Project Hope has brought an added sense of community to Tauranga and a flow of compassion that has touched the heart of Project Hope frontman Len Gilbert. Ruth Woodward catches up.
It happens a lot these days. A perfect stranger will shake his hand, give him a hug, a touch on the back, a knowing look or catch his eye across a room.
To Len Gilbert these caring gestures come from people unknown to him but to each of those so-called "strangers", Len has found a place in their lives, their thoughts and their admiration.
On New Year's Eve, as Len and his wife Vonnie enjoyed the atmosphere in downtown Tauranga, they had no sooner crossed threshold of the Crown and Badger than another "stranger moved from his stool, warmly embraced Len, shook his hand and greeted him with a hongi".
Few words were needed.
For the past seven months, as he has tackled cancer head-on, Len has shared his thoughts, pain, fears, tears and laughter with the entire community of Tauranga. There are very few of us who would be so brave.
Yet this "poster boy" for Project Hope cannot understand why so many people want to make a fuss of him. In the six months he has been fronting the campaign, Len hasn't received one word of negative feedback. The community's response has been overwhelming, quite baffling, says Len.
It's not that he doesn't appreciate it, it's just that he looks on himself as a very ordinary bloke who happens to be among the unlucky to get the Big C. He's not into legacies, glory or heroics. His greatest wish is that his very ordinary story will give others hope.
"I'm just being open and honest, telling my story. That's all I've ever tried to be all my life. Why am I suddenly being put on a pedestal for being open and honest? Everybody should be open and honest. I'm just being Len."
He jokes when I tell him it was a brave move to take such a public profile for Project Hope ... "brave, or just bloody stupid?"
This time last year as 2004 began, Len was looking forward to another year of hard work, family life, prosperous times, good health and fairly predictable challenges.
The hand that 2004 actually played on him surely makes us "lucky ones" reflect on our own hopes and goals for 2005.
Len is a constant reminder to seize the day. Humbled by people's caring response to himself and his family, Len has also been awed by the community's generosity in raising more than $1 million toward the new Bay cancer centre. If his story has played a part in achieving this milestone, then that is the greatest gift Len could wish for.
Making it to Christmas was a major milestone for Len. Seven months ago the doctors gave him only about four months. He has doubled that and, what's more, he feels great and has more energy than he knows what to do with.
Since giving chemo the nudge a few weeks ago, his hair has grown back, his eyebrows and eyelashes are dark again. He looks stunning.
But it's all a bit of a cruel joke. Inside, Len is actually sicker.
The week before Christmas his medical scans revealed the worst. The cancer had spread - invading his lungs - and his blood counts were going haywire.
It was a real kick in the guts but Len kept the news quiet from family and friends, especially from his mum, because he didn't want to cast a shadow over her Christmas.
For his Vonnie it was a reality check for which she was ill-prepared. Len's health had been so deceptively normal that she had begun to believe in a miracle. But Len has always known it was just a matter of time.
"I was severely disappointed but with the sort of luck I have been having, what else was I to expect?"
The bad news has put an end to Len's holiday from chemo. He starts again tomorrow.
This time next week his hair will have virtually fallen out again and he will be feeling ghastly.
He has enjoyed his "interlude in normality" and is dreading tomorrow.
"The doctor was pretty insistent that I go back on chemo. I don't know what's worse - the doctor having his foot on my throat or me having my foot on the cancer's throat."
But the family camping holiday that Len has been promising daughter Lennie and Vonnie is still firmly on the calendar.
They'll be off down the coast as soon as the after-effects of tomorrow's chemo have worn off.
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