Luckily, the kids were young enough not to understand that I wasn’t well. They were having a blast. Meanwhile, I was horribly unwell, sitting on the toilet with constant diarrhea and pain whenever I tried to eat anything. There was more blood in the stool, and I just felt genuinely horrible about myself. I finally agreed to go to a doctor as soon as we got back to Burnie.

That Sunday, we arrived back in Burnie early, and I went to a walk-in clinic at City Medical, which was open on Sundays at the time. Dr. Olowola was the doctor on duty. Heading there, I anticipated bad news. I knew this wasn’t normal, but I thought the blood might be hemorrhoid-related, as there was a growth down there. I went in to see the doctor. The usual questions followed: “How long have you been unwell?” “What are the symptoms?” He examined my stomach area, had a few concerns, but nothing major. Then he asked if he could take a look at my rectal region. I dropped my pants, rolled over, and he had a look and a quick feel. When I jumped through the roof in pain, he sent me straight to the Emergency Department. He called ahead and informed them I was on my way.

At the ED, the doctor told me I was fasting in preparation for surgery the next day—an emergency colonoscopy. They gave me morphine to ease the pain I was in, pain I hadn’t even realised I was feeling. I settled into life at the ED, walking around, talking to people, and lying in bed. Then I realised it had been four hours, and I hadn’t given Amanda an update on what was happening. Luckily, she had called the doctors, who informed her, and she arrived not long after.

The next day, I went in for my colonoscopy, not thinking much about it. I was in the hospital, so that’s just what they do. They said they’d come around with the results later that day or early the next morning. A doctor came to visit me and suggested I have my wife with me for the discussion about the results. So Amanda came down to the little meeting room where we met Dr. Alsafa. With a no-nonsense approach, he told us it didn’t look good. It looked like I was riddled with bowel cancer. If that was confirmed by the biopsy, I’d need to get my affairs in order because I wouldn’t have long to live. He was 90% sure of his diagnosis.

We were both in shock. All I could think about was leaving Amanda with three kids to raise on her own. Amanda was in a genuine state of shock — she had questions, but the doctor would only address me. Not long after, two of my best mates, Aza and Loz, visited. They asked how I was doing, and I gave the usual “yeah, been better,” but didn’t elaborate too much. After Amanda left with the kids, I asked them to promise to be there for Amanda and the kids if I didn’t make it. It was one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had. They sort of brushed it off, not knowing the severity of what we’d been told. To their credit, they assured me that everyone would step up if needed. That moment also brought some levity when Aza, trying to figure out where the catheter tube was going, had a priceless reaction once he finally realised.

The test results came in the next day. The biopsy was clear—no cancer. That was great news, but now the doctors didn’t know what was wrong with me. Another colonoscopy was scheduled. By this stage, I was down to 58 kg, having lost 18 kg in just two weeks. I underwent the procedure and came out all good, thrilled that I wasn’t dying. However, this was my first experience with a catheter, a tube inserted into the bladder to stop the need for urination. It goes exactly where you imagine it does. Not the most comfortable experience of my life, but the doctors assured me it was necessary as I should be bedridden and not moving unless absolutely necessary. Thankfully, I only had it in for two days before I proved I could move relatively freely.

Three days later, they came up with a diagnosis: Crohn’s disease. My initial reaction was positive. “Excellent, how do we fix it?” The response: “We can’t. There’s no cure.” Oh. “What do I do then?” The answer was to start medication and try to control it. They explained that there were many different medications and that we’d need to use trial and error to find the right one.

I spent 19 days in the hospital during this first trip. Eventually, they settled on sulfasalazine, along with steroids. Upon release, I was taking 12 tablets a day. You could almost hear me rattle as I walk. I was genuinely feeling a bit better, had put some weight back on, and regained a small appetite. However, the doctors told me my days of playing footy, cricket, or any real physical activity were over due to the sheer amount of muscle mass I’d lost and the condition of my insides. All of a sudden, I was trying different diets: no chocolate, no coffee, no Coke, no fatty foods at all. Let’s try no gluten. Nothing worked. But still, no chocolate or Coke allowed—a horrendous situation for anyone who knows me! At the time, I agreed with the doctors, thinking it would help me recover, but deep down, I was determined to play golf at the very least.

Over the next few months, there was gradual improvement. I gained a bit of weight, ate better, but still suffered from stomach pains and other side effects of Crohn’s Disease. Regular appointments with Dr. Alsafa didn’t lead to much progress, as he was a general surgeon, not a gastroenterologist. After three months, I declined quickly again. I lost all the weight I’d regained and ended up back in the hospital. Another colonoscopy—my fourth in four months—showed no improvements. I spent four more days in the ward.

Sometimes, you just need a bit of luck in life. Luckily, I was about to get mine. After being released from the hospital, I was at home feeling sorry for myself when I got a call from the hospital. To be honest, I wasn’t going to answer it, sick of talking about my condition. But luckily, I did. Dr. Jarrad Wilson was on the line. A renowned gastroenterologist, he’d stumbled across my file and colonoscopy photos on someone’s desk. After reading through my case, he wanted to take it on. The saying “everything happens for a reason” had never rung truer.

Dr. Wilson called me in for a meeting, and in just 25 minutes, he taught me more about Crohn’s than I’d learned in the months prior. While he didn’t take me off sulfasalazine, as it helped repress some symptoms, he added Imuran to the regimen. I was up to 20 tablets a day, including iron supplements. Even better, my diet was now back to trial and error: eat and drink what I wanted, but learn from it. If something made me feel terrible, avoid it in the future.

From there, my condition improved significantly. I had more energy, gained weight, and began enjoying life in small bursts. Although I wasn’t in remission and still dreaded eating due to the pain it caused, those moments of no pain allowed me to experience bits of life again.

By August, I was feeling much better

My cricket club had appointed John, someone I’d played a lot of rep cricket with and respected, as coach. He called to see if I could play. My answer was a firm “no.” But he convinced me to be his assistant coach, knowing full well that if I well that if I am remotely healthy enough I will end up playing despite “never being able to play again”.

So, off to the first pre-season training I go, with no intention of playing as I was sick. The first training run is just as planned: go there, do a bit of coaching, stand around, and not do much. But geez, it was good to be back around other people.

The next week was the same sort of thing. This went on for a few weeks, and now it’s two weeks out from the season. I go to training and am feeling pretty good by now. Back up to 72 kg, I have a bit of energy. I think, “Might just have a bat. Won’t bowl. Just have a bat. Can’t take that much out of me, can it?” So, I have a bat. It felt good to be back competing, even if it was only training.

I still won’t play—I’m just having a bat at training. I join in a bit of fielding training as well. The next day, I wake up, and my body has familiar aches, but it’s not the Crohn’s aches. It’s just muscle soreness. Is there a chance I could play?

I go to an appointment with Jarrad the following week and ask him the question: is there a chance? What if I don’t bowl? We go back and forth discussing the pros and cons. Jarrad, to his credit as a doctor, likes the idea of me having something to push myself, to be more outgoing, and to keep trying to build my fitness base back up. So, yeah, let’s give it a go.

But it could make me sick again. I need to make sure I am eating the right foods, keeping myself completely hydrated, and pulling back a bit if I start to feel bad. So, it’s off to training that night. I talk to John. “Might play in the B Grade this week, John, and see how I go. Doctor has given me the all-clear.”

“If you’re playing, you’re playing with us, not the B Grade,” he says. So that settles it.

I go home that night and tell Amanda the good news. That Friday night, I make sure I prepare perfectly: a big pasta dish to ensure my carb levels are good, plenty of water, and plenty of sleep.

Saturday comes—Round 1 against the reigning premiers, Acton. We bowl first and get off to a decent start, but then they are well on top. Maybe I can just bowl off a couple of steps, just roll the arm over and try to keep it tight. Let’s try it. Ten overs and a couple of wickets later, that’s another box ticked for the day. I got through the overs, still upright, no pain in the stomach. Winning.

Now it’s our turn to bat. Not many runs to be scored as I am out for 7, but we go on and win the game. My personal performance is irrelevant to me—I got through the game. Usually, I would celebrate that win with beers at the clubrooms. I am at the clubrooms, but it is a Coke and water night for me. Don’t need to drink.

Sunday is going to be the test. How am I going to pull up? Wake up. My shoulder feels like it is going to drop off, but I don’t dare complain to Amanda about that as I wasn’t bowling, remember? My legs are heavy, my feet are sore, but I feel good. This could actually work.

So, back to training that week. Train hard on Tuesdays and have easy nights on Thursdays. This is my new training plan to make sure I am good to go on Saturday.

Round 2: top score with the bat and bowl 8 overs. Round 3: bowl 10 overs and get a few runs again. I am pulling up well. No side effects as far as the Crohn’s goes. I’m enjoying being back, playing, and just being able to compete. But the competitive juices are flowing.

The season goes on, and we are winning consistently, including in the T20s. We make the final of the T20—a home final against Riana. We bowl first, and Riana make a good fist of it, scoring 140 off their 20 overs. In the chase, I’m batting at 3. A decent start by us, but a few quick wickets fall, and it’s a rebuilding process. We end up needing 50 off 4 overs, and my teammate goes berserk. We get the runs with an over to spare. I end up 35 not out, but he plays the innings of most people’s lifetimes, and we are the T20 premiers.

Incredibly, it’s my first flag for my beloved West Ridgley—a flag we celebrated hard. We began to believe that the 50-over one was a chance as well. I am scoring runs consistently, bowling overs off a few steps, and it’s going great. A couple of appointments with Jarrad ensure everything is still going well. No issues, still not in remission, but the quality of life is so much better. I’m even enjoying a few beers occasionally after getting approval from Jarrad!

Training nights are filled with games of crib, sausages, pizzas, Coke, and beer. The odd chocolate here and there. Life is pretty much back to normal. A positive attitude and listening to Jarrad have gotten me to this point.

Coming into the last round, we needed to win to finish on top of the ladder and secure a home final. We had a few players out this week as they were at a festival in Launceston, including our two opening bowlers. Maybe I can open the bowling and bowl off my long run—back to bowling fast. I don’t need to ring Jarrad now because I know what his answer is: “It’s your body. You know how it feels. You know how far you can push it.”

I talk to John. “Let’s try it. Could be a good boost for the finals to have me back off the long run and bowling fast.”

We lose the toss, and we’re bowling first on a perfect day for cricket. First ball of the innings, off the long run—wicket. LBW. Beat the batsman for pace. Fourth ball of the over—wicket again. Another LBW. So far, so good. Nine overs later, I’ve taken five wickets. We’ve bowled them out for 107, and we’ve only lost two wickets ourselves. Top spot is ours heading into the finals, which means a home final.

We win the toss, and we’re batting first. And it’s a duck for me! Luckily for me, everyone else scores a few, and we manage to make a defendable score. I keep the new ball and am opening the bowling again. Bang—wicket first ball of the innings again! LBW. We’re off to a flying start.

We end up winning a close one at home by 9 runs, with me taking 3 wickets. We’re headed to a home grand final! What a day that’s going to be!

Grand Final Day arrives, and I have some time in the morning to reflect on my journey to getting back here. But before the game, as I do every week, I go to take my Sulfasalazine tablets. Anyone who knows these pills knows how big they are. I immediately start choking on them and have to cough them back up. Great start to the day!

As I walk out to bat, I look around and take it all in. But unfortunately, I’m walking back off the ground quite quickly, having been dismissed for another duck—caught in the slips by a great schoolmate of mine, Jeremy.

Again, the team does their job. We manage to score 175 off our 50 overs. We’re going to have to bowl well to defend this. Can I get a wicket first ball again? Nope, definitely not. My first over goes for 19. So, in the grand final, I have a duck and 0 for 19 off one over. At this point, I almost want to be back in the hospital bed!

As the game goes on, Riana are well on top. They make it to 1 for 78 when John turns back to me to bowl in tandem with Lamp, a partnership that has worked for a long time. In quick fashion, we get a wicket each, and it’s now 3 for 90. Another partnership sees them well on the way to victory, sitting at 3 for 120, before it’s my turn to bowl again.

All of a sudden, wickets start to fall, and we are well on top. Before you know it, I’ve taken the last wicket and finished with 6 for the innings in the grand final. We’re premiers!

I was lucky enough to win the Man of the Match in the grand final—the year I was told I wouldn’t play cricket anymore. What a feeling that was.

While there were certainly a few celebratory drinks that night, I didn’t drink too much because I just wanted to soak it all in. In the space of 10 months, I had gone from not playing again to winning an A-grade flag, finishing the season as the leading run-scorer for the club, second in wickets, and winning the All-Rounder award. What a time.

Over the next few months, life returned to some normalcy. The word “remission” was even mentioned as a possibility. A colonoscopy showed there was very little active Crohn’s in my bowel, but still a little. Life was going well—plenty of family adventures. I even went back to watch the footy for the first time since stopping playing. I wasn’t taking any time off work (at Woolies), and I was back up to the late 70s in weight.

I had gotten myself to the point where I rarely thought about being sick—other than the tablets, which had been reduced to just 16 by now, as there was no need for steroids anymore. You wouldn’t have known I was sick. My bowel movements were nowhere near as bad as they had been. I was pretty much only needing to go twice a day, down from sometimes up to 10 times a day when I was at my sickest. I didn’t go to bed in pain and wake up in pain anymore.

But, as I said above, sometimes it’s just about luck. Other times, it’s the bad luck that gets you. I managed to catch a dose of gastro in August. Now, for a normal person, gastro is pretty ordinary. But for someone with active Crohn’s, it’s a disaster. I was horribly ill for 3 days, which, to make it worse, flared my Crohn’s back up.

So, for the next week and a half, I’m fighting the fight I know all too well. Toilet visits up to 15 times a day, scared to eat or drink, not able to function properly. About 3 days into the fight, we relent and head to the hospital, where I’m admitted immediately. Jarrad is contacted and comes down to see me as soon as he’s available. There’s a look of disappointment in his eyes as he sees me—not in me, but in the fact that we had worked so hard to get some normalcy back in my life, and now this.

If there’s one thing people don’t understand about Crohn’s, it’s the fatigue. Yes, it’s a stomach disease, but it robs you of any energy to fight it. That makes it not just a physical battle, but a mental one too. You’re constantly arguing with yourself to fight, but you just don’t have the energy. The pain you can tolerate, but the lack of energy is tough—especially when you’re used to being an active person.

At this time, I’m off work again. This time it’s three weeks off altogether. I lost 14 kg in the space of 7 days, and the conditioning you lose when your body is fighting like this is hard to explain. I can’t speak highly enough of the management team and colleagues I had at Woolies during this time for the care they showed me. I was never rushed back to work, which was a relief in some ways, but it didn’t help financially when I eventually ran out of personal and annual leave!

So, this time it’s a 7-day stay in the hospital. A lot of people hate their hospital stays, but quite strangely, they didn’t bother me. When you are genuinely too sick to function, there is nowhere better to be. The constant pain relief, the encouragement to drink water, the forcing of food, and just the general allowance to rest—my days in hospital were pretty standard. I would buy the papers when they came around first thing in the morning: The Advocate, The Herald Sun, and The Age. I tried to stretch the reading of them throughout the day, though it was hard to do when you only read the sports sections! I became a current affairs expert whilst in hospital. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were always at the same times. Every day, Amanda would come down. Most days, she would bring the kids down with her to see me. Visitors ranged from family to friends, but there weren’t many nights when I didn’t have various people in to see me. Lots of messages came through on the phone all the time, too. So, the days were filled, but it’s when you start to feel a bit better that the frustrations of being in hospital start to kick in. When you really want to go home, that’s when you miss sitting on the couch watching the footy or a movie, going to the movies, or even something as simple as having a shower in your own bathroom!

By day 6 of this stay, Jarrad is confident that we have it back under control to a degree. If I can get through my breakfast and lunch and eat it all without any discomfort, then I can go home. It’s amazing how much willpower you can use when it’s something you really want. I get through breakfast with no worries, having a black tea with it, as I know that suits hospital stays better than coffee. Lunch comes around, and I tuck in, eating quickly because that’s the only way I will get through it all. But I get there. I pretend I have no discomfort for a couple of hours, and then I get to go home again. Back on all my tablets: Sulfasalazine, Imuran, steroids, and iron tablets. Back up to the 20 tablets a day, rattling around. But it worked last time, so why wouldn’t it work again?

It was a slower burn this time. I was getting better, but at a slower pace. I was confident I would be alright by the start of the cricket season, but who knows? Once again, work was really good. My role changed a little to suit my circumstances better, and that helped. I was eating pretty consistently, and once again, things started settling down. Instead of five trips to the toilet, it was generally just two or three. I was back to eating pretty much whatever I wanted and living life again.

By now, it’s July/August, and I get home from work to find Amanda a little bemused. She tells me she’s pregnant again! It wouldn’t be such a shock except for the fact that Jarrad was really concerned when he took my case on, thinking I wouldn’t be able to have kids, as Sulfasalazine makes you pretty much infertile. That didn’t worry us, as we already had kids, but it would have been nice to have been informed about this before actually taking the medication! But that’s all irrelevant now, as we’re going to have another child due in March. Exciting times. Scary times, but exciting times! Luckily for me, I’m getting better and better again. The tablets are working. I’m not missing any work, and I’m not missing out on anything with the kids. It’s getting close to cricket season again. I’m hopeful of being fit enough to play a meaningful part in the season and confident I will be, but again, if there’s one thing I’m learning on the fly, it’s that there are no promises when it comes to Crohn’s.

I do a few training runs in the preseason and notice I just don’t have the energy that I had last year.

I’m doing all the same things, but my fitness levels are just not there. Luckily, I have an appointment with Jarrad before the season starts. He gives me the answer I wanted: yes, I can play because I know my body better than he does. But what he can tell me is that, with everything I’ve been through illness-wise, it has stripped me of a lot of muscle mass, and that will affect my fitness. So, while preparation is important, it’s not going to allow me to get through as well as the previous year. And that’s how the season went. It was still a successful season in the sense that I got through the whole season with no medical issues. I was the leading wicket-taker for the club in A Grade. I didn’t score many runs for the season, as I was physically just not able to concentrate for long periods of time. We made the grand final again, but unfortunately lost. But all in all, from a personal perspective, it was a good season because I managed to get through unscathed.

Emerson came along on March 8th, 2012—the first boy out of four kids, following Ebony, Georgia, and Taya. It’s impossible to really know how my illness affected the kids. Amanda and the rest of the family did a pretty good job of hiding the severity of my illness from them in most ways. They clearly knew at times that I was sick, though, based on the times I spent in hospital when they came to see me. They never really asked too many questions about it, but they were very young still at this stage, with Ebony being the oldest at 7. So, she was old enough to start noticing that not everything was normal. But in reality, it was all she knew anyway, so they had become accustomed to that! But having kids was both the best part of it, as they gave you something to make sure you were there for, but at the same time, it was the scariest part about being sick, as you didn’t want to leave Amanda with all of them by herself. But in reality, she was raising them by herself at times, with minimal help from me.

There was another life-changing move happening at this stage of my life as well: I was just about to start a new job as a new car salesman for Motors Burnie. Again, when you talk about the word “lucky,” I was lucky to start with a company who, at the time, couldn’t have been any better to deal with in regards to the challenges we were about to face. The management team at the dealership level at that stage and the colleagues I got to know and work with throughout that time were unbelievable people. I started with Motors as a Nissan, Hyundai, and Honda new car salesman. At this stage, it had been quite a while since I had been sick, and everything was going well. The only downside to being a car salesman was the fact that I would now be working every second weekend, which meant cricket was about to take a backseat for the foreseeable future. But everything was going smoothly. I was loving my job, getting to know my colleagues.

I was back to living a normal life again— eating what I wanted, with the highlight of the week always being “Dirty Bird Friday” (KFC). Coming into cricket season, it didn’t even bother me that I wasn’t going to be playing every week. I was enjoying work, so it didn’t worry me at all. At this stage, I understood that with my illness, I couldn’t be the player I wanted to be and had been in the past, so missing it wasn’t a huge deal. I was still getting to play every second week and was performing at a good level. I made sure that I had already organised with work to get enough weekends off in a row to play the last two games of the season and the finals. Work was all good with that. Clearly ambitious for someone with my health to try to plan that far ahead.

At the start of January, I was given the opportunity to move to used cars, which I jumped at. There were a couple of reasons for this: one, there was more business in used cars and less product knowledge needed, which, if you understood how little I knew about cars at the time, you would understand how important that was; and two, to get to work and learn from a close mentor, who had been in the industry for a long time and, in time, would have as big an influence on my life as anyone outside of family. Just a great mentor and human in his own way. Combined with the people around me, it was the most enjoyable 12 months of my working life! For the first two months, my life in used cars was going great: selling lots of cars, building a great rapport with my colleagues, and working lots of hours trying to prove myself, and just enjoying life.

About halfway through January, I first start noticing a change in my health again. It’s as though Crohn’s knows that I’m starting to feel good, and it decides, nope, this isn’t happening. But work is going well, cricket is going okay (playing every second week, scoring pretty good runs, bowling okay), but I can feel it starting to slide. The energy is going again, the appetite is disappearing, it hurts to sit down occasionally—not all the time, but it hurts to go to the toilet consistently. The ulcers are clearly starting to spread and come back to life. How long can I hang on this time before it gets too much? I can hide it from the people who don’t really know it too well, so work isn’t an issue. But the people around me know all too well that I’m starting to slide. I’m going to hold off as long as I can again, as work is going really well. I don’t want to take time off the new job, and we’re on top of the ladder in cricket again. Plus, I have the weekends off heading into finals. If I can just get through to them, then I can rest and get a decent rest while still working. Despite going downhill quickly, I find that I can still function at work well enough to not have questions asked. I’m still selling cars, still laughing with my colleagues. My cricket is going downhill, and it’s the 9th of February, Round 16, when I realise it might be getting worse than I thought.

I’m batting at 3, which is where I batted during this era. As I’m walking about to bat, I realise I can’t feel the outside half of my right hand. It’s just numb past my middle finger down toward my wrist. Not an ideal time to notice, but I try to block that out and walk out to bat. I clearly don’t tell anyone. I manage to bat for a few overs but bat terribly. I couldn’t get any power in any shot and end up getting caught at mid-off like I was hitting catching practice. I had never had this feeling before—something completely new. I was hoping not to be asked to bowl, but sure enough, the call came. Trying to bowl with no feeling in half your bowling hand is not an easy task, as it turns out. And I dished up a horrendous spell of bowling. But no one asked any questions, so hopefully, it will come good before the next game.

I have the next week off cricket and manage to get through the week of work, but I am getting sick.

I’m not eating, spending time in the toilets, and one of my colleagues is starting to notice I’m unwell. At this stage, no one at Motors knows my medical history, so I kind of tell him without going into full detail. I also sit down with Kerry and let him know I’m not feeling the best and what could be coming. They are both okay with it, and Kerry just says, “If you’re no good, go home.”

I stay at work knowing I can still function and that there will be a time shortly when I won’t be able to function. So the week goes on, and I’m still no better. It’s the last round of cricket season. We are on top of the ladder, and I’m not missing out on a chance to win another flag. It’s a selfish attitude, I didn’t realise it at the time, but looking back, it was clearly selfish. The team was better off without me in that condition anyway. But I still make myself available on the Saturday. We are playing at Riana. As I’m heading to the game, I am fully aware that this is a big mistake. By the time the game starts, I know I am of no use to the team whatsoever, and it makes me angry. I still can’t feel part of my hand, I am in pain all throughout my stomach, I don’t have an ounce of energy. I fail with the bat, drop a simple catch, and realise to myself, that’s it. That’s my last game of cricket for the year, and with work and everything, that could be it for good. Our best and fairest count is held that night, so we go down there as a family but head home pretty early as I am terribly unwell by then.

The next day, it’s the usual trip to Emergency. This time, however, things are a little different. The doctor on duty seems to think it might just be a dose of gastro or some viral thing that I can’t shake. He plans to change my meds and send me home. Luckily, a nurse recognises me and gets Jarrad on the phone. Very quickly, I’m set up in a room on the ward, and Jarrad is there within two hours. Again, that word “lucky” comes into play.

I go through the usual stuff with Jarrad, but then we start talking about the lack of feeling in my hand. He finds this particularly unusual and runs some blood tests. It could possibly be a side effect of one of the medications, but they all come back clear. Eventually, after a couple of days, a nerve doctor looks at it and says I’ve damaged some nerves in my hand. After multiple discussions over the next day or so, it’s determined that the damage could have occurred when I was going to the toilet. The pain had been so intense that I had gripped the seat so tightly without realising it, which ended up damaging my nerves.

Now, I need to have another colonoscopy. These are starting to pile up! The procedure reveals that I have a stricture, which is causing the pain, not the spread of ulcers like I had thought. Usually, this would be bad news, but Jarrad is actually happy with the result because it gives him enough evidence to make me eligible for a new medication—Humira. So, I’m back in the hospital, struggling to function. I’ve been under again, but there’s a slight difference this time. There’s a glimmer of hope. Jarrad is very positive about the potential effect of Humira, but he still has to get it approved first. In the meantime, I have to stick with the current medication.

During the week I’m in the hospital, I get lots of visitors from work colleagues, cricket teammates, family, and friends, so the time passes relatively quickly. However, when Saturday comes, my team is about to play in a semi-final, and I’m still in the hospital. It’s an interesting feeling. For one of the first times in my battle, I have a defeatist attitude. A bit of “why me?” starts to creep in. I’m getting score updates from both grades, and both teams are performing well. They win, and are through to the grand final. While I’m happy for them, honestly, the jealousy I feel outweighs the happiness. Again, it’s a selfish way of looking at it, but it’s the truth.

I stay in the hospital until I believe the following Wednesday, so it’s a week and a half in total. I return to work on the following Monday, and it feels as if I haven’t been gone. There’s no resentment or pressure from the management team, just a sense of “carry on.” Training is rained out on Tuesday, but by Thursday, I feel okay-ish. I decide to see if I can train that night, with the hope that I might be able to play on Saturday. I go down to the club, intending to train, but they won’t let me. They rule me out of being available. At the time, I’m a little angry because I’m going to miss the grand final, which feels like no fault of my own.

Instead of going to watch, I decide to work on Saturday. I don’t think I can handle watching, so I tell everyone that I have to work, not that I chose to. Only a few people know the truth. Everyone else assumes it’s just my turn to work and that I couldn’t get time off. Karma catches up with me when it rains, and the game gets rescheduled to Sunday. Now I have no excuse not to attend.

I go to the game, still feeling and looking pretty bad. The opposition players are kind enough to offer their well wishes, which is a nice gesture. My teammates try to keep me involved in the preparation, but in reality, I’m not part of it. From ball one, I’m sitting with some of my favorites. We’re bowling first, and as expected, I’m a terrible watcher. Eventually, I have to sit by myself because I know I’m bad company with my mood. We’re on top for a while, but they end up making over 200 runs, which is going to be tough to chase. Early wickets bring an end to that, and we lose by 46 runs. It’s a terrible feeling seeing us lose and wondering if a healthier version of me might have made the difference. Clearly, that’s a wasted thought because we can never know the answer.

From a club perspective, it’s disappointing that the A grade didn’t win, but the B grade did, so there’s still cause for celebration. I stay for a while but end up heading home early to bed, ready for work the next day.

In the next couple of weeks, Jarrad manages to get me approved for Humira, and he’s incredibly excited about this.

I’ll go from taking a handful of tablets a day—something I was struggling to swallow—to just injecting myself once a fortnight. One thing Jarrad tells me stands out: he advises me not to read the side effects of the medication because it might scare me and ruin my positive outlook. To this day, I don’t know what the side effects are, except for body hair loss. My legs now look shaven! At this point, Humira is still relatively new in treating Crohn’s disease, and I have to get used to consistently injecting myself in the stomach or leg once a fortnight. I choose my stomach and switch sides each time.

Incredibly, the medication seems to work quickly. I start feeling better almost immediately. My fatigue is disappearing, I can eat again, and I’m even able to run a little. It’s a genuine light at the end of the tunnel, and it feels great. Over the next couple of months, things keep improving. I even start to enjoy a beer again, so social outings become a reality. Between work going well and being able to enjoy life a little, things start feeling more normal for the first time in a long time.

In July, we celebrate my friend Pickle’s 30th birthday (feels like 25 years ago!). It’s a huge night—family from Melbourne, friends and family from here. It’s just a great night where everyone enjoys what Ridgley has to offer. I crawl into bed around 5 a.m., a long time since I’ve stayed out that late. The next day is more low-key, spending a quiet drink with just family at the in-laws. Life is going well.

Little did I know, though, that the hardest fight was yet to come. About a month later, I start feeling a bit different, but it’s not the usual Crohn’s symptoms. I’m not dealing with diarrhea anymore, and I no longer have the body aches. There’s slight fatigue, but not the usual level. My stools feel normal, except they’re struggling to come out. Each time I go to the toilet, it hurts for the opposite reason it usually does. It becomes a battle for the next 3 to 4 weeks. Some days, I can’t go to the toilet at all; other days, I have no issues. The one constant is that I’m spending lots of time in the bathroom.

Motors are great about it, but I’m still performing well at work, so it’s not an issue for them. After discussing these problems with Jarrad, we decide that the best course of action is to have another colonoscopy to see what’s happening. It turns out that the Humira has worked so quickly that the ulcers inside me have turned into scar tissue, which is blocking my bowels from opening fully. While inside, they do some rectification to alleviate the symptoms. They also recommend I start taking regular doses of Metamucil to stay regular, as my stools need to be soft but not diarrhea, which could flare up the Crohn’s. It’s a fine line, and I feel like I’m walking a tightrope.

I’m still able to function at work, but that’s about it. I go through the motions—get up, shower, go to work, then lie on the couch. I’m still eating okay and have an appetite, but I’m increasingly concerned about what I can and can’t eat. I’m having real trouble swallowing food at times, and while it’s not consistent, it’s definitely happening more frequently. Yet, my stubbornness keeps me from thinking too much about it. But this problem will get worse.

It’s a Sunday, and we’re at the in-laws for a BBQ lunch. By now, the swallowing issue has become pretty consistent. I’m on so many tablets, and they get stuck halfway down all the time. It doesn’t stress me too much because eventually they go down, or I cough them back up. But with food, I’ve had a couple of instances where I’ve choked on it. Typically, it’s brief, and the food either goes down or comes back up without issue. That Sunday, however, things change. As lunch is ready, I grab a piece of steak off the BBQ and sit at the table to eat. I take a bite, swallow, and it gets stuck halfway down. I’m not too worried at first because I’ve dealt with this before, but time seems to drag on, and the food isn’t moving. I can get a little air, but it’s not helping.

My brother in law gives me a few whacks on the back, but it still won’t dislodge. By now, people are starting to stress, though I’m still okay—I can still get a little air, but it’s becoming harder. My father in law comes in and delivers the Heimlich maneuver, but still, it would not dislodge. Now everyone is really stressed, and an ambulance is called. They take Amanda and the kids into the next room, as they don’t want them to see me choke to death. The ambulance crew, on the phone, tells them to get a scalpel/knife and pen ready to carry out a tracheostomy. They are getting ready to explain to Norm how to perform the procedure when, just as this is happening, I vomit all over the kitchen, dislodging the obstruction. From all reports, I had turned blue and was close to it being over. At no stage, though, was I too panicked. I managed to keep myself calm, and—lucky (there’s that word again)—I managed to spew it up.

The ambulance arrived just as it was being cleaned up and checked me out. I was all clear for the day, but now it was decided that we needed to talk to the doctor about this. Everyone else was very shaken up, and with good reason. Some of them nearly watched me choke to death, some were getting ready to perform a life-saving tracheotomy, and some were affected for a long time after. Personally, I got over it initially, but I didn’t eat another piece of steak or beef in general for a long time, mostly because I didn’t want anyone else to witness that happening again.

I went to the ear, nose, and throat specialist that week, and the diagnosis was pretty straightforward for him

Due to all the medications I had been on, my throat muscles had worn down and no longer relaxed to allow food to slide down. There’s no fix for it other than time, and it will get better eventually if I get off the tablets I’m on. I continued to have issues with certain foods, but nothing as bad as that day. Over time, I improved. I still can’t swallow tablets to this day, but I can eat food pretty well now. I’m back eating steak, but only tender cuts, and I enjoy beef stroganoff again. All in all, it was a really tough time, but one I was lucky enough to get through and learn from.

The next step in our life was about to begin. We had just received an offer on our house, and we had definitely outgrown our little place, so we needed to find a bigger house. Amanda went to look at an open house on a Saturday morning without me because I had to work due to it being a big sale. She rang and said she loved it and wanted to buy it. “Make an offer,” I said. Amanda wasn’t keen on doing that without me seeing it, but I explained that, realistically, as long as there was a roof and a TV, I’d be happy. So she decided, “Yep, let’s make an offer!” Our offer was accepted, so now we had to make an appointment with the bank.

It’s funny how some days and times stick in your mind more than others. The appointment was on a Tuesday at 2:30 pm. I was just going to have a late lunch and meet Amanda there. I had felt pretty ordinary all day, but nothing was really different from most days. I sold a car in the morning, which meant I was running a bit later than I would have liked, but not too bad. I parked in the multi-story complex near the bank, got out of the vehicle, and headed down there. As I walked down, I started to feel pretty unwell and had to rush to the toilet. I didn’t make it. By this stage, I had had Crohn’s for about 5 years and had been incredibly ill—much sicker than I felt at the time. I’d always read about other people soiling themselves, but it had never happened to me… until now. It happened. In a public place. Luckily, I managed to make it to the toilet block before it happened, and there was no one else in there, but it happened. I had to call Amanda and tell her what had happened. She managed to get me some clothes and underwear to change into, and I cleaned myself up. Luckily, there was a shower in the block, which I didn’t know about until that day! I cleaned myself off and went to meet Amanda at the bank to sign some papers. I wasn’t there long and then went straight home instead of returning to work. It was an embarrassing feeling, but in reality, there was no need for that feeling. I get why I felt that way, but for those who are in that spot right now, you have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a terrible disease that’s out of our control. It took a little bit of getting over, but until you all read this, I reckon only five people knew about it. Publicly outing myself now—haha.

So, we purchased a new home but couldn’t move in until July of next year. There was a fair wait until we moved, but we had a lot to do in the meantime, so that was fine. It was getting close to cricket season, but I was still in no condition to play. I was struggling to function at this stage. It was a daily battle just to get out of bed and go to work. By this time, my issue changed day to day. Some days, I would sit on the toilet, and my bowels just wouldn’t open, and other days, I struggled to make it to the toilet on time. This was a combination of taking supplements to make it possible to go at all, as well as trying to get the mix right. I had another two incidents where I didn’t make it to the toilet in time, but both times, it was at home, so there wasn’t that added embarrassment of it happening in public. Again, I stress that it’s something you shouldn’t be embarrassed about, but in the moment, it’s hard not to be.

It was now right at the start of cricket season, in October. I was no better and getting worse. I wasn’t playing cricket, and I knew I wouldn’t be playing at all that season. I was still working, but it was becoming a battle. I was still in decent spirits at work, putting on a face, but at home, I was pretty much useless. I would lay around and do nothing, saving what little energy I had to make it to work. By now, every time I went to the toilet, it was horribly painful, and I had little to no result. A 15-minute stay on the toilet would result in maybe a 1 cm piece of stool. It’s really hard to describe the pain—it’s a pressure buildup with nothing happening, then the pressure comes back, and it just goes on and on. This is what my next month was like. Once a week, maybe a 1-2 cm piece of stool would come out, and I’d sit on the toilet up to 10 times a day for a considerable amount of time. During this time, I passed out on the toilet for the first time, something that would become increasingly consistent over the next three months. It’s a very strange feeling to be sitting on the toilet in pain, straining so hard, and then suddenly waking up on the floor with my trousers and pants around my ankles. The first time it happened, I didn’t realise what had happened. It was a little bit scary. The noise of me falling off the toilet must have been loud because Amanda heard it and came in to find me just dusting myself off and standing up. That was the first time. After the third time in three weeks, we decided it was time to head back to the hospital.

So, off to the hospital I went, and Jarrad had organised a bowel evacuation for the following week. And that’s exactly as it sounds—they put you to sleep and try to manually evacuate your bowel. It was not a fun experience having the pre-op the night before, and even that didn’t work. After the bowel evacuation, we had our first real, in-depth conversation about a bag. It was something I had been dead against up until this point, but it was becoming a genuine option. The bowel evacuation was moderately successful in that they managed to relieve a little bit of the discomfort from everything being in there, but they didn’t manage to get it all, and I was still unable to open my bowel properly afterward. By this point, it was nearly Christmas, and I was miserable. I was trying to be happy, but in reality, I was just miserable. I couldn’t do anything other than work, and even then, I wasn’t really achieving much by being there. I was still selling cars okay, but it was an absolute battle just to be there. I wasn’t eating well, had no appetite at all, and could drink okay, but even that was starting to become an issue.

In January, the Cricket Club had a function where they were going to name their All-Star Team, putting together their 12 best cricketers who had played for West Ridgley. Dean Jones was hosting the night and handing out the certificates. I hadn’t been to the cricket club much at all during the season, but I was invited, and it would have been disappointing not to be able to attend. So we went to the function, and in an incredibly proud moment, I was selected for the All-Star Team. For someone who had battled this disease over the last 4 to 5 years in the so-called prime of their sporting career, it was something I was pretty ecstatic about at the time and still am to this day. After being selected, standing there for a photo with these guys I had grown up hearing stories about was incredible, and being named alongside them was hard to believe. At that stage, I had serious reservations about whether I would play another game of cricket, so this wasn’t a bad way to end it all!

Life continued along the same path for the next two months. I still couldn’t open my bowels, had another bowel evacuation carried out, passed out on the toilet again, but this time hit my head on the way down on the bathtub, causing a bit more damage than usual. Constant discomfort and pain. Just trying to survive. Somehow, I still went to work because I didn’t want to let them down. In reality, I was probably making it worse on them by being there. By now, I was starting to look pretty bad. Everyone who saw me asked how I was doing. People were genuinely concerned about my wellbeing.

It’s now mid-March, and I am sitting at work when my boss and a significant influence in my life, comes up to me. His exact words, which I remember well, were: “You need to get up to the hospital before you die at your desk. That’s too much paperwork for me.” Now, anyone who knows my boss and how he is wired can picture him saying it exactly like that, and it showed that he cared— though he may never admit it. So, I pack up my desk, fairly sure I won’t be back for a while, but not realising just how long it was going to be!

I call Amanda to let her know that I’m leaving work and heading home, and that I think it’s time to go to my second home.

In the end, I go straight to the hospital, and Amanda meets me there. It’s the first week of April. I go to the emergency department, and they let Jarrad know that I am there. He gets them to admit me to the ward. I’m in a room with three others, as usual. The next day, Jarrad comes to see me. The conversation goes something like this: we will have one last crack at a bowel evacuation and check out the insides. By this point, it had been four months since I’d properly opened my bowels—four months of genuine constipation. If you’ve been constipated for four days, you know how uncomfortable that is. Imagine four months.

We’re going to try three days of pre-op, clear fluids, along with lots of Coloxyl and Metamucil to try to get something moving. Jarrad isn’t confident it’s going to work. Amanda and I talk to him about having a bag. I think I’m ready to go down that path. I’m sick of the effort it takes to get better. Mentally, I could handle being sick or being well—it was the rollercoaster of trying to get well that was the challenging part. If getting a bag was a decent chance of stopping this rollercoaster, then I was ready.

So we start the treatment process: pre-op and supplements. Just the thought of pre-op now makes me nearly vomit. The mere mention of the word pre-op still brings back the taste. After two days of pre-op and Coloxyl, I still have zero movement. It’s decided to do another colonoscopy to see if anything’s happening. It’s going to be hard to tell, as nothing has come out, so it will be pretty difficult to see anything. Once inside, they have a look around, but there’s no point—they can’t see anything. It’s time to have a serious discussion about the benefits of having a bag.

The next day, we have an appointment with Jarrad, where he brings information about what life could look like with a bag — the positives and the negatives. All I want to hear are the positives. I need to understand the negatives, but I just want to focus on the positives since we’ve made the decision that I want a bag. It’s going to be a massive life change, but I need it and want it. Unfortunately, due to where I was suffering the most, there are two things I need to be completely aware of. If I go ahead with this, it will be irreversible, and they don’t know whether it will be a colostomy or an ileostomy. I say, “Yep, no worries, I still want it done.” It was clearly a longer conversation than that, but it didn’t deter me from wanting the procedure.

The next step is to meet the surgeon who will carry out the procedure, Mr. David Lloyd, based in Launceston, not Burnie. Jarrad uses him for this surgery and trusts him, so I do as well. I have complete faith in Jarrad—he’s the reason I’m alive. I meet David, and he puts me at ease right away. He has a sense of confidence in himself, which, combined with Jarrad’s confidence in him, makes me believe everything will be fine. In this first meeting, David explains what he’s going to do, the differences between a colostomy and an ileostomy, and how he has no clue what he’s in for since I haven’t “gone” in so long. He examines the areas he needs to and gives me a rough idea of when he’s hoping to do it. He’s aiming for June, which is still two months away as it’s only halfway through April.

By now, I’m back at home, still feeling sorry for myself but at least out of the hospital. It’s the NBA playoffs, so that’s a bit of good news. I have no idea how long I’m going to be off work, but Motors have been brilliant. Not once have they asked for an ETA. The messages are always the same: “We’ll see you when you’re better. Worry about your health.” I go back to Launceston two weeks later for another appointment with David to confirm the plan. This time, he has Raj, who will be his assistant during the surgery. Raj is a registrar for them, and I get to know him quite well over the next two months! The good news is they now have a date for me. On the 20th of May, they’ll perform the surgery. So in four weeks, I’ll have a bag—either a colostomy (this is the hope) or an ileostomy. I’ll be in the LGH for 10 days before the surgery, as they want to try to clean me out as best as possible before the procedure. After surgery, I’ll be there for at least 14 days and will be off work since I won’t be cleared to drive for 12 weeks. What am I going to do during that time?

The long and short of it is that I have a week at home before heading to Launceston for three weeks. I’m not nervous yet; in fact, I’m actually excited by the possibility that I’ll be better. I’m put on clear fluids the whole time between now and the procedure to help the process. During the week before heading to Launceston, I have some things to take care of. First and foremost is buying a PlayStation 3 and NBA 2K15 so I have something to do when I’m home for two months! Spending time with the family is a priority at this stage as well, since it’s a major surgery, and I won’t see the kids much during those three weeks in Launceston. By now, Eb is 9, George is 7, Taya is 6, and Emerson is 2. The girls are old enough to know that I’m sick.

The week flies by, and off to Launceston we go. Amanda will drop me off for the first few days, then she’ll return and stay in Launceston for the four days before the operation and the week after it. On the first day, I get a timeline for the week:

• Day 1: Colonoscopy and bowel evacuation
• Day 3: Colonoscopy and bowel evacuation
• Day 5: Colonoscopy and bowel evacuation
• Day 7: Procedure (roughly 4 hours)

We get the first procedure done. This is the first time David has seen inside my bowel, and he and Raj come around to see me afterward. For the millionth time, I’m told it’s not in a good way, but they’ll try their best over the week. The next morning, Raj walks past and sees I’m awake, so he stops in to say hi. We have a good chat. He loves cricket and fast cars, and I love cricket and am a car salesman—good match! The next day, we have another procedure, and once again, not a good result. But they are honest with me, which I appreciate. That night, Amanda comes down to see me, so I get to talk to someone other than my roommates, which is nice. I’m getting lots of messages of support, which is encouraging.

The next morning, Raj comes in with the papers and we have another good chat—this time about life, not the procedure.

He has a young family and works about 70 hours a week, with his family in Melbourne. The kids come up to see me, and they’re good. A little worried by how sick I look at this stage, but all in all, they’re doing well. The day comes around, and they do another procedure. They believe they’re starting to make a little headway. They have a glimmer of hope that they might not be completely blind when they go in on the day. They want to do another procedure tomorrow, but it’s too dangerous to put me under anesthesia again. They give me the option to have another colonoscopy, but I would have to stay awake—sedated, but awake. I agree to do it because it’s in my best interest, but only if I’m allowed to have an iced coffee that night. I haven’t had one in so long, and I don’t want to die without having one! The guilt trip works, and Raj and the nurse bring me one at 6:30pm, much to Amanda and my parents’ amusement. It was soooo good.

The next day, I go for the awake colonoscopy/bowel evacuation. I’m sedated but awake, and my head is facing the video screen. It’s a strange experience, one I hope I never have to repeat. After this, David and Raj come around and let me know that it was a false hope. It’s still terribly blocked, and they can’t see anything in there. So it will be completely blind, and they have no idea how it’s going to go. But I trust them—they’re great at what they do.

That night is a strange one. I’m fine all night, with Amanda there. Even though we’re quiet, I’m not feeling too bad. Visiting hours finish, and Amanda gets asked to leave, but not before the nurse comes around and tells me what time I’ll be heading in the next morning. I’m first on the list, so I’ll go in at 7:30. Amanda can come to see me before that. Once she leaves, I don’t get much sleep. The nerves kick in: What if it doesn’t work? What if something goes wrong? It’s a big procedure. Have I made a mistake? Surely I could get better without this. Why would I choose to have a bag?

I have a good chat with one of the ladies in my room, who’s had a bag for 10 years and hates hers. She gives me some good advice: she wishes she’d had a more positive attitude from the start, not tried to hide it, and taken a more positive approach. She’s sure I won’t have the same attitude as her. Still, I don’t get much sleep. It feels like as soon as my eyes close, the nurse is coming around to prep me for surgery. Amanda gets there just as they’re ready to wheel me in, a bit earlier than planned. We say our goodbyes, and off I go to the prep room. The surgeons and anesthesiologist team give me a few options, one of which is an epidural. I think it’s a great idea—more than happy to wake up and not feel anything!

Again, I get the risks explained, sign the waiver, and learn how it will all happen. For the first time, I’m told that instead of cutting me open with a scalpel, they’ll use a laser because it’s better for scarring. I’ll be under for roughly four and a half hours. When I wake up, I’ll have lots of staples, but it shouldn’t be too painful at first because of the epidural. I’ll also have a catheter for four days until I can get out of bed and walk around.

At this point, I’m actually more relaxed than I was the night before. I joke around with David and Raj before they put me to sleep. They weigh me, and I’m 51.8 kg, down from the mid-70s. The mask goes on, and I count back from ten. I get to about eight.

Eight and a half hours later, I wake up in recovery, but not without pain.

It’s incredibly painful, but I’m too out of it to communicate. Luckily, one of the nurses figures out that the epidural didn’t work, and I can feel everything. They quickly fill me with morphine, and the pain subsides. The procedure lasted over eight hours, instead of the anticipated four. Once inside, they realised it was much worse than expected. And here’s that word, “lucky”—it’s strange to use it in this context, but once they opened me up, they discovered my bowel was perforated in six spots. I should be dead from sepsis, but the old stool inside had formed what was essentially a concrete wall, preventing anything from leaking into my system. If one of these had opened, I would have died. I am left with no anus, no small bowel, and a little bit of my large bowel. They performed a massive operation, and somehow, I have a colostomy instead of an ileostomy.

As I begin to wake up in recovery, Amanda and my parents are there, happy to see me alive, I guess. I’m in pain, but it’s a different kind of pain than I’m used to. Internally, I actually feel pretty good. I’m uncomfortable, but it’s not the heavy discomfort I’m used to. It’s more like everything’s been moved around. The only pain I have is from the procedure itself.

Surely this hasn’t worked, right? I basically sleep through the day and night. David and Raj come around the next morning with Amanda to explain how everything went. I have 43 staples from my belly button down past my stomach. They explain how bad my bowel and anus were. There’s no going back, but they’re confident I’ll be okay moving forward since there’s no scarring or live Crohn’s left in my system. They go through my next two weeks—how I’ll be on clear fluids for another two days, then progress to light food, and so on. They want me to stand up tomorrow and walk a little by the end of the two weeks. I pose the question: can I go home when I can do that? If everything goes according to plan, I can go home when I can walk the hallway. They agree, and I get to work on that.

The stomal nurse comes in and explains the different options I have for bags. I choose the one-piece option, and she shows me how to fit it. I only have one question: when will I know if this has worked? Raj and the nurse assure me not to worry—it will work in three to four days.

The next day, I make my first steps. The doctors and nurses agree that as soon as I can walk to the toilet unaided, they’ll remove the catheter. So that’s my first goal: get the catheter removed. I manage to get to the door and back to bed that morning—just 10 steps, but it’s a start. By the end of the day, I want to walk to the toilet and back unassisted. I miss the goal by the end of the day, but by lunchtime the next day, I’ve managed to do it twice, so they remove the catheter. Winner!

That night, I get to taste food for the first time in roughly four months. I don’t get to choose from the menu as I am on light meals, and the only option for the night is Minestrone Soup. To put my history with soup into perspective: I liked Tomato Soup in a can and my mother-in-law’s vegetable soup, and that’s about it at this stage in life. But having not eaten anything in so long, I was genuinely excited to have Minestrone Soup washed down with a Nippy’s Iced Coffee. Dinner comes around at the usual time, somewhere around 6 p.m. Usually, I dread this time of day, but not today. It arrives, and Amanda is there with me. I lift the lid on the Minestrone Soup for the first time in my life. I’m a little nervous since I haven’t eaten anything in so long, and I don’t really like soup. I take a spoonful, and the taste hits my mouth. Now, it’s hard to describe just how good those flavors tasted, having been on clear fluids for so long. At that moment, I thought it might be the best thing I’d ever tasted. Combined with the iced coffee, I was in food heaven. I managed to finish it all. I couldn’t tell you the last time there was an empty bowl or plate on the table. Not that soup is a huge meal by any stretch, but in this circumstance, that was a big hurdle to overcome. I stayed on soup for the next day as well before I was allowed to transition to solid foods after three days. The first solid meal I had was braised chicken and mash. Soooo good. I didn’t eat it all, but that was expected when I first got onto solids.

It was on the third day when my bag first showed signs of working. I changed the bag every day while I was in the shower to get used to doing it regularly and to prevent irritation of the skin. By the time it started working, I was genuinely stressed and worried that it hadn’t worked. The doctors, nurses, and people around me all assured me it would, but I just couldn’t shake the belief that it hadn’t. The first time it worked, it was the tiniest bit, but it was such a huge relief, and I instantly felt better about the whole situation.

There’s not too much more to tell about the rest of my hospital stay.

I managed to tick off all my goals and was allowed out on the 9th day post-surgery. I managed to walk the corridor on day 8 after creeping up on it each day. I had to do it without showing too much discomfort. I was definitely in discomfort while doing it, but I tried not to show it! So, I got to go home on day 9. I wasn’t looking forward to the 2-hour drive home, but I was excited to be in my own bed and house! We even managed to sneak away with one of the hospital cough pillows, which was a genuine lifesaver over the next couple of weeks. When I got home, the first few days were spent playing a lot of PlayStation and catching up with the kids, family, and friends—all of whom we wouldn’t have gotten through it without. From Sharon staying at our house looking after the kids, to Josh and his dad, with Amanda’s help, building a fence at home while I was away, to the many people who came to Launceston to visit me in the hospital, and the interstate friends who sent lots of messages—there are just so many to thank without naming names.

The LGH (Launceston General Hospital) was my home for roughly five weeks. It’s a place that often gets negative press, but I can’t thank them enough from my personal experience there. The nurses were all fantastic. Every now and then, you’d get one who was having a bad day, but that’s impossible to avoid in that job. The food was great (for six days), and nothing was ever a problem when I asked for something. Raj was the first person I would see at 6:30 a.m. and the last person I’d see at night, on his way out. He was just a great human. The cleaning staff were courteous all the time, and just about anyone I came across during that time was fantastic.

The next six weeks at home seemed like a blur. I wasn’t allowed back to work until I had medical clearance to drive again. Essentially, I was stuck at home until then. I was looking forward to getting back to work as I wanted some normality, but there were times to enjoy being off—like the Soccer World Cup, the NBA Finals, and the middle of the footy season where the Tigers were showing promise. Everything was going really well: I got my 44 staples removed, the stoma was working well, and I was changing my bag once a day before my shower, then putting a new bag on afterward. I was eating well and could eat pretty much whatever I wanted without any side effects so far. A funny moment on the way home from the hospital involved my 2-year-old son Emerson getting blamed for a terrible smell, only to find out it was just that my bag had peeled off a little, and the smell was horrendous!

I was still not eating any beef except for mince, but everything else was fair game, so it was great to be back enjoying food. I think when I started to enjoy food again is when I really started to believe that I might be onto something here. I don’t mean that I thought the meal was nice—I mean I genuinely enjoyed sitting down and eating a meal. It didn’t matter what it was at that stage. Just the process of being able to eat was a real novelty for me. It had been so long since I had experienced that. I found that alone to be a bit of normality. Going out for dinner and really enjoying it. I was putting on weight, and my energy levels were improving. Appointments with Jarrad and Mr. Lloyd were both great—they were pleased with the progress, but the real test would be when I could go back to work.

The day finally came when I could go back to work. It had been three months since my boss told me to leave before I died at work. You’d think in an industry as cutthroat as selling cars that over three months, there would be pressure for me to come back, or I’d be laid off, but not once did I receive any of those messages. In fact, not only did I not hear any of them, but I also still had the company vehicle and benefits. Motors could not have been more supportive of me than they were—from senior management to middle management, to anyone on-site, there were messages of support and no pressure at any stage. My biggest concern about going back to work was going on a test drive with someone and farting since you have no control over bowel movements with a colostomy. That’s all I was worried about. Sure enough, it happened—crazily, it was the very first test drive I went on when I got back, so I got that out of the way quickly. The customer laughed when I told him what had happened, so that was good news! It was great to be back at work with people I enjoyed spending time with and selling cars.

For the next month, work went well, home was great, and life was just great in general. I started doing a little fitness work. At this stage, I still hadn’t given any thought to playing sports, as I had accepted that my sports days were over.

With every week that passed, I was getting better and better. I still hadn’t had any health issues, and by late August, I was back up to 70 kg. It was around the time the Ice Bucket Challenge was happening. My nomination came from Michelle, and I was always going to do it at some stage. The question was: topless with my bag out or with a top on? I went with no shirt, and that was the first public display of me having my bag when Michelle uploaded the video. There was a lot of positive feedback for being willing to be seen with a bag—many people with them try to hide it. I had decided earlier on that I was going to be very open about mine and not hide from the fact I had one.

With my fitness base improving well and cricket training about to start, I figured I’d head to training and just have a look.

I wasn’t training but just coaching or observing. I didn’t have any gear anymore because I had thrown it all away, so I wasn’t going to train. When I went to training, it was exactly as I remembered it—a happy place for me. At the end of the night, I hit some catches and had a few throwdowns, but I still couldn’t play…could I? Let’s be honest, once I got to that stage, I was always going to try and play. I spoke with Jarrad, and the answer was the same as before: “It’s your body, you know what you can do. There are no limitations.” We went over the risks, what could happen, and how we could minimise the risks with protection gear. So, I went out and got some new gear—well, a new bat and borrowed some pads and gloves off Warnie. I also bought a thigh pad and a chest guard to cover my stoma. The next week, I trained and batted in the C Grade net to see how it went mentally. The following week, I went to the A Grade net, and it was settled— I was ready to play. Now, I just had to wait for the season to roll around.

I didn’t play Round 1 as I was working, so I had to wait until Round 2 to play. On Saturday, October 18th, I played my first game in two years. I was named to play in the B Grade against Acton at Acton. I wasn’t going to bowl, but just playing was an achievement. I was nervous, as I hadn’t been nervous about cricket for years, but it was different now. I got out cheaply with the bat, but my fielding and my physicality were fine, and I felt great about that. I’ve since gone on to play 3 games in the B Grade and 2 games in the A Grade. I even took a wicket and got a couple of catches.

What’s next? Well, it’s really just about staying healthy. I’ve ticked off all the goals and am happy with the progress. I’ve learned so much through all of this, and the support from everyone around me has been more than I could’ve hoped for. It feels surreal now, but I’m just glad to be back to doing what I love, and every day is a reminder of how far I’ve come.

My nerves that morning were worse than the day of my operation! We bowled first, and I was lucky enough to take a catch in the second over of the day, which settled my nerves a bit. I didn’t bowl as planned, and we bowled them out for 125. In the chase, I was sent out to open the batting, which was a blessing as it meant I didn’t have to sit around and get nervous. I made 29 in the chase as we won pretty comfortably, with me being out caught trying to belt one.

I didn’t play for the next three weeks as I was working to cover some of the guys who covered for me when I was off, but my next game would be against Penguin. On Thursday night, my great mate Alister, who was the A Grade Captain, asked me if I could fill in for the A Grade this week as they had a couple of players unavailable. Clearly, I was never going to say no, so I said, “Yep, let’s do it.” It would be against one of my favourite opponents, Damo Devries, and I was looking forward to that battle again!

We batted first, and once again, I was told I would be opening after a nice speech from the skipper about what having me back meant to him and the club. So, I walked out with my great mate Spud to open. Not really knowing what to expect in the A Grade after missing so much cricket, it was nice to make a few runs as I made my way to 35. We made 214, and we won quite easily. It was so good to be back playing.

I stayed in the A Grade from then on. My next game was the town derby, where we had a huge win—we bowled them out for 45, and we lost no wickets chasing the runs, with me and my little mate Tommy Duff unbeaten. It was the next game I played that probably cemented my comeback. On the 10th of January, we played against Somerset, and with a few bowlers short, we decided it was the right time for me to bowl. Once again, I had some luck go my way and ended up taking 5 for 2 with a hat trick! This led to a story in the Advocate about my comeback from illness to this day.

Usually, I wouldn’t be interested in this kind of publicity, but I wanted to be open and show people that you can live with Crohn’s and a bag and still have a normal life. From a performance standpoint, the season went downhill from there, but from a team perspective, we made it to the Grand Final again.

I never thought I would be in a position to play again, let alone play in an A Grade Grand Final. We ended up taking a flogging, but it was great to be back.

The next few months were more of a normal life. I didn’t have any issues recovering from the cricket season, work was going fine, and life was pretty normal. All in all, I didn’t have any complaints. Everything was going smoothly, which made for a strange feeling. For the first time in about seven years, I actually felt relatively normal.

It was winter, so I enjoyed watching the AFL (as much as a Tigers supporter of that era could), but I still hadn’t gotten back into watching local footy. I played all my footy with the mighty Ridgley Saints, and my footy career ended when I started to get sick. I use the word “career” lightly, as I was never more than an average footballer, but I loved the club I played for. Over time, I grew to dislike footy in some ways. I blamed footy for a lot of my health issues, which is ridiculous when I think about it. But towards the end of my footy career, I was starting to get sick. Deep down, I guess I knew something wasn’t right, but I didn’t want to admit it. I was finally in a successful footy team and winning, so I played through the sickness. I was lucky enough to play in a Premiership in the 2008 season, which is something I should cherish—playing in a winning final with some of your best mates. However, for a long time, I didn’t appreciate it as much, as I partially blamed pushing through the illness for how bad I ended up.

Cricket season came around again pretty quickly, and away we went. Still working every second week, it was hard to get any momentum. I still enjoyed playing, but not like I used to. I had a sense of guilt, thinking I was taking someone’s spot every other week. I wasn’t half the player I used to be. I had lost a lot of muscle mass when I was sick. I was never a big guy, but when you get sick like that, your body eats away at whatever it can. I had gone from being able to bowl fast to bowling medium pace at best. Batting-wise, the two years off made me lose a little bit of my game. Not a lot, but enough that I didn’t have the same patience that I once did.

I still enjoyed cricket to some extent, but the mental battle of not being the same player was tough. The season went well again from a team perspective. We won a final and then lost another Grand Final to a team that was just better than us.

I had gone from a cricket lover to someone who enjoyed the idea of cricket. But not being able to play at the same level I did before my illness made it harder to enjoy. People knew I had been sick and understood to some degree, but they probably still expected me to be the same player. In reality, I know the ones that mattered didn’t think that, but my mind didn’t see it that way. I was ready to walk away from the game, as I didn’t think I could enjoy just being a role player instead of one of the stars. It was a selfish line of thought, but one I’m sure many people in different sports or walks of life can relate to.

There were no real updates for a while, as I was living a “boring” life and loving it! It was so good to live a normal life—whatever that is. Get out of bed, take my bag off, have a shower, put a new bag on, and go about life. Rinse and repeat. This went on for quite a while. The next cricket season rolled around, and while I still committed to playing, I wasn’t taking any time off to allow me to play. It was just play when I could.

After a chat with the A Grade Captain halfway through the season, it was decided I would play in the B Grade, as it wasn’t fair on the others for me to be uncommitted and still playing in the A Grade. Playing in the B Grade meant I got to play with some lifelong friends again for the first time in a long time, and we were lucky enough to go on and win the Grand Final that year. The memories from that will stay with me for a long time, but again, from an individual standpoint, I still didn’t enjoy cricket the way I used to. The team aspect was great, but going from being a very good player to a role player was a hard adjustment—one I didn’t think I’d have an issue with, but I actually did!

Winter came and went again with no real issues. Life had a semblance of normalcy. It’s hard to fathom how much you take living a “normal life” for granted. Being able to sit down and enjoy a meal, go to the footy on a Saturday, enjoy a beer without worrying about what’s to come, or just sit on the couch with your wife after dinner watching TV. It’s little things like this you don’t realise how good they are until you can’t do them.

It was at this point that my sister-in-law asked me to play mixed netball with them. I flat out said no, not a chance. But then I found out a good cricketer who was not playing would be on the team. What better way to recruit someone for cricket than by playing netball with him? Imagine trying to play netball three years ago? I wouldn’t have even considered it! I ended up playing a full season of netball, and I genuinely enjoyed it. It kept me fit, allowed me to spend some time with friends, helped recruit Brad to come play cricket, and kept me moving!

It was also during this time that I got to see something I never thought I would—my beloved Richmond Tigers went on a big run and won the 2017 AFL Premiership! Grand Final morning, I had never been more nervous. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, and was shaking like a leaf! So hard to fathom, isn’t it? Only four years ago, I was sitting in a waiting room about to have a life-altering operation, unsure if it would work. Yet here I was, more nervous watching the Tigers that day!

My next life change came when my great mentor, KB, decided to retire, which in turn meant I was promoted to Sales Manager! It’s strange to think, but without everything I had gone through, I don’t think this would have happened. Getting sick made me realise you can’t just stay in the comfort zone. Life is too short to not take on new challenges. This was a role I held for two years, and I really enjoyed the different challenges it brought with it—looking after three salespeople, a detailer, and a car washer, all with different personalities and ways of working. However, it meant I spent a lot more time in the office and on the road instead of interacting with people directly, which I found I missed.

It was the next winter that I had a change in perspective with my sport. As I mentioned earlier, I had been struggling with not being able to do what I could pre-illness. I hadn’t gone back to watch any local footy, but things were about to change, and it came about in the most organic way. Emerson started Auskick. For those who don’t know, it’s where juniors play Aussie Rules footy, their first steps in the game.

Amanda and I took him to the first “come try” day. Emerson loved footy from the start, and when they called for volunteers to help run the sessions, Amanda volunteered me.

I thought I was going to hate it; I just wanted to rock up, let him enjoy it, and then go home. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. The joy these kids had, not just Emerson but all of them, learning and playing the game for the first time in an organised way was incredible. And the best part? Their joy was contagious. They just soaked up knowledge and had a ball doing it. From my perspective, it was such a joy. It reminded me of why we first started playing sport—playing for fun with friends, without caring whether you were a star or not.

This continued every Sunday for 12 weeks, and each week, I think I enjoyed it more than Emerson did! I had found genuine enjoyment in sport again, and I owed it to Amanda for making me “coach” under 6s football. My Auskick journey lasted five years, and I even coached at multiple carnivals against other centres. It was incredibly enjoyable the entire time. There were a handful of kids who went through the whole five years with me, and I still get to watch them each week, playing footy with Emerson for the Burnie Dockers in the Under 12s!

In November 2018, we went on our first real family holiday interstate to Queensland with Pamela (SIL), her children, and Pam, my mother-in-law. We had gone on little breaks down the East Coast, but we had never been interstate for this long, as it wasn’t worth the risk of me getting sick elsewhere and putting the family through it. We rented a house in Robina on the Gold Coast for 12 days. It was a great time—pool in the backyard, great weather, food, and memories. I even got to catch up with Clinton Upchurch, a premiership teammate, and ticked off another bucket-list item—swimming with sharks! Not Great Whites, but big ones nonetheless.

There were many great experiences on this trip, but one of the most memorable was the first time I got questioned about my bag. I was always open about it—whether at the beach or pool, it was just part of who I am. But at Wet n Wild, while lining up for the Super Racer Waterslide, the lifeguard pulled me aside and told me I shouldn’t go on the slide with my bag. I explained it and assured him that I would be fine, and he was good with it.

After returning from Queensland, I started a new role at work as a Service Advisor. It was a whole new world for me, but it meant I wouldn’t be working weekends anymore. This was a huge positive, both for family life and my cricket. Winter passed without any issues, and the Tigers won another flag, which I wasn’t nearly as nervous about as before. I was enjoying the new job and watching Ebony play netball every Saturday morning. Life was good.

However, I noticed there was slightly more discharge from below. Eventually, I was referred to a plastic surgeon as I had an open wound that had stretched 9.5 cm inside me. So, I was off work again to get it sorted. A vacuum pump was inserted into the wound, and I had to visit community nurses every day for four weeks. It was frustrating but also a good time to reflect on my journey so far. Once again, my work was brilliant throughout this period—no expectation for me to return until the doctors cleared me.

Eventually, I recovered and was back at work. Cricket season came along, and I missed the first two games while I was recovering from this, but then I was back into it. Strangely, I had a newfound love for the game again, thanks to the Auskick experience. While I still wasn’t the player I was, I had remembered why I loved the game, and with that came performances I hadn’t had for quite a while. I took on a different role, batting lower down the order and bowling gentle medium pacers, just trying to keep it tight. But it was fun, and I hadn’t had that in a while. While we didn’t have the privilege of winning a Premiership during this time, we did manage to make two grand finals, where we were outclassed by a team that was just much better than us. In one of those finals, I top-scored, which was a nice reward.

Then, the world changed. COVID. No one saw this coming, clearly, and for those of us with chronic illness, it was a scary time. My specialist gave me some precautionary advice, which I followed exactly as he recommended. Part of this was getting every vaccine I could. As COVID mania sort of died down, I did manage to get it, but it didn’t affect me too badly at all. I just enjoyed a week off work, basically! It was a strange time, and one I hope the world doesn’t have again.

Since then, life has been smooth sailing health-wise. I haven’t had another issue. I go for six-monthly checks with Jarrod to make sure I am still eligible for Humira. I go for three-yearly colonoscopies and six-monthly blood tests to make sure there are no other issues creeping in. I still play cricket, eat what I want when I want, drink too much beer, talk openly about my bag, and make phone calls or visit people who are about to have surgery if Jarrod or the Stomal Team think it will help them.

As for my cricket since the COVID period, I’m still enjoying it to this day. I’ve rediscovered my love of batting and moved back to opening the batting with a new captain. I’ve also taken up wicketkeeping at the age of 42! Yes, I am that stupid. Since having surgery, these are some of the accomplishments I’ve had in cricket. This may sound like me bragging or being arrogant, but it’s something I’m incredibly proud of—getting through what I have and getting back to this, even if I’m not the same player.

• League Best and Fairest
• 2 x League Best and Fairest runner-up
• 4 x League Rep Game
• 1 x League Rep Game player of the match
• 3 Club Best and Fairest (1 tied)
• 4 x A Grade Bowling Average
• 1 x A Grade Batting Average
• Moved to 5th all-time in games played
• B Grade Premiership and Man of the Match in the final

Emerson is now playing at West, and I look forward to getting to play a game with him at some stage in the near future—something I never thought would be a possibility! I get to coach him in underage cricket for the Burnie Hurricanes, and that is something I don’t take for granted. Similar to the Auskick, it helps keep the game in perspective for me. I’ve started working with a new company. I am now the Service Manager for AJL Heavy Equipment, working with trucks, trailers, lifting equipment, and wharf operations—a role I’m thoroughly enjoying. Another opportunity I said yes to, as once again, life is too short not to take these chances.

I became a grandfather at the ripe age of 42. It was unexpected, but what an experience it has been. There was a time when I realistically didn’t know if I would see my daughter turn into a teenager, and now I get to see her become a mum. A young mum at 18, but she is doing an incredible job, and she learned that from the best—her mum, Amanda.

I’ve had the privilege of seeing all my daughters graduate high school and Emerson finish Grade 6. They have all grown into great people with different personalities, despite the fact they had to watch their dad recover through all of this. It would be easy to understand if they didn’t grow into quality people, but they have, and we are very proud of them.

There have been so many events I’ve managed to tick off and so many people who helped me get there. It would be impossible to thank them all individually, but there are certainly some who need mentioning.

Some of the things I’ve ticked off since surgery:

Stoma worked! I know it seems obvious but I was scared
Went home. Similar to above – it was no guarantee.
Back to 60kgs
Back to work.
New House
Back to cricket training. Not playing.
Ate steak.
Back to 70kgs
First game back.
First A grade game back.
A Grade Hat Trick and multiple 5 wicket hauls.
B Grade Premiership.
Played Netball.
Coached Emerson footy and cricket
Coached Ebony Netball.
Coached Cricket Club.
Swam with sharks.
Reached 80kgs
Watched children leave school.
Watched children get their license.
Become a grandfather (Papa)
Went on a cruise to Fiji and Vanautu
Family holiday to QLD
New job multiple times
Seen multiple people get married and MCd some of these weddings.
Life Member of Cricket Club

There is lots more that could list. Some of the people that helped me get to where I am

Amanda

It is hard to fathom how difficult it must have been for Amanda to watch someone she loves go through what I went through, knowing there was nothing she could do other than just be there. What she managed to do while being supportive of me and raising our kids to be good humans is nothing short of superhuman. She has watched me go back to playing sport and working a lot, and she constantly reminds me that I am not bulletproof and need to look after myself better. Without her, there’s no way I would have gotten through it.

Ebony, Georgia, Taya, and Emerson

They had to watch their father get sick constantly. Ebony still remembers all of it. Luckily, the others have either blocked it out or were too young to remember. One of the funniest things since the surgery was when Emerson asked when he gets his bag. He just figured all men had bags, so he would get one! But the ability of these kids to come visit me in the hospital, watch me go through what I did, go through what they did, and still turn into good humans is a testament to them, their mother, and their support crew.

Aaron, Chris, Kurt, and Laurie

In the early days, when I was first sick, these guys were the ones who always checked in. It was constant. Having the conversation with Aaron and Laurie about being there for my kids if I didn’t make it through was the hardest conversation I have ever had with anyone, and they did not flinch. It was, “You will be here, and we will be there, regardless.” It allowed me to relax a little and concentrate on my fight.

Family and Family-in-Law

Again, these guys, similar to Amanda, had to watch someone they love go through something they don’t really understand, and I hope they never do. They saw me on my deathbed, they saw me nearly choke to death, they saw me laugh, and they saw me bounce back. Never once did I have to question whether the support was there from any of them. A few of them blame me for their drinking habits and grey hair now, but in a jovial way I think,

Hospital Staff

These guys get a bad rap sometimes, but I spent a ridiculous amount of time in hospitals, and rarely did I think someone wasn’t being great to me. There wasn’t much I didn’t see in there, and the staff—from the cleaners to the kitchen staff, nurses, and doctors—were all brilliant. Especially the nurse who snuck me my iced coffee!

Friends

There are far too many friends to mention. The people I went to school with who check in and see how I’m doing, work colleagues who would visit me in the hospital, CJ who would sing a song at every gig and mention where that song idea came from, and cricket and footy opponents who were always messaging me to see how I was recovering and then welcoming me back once I was playing again.

Cricket Club

Everyone knows how much I love the West Ridgley Cricket Club, and without the club to go back to, I don’t think I would have had the drive to recover like I have. The people involved accepted me back with open arms, and I don’t mean just as a player, but as a person. The nicknames included Bags Blight, Shitbag, and many more. It brought humor to the situation, which was much needed.

My employers

Woolworths and Motors (I haven’t had an issue since being at AJL). I can’t speak highly enough of either of these companies or the management involved. There was never any drama about having time off sick, recovering, or for appointments. I was off for roughly 11 weeks when I had my operation, and not once did Motors try to rush me, even in a pretty cutthroat industry.

Mr. David Lloyd and Raj

The chiefs in my surgery. They went in pretty blind, with no promises about whether I would get a colostomy, ileostomy, or whether it would work at all, and I came out with a lot of staples holding me together. But in my 11th year, I’ve had no issues with my stoma. I wake up, take my bag off, have a shower, put a new bag on, and away we go again. They have done an incredible job, and I can’t thank them enough.

Dr. Jarrad Wilson

Where do I start? I can genuinely say I would not be alive today if Jarrad hadn’t found my file. When one person is the reason you are alive. I don’t really know how to explain the gratitude I have for someone. Clearly, it’s not a love thing like family, but the gratitude and respect I have for him are at that level. Right from the start, he has been clear about what he needs, wants, and expects from me. Just as important is the way he included Amanda in any conversation and gave her his number so that she could contact him at any time I was unwell or needed anything. When Jarrad moved to Hobart, he gave me the option to change specialists, but I now just travel to Hobart for appointments. I would not swap specialists for anything.

So that is my story. Roughly 25 surgeries, five months in the hospital, colon removed, rectum removed, the majority of my bowel removed, dental issues related to Crohn’s, and there’s clearly more to come as time goes on. But I just hope someone reads this and understands that there is light at the end of the tunnel. It doesn’t have to be over. You will still have your days, for sure, as I do. I constantly feel what I guess must be a survivor’s guilt after I hear of someone young who has passed away from something, knowing how close I was. But at the same time, I also understand how lucky I am to live this life. There’s that word again, “lucky.” Some would say I’m unlucky to have gotten sick; I say I’m lucky I lived.

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