In October 2002, Mum calmly advised me that she suspected she might have breast cancer.  The cause for suspicion was a painful lump.  She confessed that she had been having regular tests in previous years, but they were very painful, so she gave up.  Dad had already been advised, and an appointment made with a local medical practitioner.  Following a referral, thorough tests were performed, and Mum was found to have 2 different types of breast cancer – the painful one where she had suspected, and a painless one on the other side (which would otherwise have continued undetected).
It was only during the previous month that her brother Allen lost his battle against throat cancer.
Into November, and it was agreed with a specialist at the Royal Adelaide Hospital that Mum would do best to have a complete mastectomy.  The cancer had spread up to (but not into) the lymph nodes under her arms.  Dad made it his first priority to transport Mum to all medical appointments, and to visit her regularly in hospital.

During the early part of 2003, Mum endured a rapid sequence of radiotherapy treatments overlapping with chemotherapy treatments, at the Royal Adelaide Hospital.  Due to the frequency of these treatments, it was very convenient for Mum and Dad to live at my home for a few weeks, although they returned to Kapunda on weekends to keep things in order there.  So it was good all-round teamwork in the fight against Mum's cancer.
Mum suffered vast amounts of pain resulting from the surgery and follow-up treatments, and the chemotherapy in particular caused a major decrease in her immunity to diseases.  For safety, there were many months when she declined to attend meetings etc., due to the very real possibility that she might catch something from other people.
From the pain point of view, it seemed that the cure was worse than the disease, but we all understood that it was an investment in saving Mum's life.

Subsequent scans for cancer consistently produced negative results, although Mum had been warned that a cancer could appear at any time.  Late in 2004 she had a blood test, having contracted the 'flu.  It was this test, not the CAT scans, that showed a return of cancer.  Further tests showed the cancer to be in her bones, but (thankfully) not in her internal organs.  Another sequence of radiotherapy produced radiation burns to Mum's chest.  When that was complete, she endured another course of chemotherapy treatments at 3 week intervals.  Different chemicals were used this time, as the cancer was a different type.  Each treatment was followed 3-5 days later by significant pain and reduction of physical strength – each one more savage than the previous one.
As the final treatment approached, Mum told me that she was looking forward to it – not because it would be enjoyable, but because it would be the end of the punishment.  That treatment was on Thursday 23rd June, and was followed a week later by a CAT scan.  Just at that time, Mum seemed to suffer some noticeable brain damage (presumed to be from the final dose of chemotherapy), and Dad feared that it might be permanent.  Mum's condition continued to deteriorate to the point that she was admitted to the Kapunda Hospital early the following week.  A week after the CAT scan (Thursday 7th July), Mum was due at the Royal Adelaide Hospital to receive the results.  However, on the day, she was unable to get out of bed, let alone travel 75 km to Adelaide.  Instead, the result was delivered to her at the Kapunda Hospital.  Evidently anticipating that the news would be bad, she asked "How much longer have I got to go?"  The reply was in the order of days to weeks, as the CAT scan revealed that the cancer had spread into her brain.  Indeded there was brain damage, but not from chemotherapy as we had assumed.

Mum received this news with total calmness, being confident of her future in heaven, and having trust for God's perfect timing.  However, for Dad, Wayne and me, this was devastating news and our period of grief commenced.  During the following days, Mum's ability to speak declined considerably.  I visited the next day (8th July); Mum's face lit up with great joy when I entered the room.  Dad and I were amongst about 12 visitors that day – a heavy physical and mental workload for Mum, and it showed in her inability to remain alert.  I continued to visit approx. every ½ week.
On Thursday 14th July Dad phoned me to say that Mum was talking very well (even better than 6 days previously), so I made a hasty visit to Kapunda.  We had a good conversation for about 45 minutes before she faded away with exhaustion.  It was a brief but treasured time, and turned out to be my final conversation with her.  I visited again the following Tuesday, but there was no response apart from opening one eye, not directed.
Dad maintained his dedication by visiting Mum 3 times every day, and at 12:20 pm on 22nd July 2005 Mum passed away in his presence.  It was only 15 days after receiving the bad news, but we were blessed with good opportunities to say goodbye.

Footnote:  Very different personality types – Dad has a thoroughly structured thought process, and is dedicated to having everything well organised; Mum was very unstructured in everything except flower arranging and Bible study, and seemed to thrive upon chaos.  As one should expect, these opposite approaches frequently brought conflict, and I know at least a few of their friends were acutely aware of it.  If there hadn't been a very strong foundation of love through Jesus Christ, what was visible on the surface would definitely have torn them apart.  During the 2 years and 9 months of battling against cancer, that foundation of love lept to prominence rather than superficial differences of opinion.  That's why we all miss Mum so very much.