Cancer is a dreadful word. I remember when my sister had bowel cancer, that dreadful word was never spoken. We called it an illness, we called it a sickness, we even managed to call it a tumour -but until my sister had recovered, the ‘C’ word was never spoken. Why? I suppose the word ‘cancer’ seems irrevocably linked to certain death. But there is always hope, and often there is recovery. My sister is still with us, and still going strong fifteen years later.

And so I come to my friend Fay. I feel that her image should be blazoned across every Australian newspaper as a vision of hope, quiet strength and endurance.

When I first saw Fay sitting quietly at work, I felt a touch of envy. Here was a woman that trouble had never visited. She was constantly smiling and tranquil. ‘If my life could have been as peaceful and untroubled as Fay’s life’, I would say to myself, ‘I would also be constantly smiling and tranquil’. That’s what I told myself.

 Then I found out more about Fay’s life. She had lost her husband in a tractor accident many years ago. She was left a young widow with five children.

 Fay rarely talks about the struggle she must have gone through. There is not an ounce of self-pity when she does. She raised her children by herself, with the same smile and the same self deprecating humour.

 Then the ‘C’ word entered her life. It came as breast cancer. She fought it, she recovered, and again she lived with good humour and that tranquil smile. But as often happens, a few years later the ‘C’ word came back again, this time as bowel cancer. But Fay is nothing if not a fighter. She won again. Yep, went through all those necessary medical procedures with her usual grace and strength.

 Then one morning, very early in the morning, I got a phone call from a mutual friend, who cried into the phone as she told me the news. The dreadful word again. This time: liver cancer. The doctors rallied Fay for another fight. But the news was not good, even after having part of her liver cut out. The cancer had spread.

 ‘This time’, the specialist told Fay, ‘it is quality of life, not quantity’. Perhaps two years, perhaps less. The doctor told her to bring her family along to discuss her future. When they came, he sat them down, and then looked at the most recent scan. The doctor looked again at the scan. He blinked. He blinked again. The cancer had retreated. Fay had won again.

 Fay believes that a tonic called ‘Percy’s Powder’ is the reason the cancer disappeared. She has it in water everyday, and she has never felt better. All I know is that the miracle cure couldn’t have happened to a nicer person than Fay. Percy’s powder or Fay’s will power – who knows? – all I know -and am happy to know – is that I can still see that sunny, tranquil smile, and listen to her cheerful, tranquil voice. The ‘C’ word isn’t always the end.