By early the pain was unbearable. Clear fluid called lymph flows through the lymphatic vessels and contains infection-fighting white blood cells known as lymphocytes.
In lymphoma, these lymphocytes start to multiply in an abnormal way and collect in certain parts of the lymphatic system, such as the lymph nodes glands. The affected lymphocytes lose their infection-fighting properties, increasing vulnerability to infection. Initial symptoms are not always easy to spot. Without treatment, the oncologist said, Andy had three to six months to live. Andy underwent six sessions of chemotherapy. Underlying it all was this feeling it was all going to be OK.
And so it seemed. Yet not for long. In September , Andy had a routine medical ahead of filming the second series of Spartacus. The next day, a biopsy confirmed their worst fears: the cancer was back, and this time the prognosis was much more severe. Cherished memories: Vashti with Jesse and Indigo, the children she had with Andy.
They are reminded of him every time they see a butterfly. The resistant cancer cells are the ones that continue to grow and so you have to try a different type of chemotherapy. Without treatment Andy had three months to live, while even with further intervention a successful outcome was far less likely. The treatment now called for an aggressive form of chemo, followed, if successful, by a stem-cell transplant.
Andy remained positive, inviting a documentary team to share his journey. In early , Andy embarked on his first round of high-level chemotherapy with a new drug regimen. This time the experience was markedly different.
Some days he could barely drag himself out of bed. After six weeks, a full body scan showed only a mild improvement, which was another blow. The second series of sessions left Andy weak and spending more time in hospital — although a scan showed the cancer had reduced by 50 per cent, a major change, yet far from enough. As the exhilarating display exploded over the water, we happily bid farewell to Andy and I snuggled on the sofa.
He had his arm around me and he became reflective about the year behind us. Andy had to go for a scan in mid- January. It felt like we might just be able to pull off a miracle. The scan showed the cancer had come back with gusto.
We were both shattered, absolutely devastated. So many scenarios flooded into my mind. The shower was the only place I could let it all go. The thing that changed for me was the realisation that he might not make it. Time was running out. Unwittingly I stopped worrying about things. The breakdowns in the shower stopped, and I became calm and present. I wanted to be with Andy and not be scared anymore. In May, we planned a weekend away with the kids and friends in Kangaroo Valley, two hours south of Sydney.
We rented a beautiful house with views over rolling hills. That weekend was so special. Andy took his guitar and the boys had jamming sessions, we ate beautiful food and relaxed as a family for the first time in ages. But by June, the pain had begun to creep back into his system.
Andy could barely walk. My friend Kiki came around one morning and we decided to take Andy to his favourite cafe. There were three flights of stairs from our apartment to ground level and as I turned to close the door, all I could hear was a dreadful thumping sound. Andy had fallen down the stairs. On the first step his leg had given way and he had no feeling at all in his left leg.
Kiki and I helped Andy to the car as he did his best to keep his cool and not panic that his leg no longer worked. Then I raced back upstairs and grabbed a bag of his things and we drove straight to the hospice in Darlinghurst. I thought about the tattoos Andy and I had got a year earlier and the relevance of what the words, Be here now, really meant.
Five weeks later, I lay next to Andy all night and stroked his face. It was an extraordinary process to facilitate someone letting go of their life. The thenyear-old Whitfield had cancer , specifically stage 4 non-Hodgkin lymphoma. After a relatively mild round of chemotherapy, by September he felt healthy enough to return to the New Zealand set for season two. This time nothing would go easily. Without an aggressive and debilitating chemotherapy regimen, the married father of two small children would have three to six months left to live.
It was then that Whitfield and his wife Vashti decided to document his second cancer battle, inviting film crews and training digital cameras on themselves for more than a year, until shortly before he died at age 39 in September This intimate story is now being made into a film called Be Here Now from Academy Award-nominated director-producer Lilibet Foster, funded in part by an online Kickstarter campaign.
The footage provides an unflinching look at the brutal — and at times poignant — experiences of a man fighting cancer.
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