Charlotte Kutia, left, has been diagnosed with stage 4 terminal cancer, but decided a trip to Australia to see her son was a challenge worth taking. Photo / Supplied
A trip to Australia created cherished memories for Bay of Plenty woman Charlotte Kutia.
Three months ago, with no warning, I was diagnosed with Stage 4 terminal cancer. Due to its advanced metastasis, there are no treatment options, and I am receiving palliative chemotherapy for one purpose – to give me more time to spend with people I love.
But with one child pursuing a rugby career in Australia, “spending time”, I explained to my oncologist, means an international trip. One that he wholeheartedly supported. Australia is a short flight away and there are reciprocal healthcare arrangements, should I require them. Chemo is a movable feast, which he is more than willing to adjust to accommodate my plans. I gulped and booked my (fully flexible) fare.
Cancer, however, never stops being challenging. Two weeks before departure, a rogue PICC line threw a blood clot in my arm and I was back in a hospital bed with swelling and doubts. But a strong drug schedule and the fact the flight is a mere three hours, sees me granted permission to travel.
Approaching the first security checkpoint in Auckland Airport has always caused me anxiety. So showing up with a cabin bag loaded with oversized syringes, saline, medical oddments and morphine, brought on palpitations and sweating.
Further complicating the scenario was various internal metalware and a drain protruding from my abdomen, connected to my bile ducts. Eyebrows were raised as my bags lit up the x-ray machine. I nervously revealed my haul of liquids and supplies.
But the sweats were redundant. After a quiet word explaining my situation, the officials could not have been more helpful. The “pat down” protocol felt a little too intimate, but several minutes later I was safely on the other side, the only confiscation being a half-used tube of toothpaste. All the security checks, both here and in Australia, ran with similar efficiency, without me even needing to show back-up letters from oncologists.
Working my way through airport procedures, at a slower pace than usual, certainly raised my stress levels. Fortunately I allowed for extra time on the ground, as my walking speeds are reduced.
There was a sigh of relief when I was safely in my allocated (aisle) seat. I will only travel in the aisle now, so while great views are a thing of the past, I am safe in the knowledge I can quickly get to the bathroom if necessary without clambering over sleeping bodies. However, the flights were smooth and comfortable. I felt pretty much well the whole of the time mid-air, untroubled by cabin pressure, vomiting or claustrophobia. I even managed to down my share of much-maligned airline cuisine and have it stay put.
Sitting in the lit-up sports stadium, watching my son take the field in unfamiliar green and gold, bungle the Australian national anthem and steamily sign autographs after the match is a cherished memory for the coming tough weeks.
I have always been an avid reader of travel stories and actively scheming my next destination. I have enjoyed many wonderful destinations in my life. Less in recent years, with the financial challenges of being single and the sole breadwinner in mid-life.
After a relationship break-up in my 50s, I realised that there might never be someone to take me on a romantic Pacific Island holiday that I had always longed for, so I decided I would just have to take myself.
I suspected it would be a one-off, so chose the island where I was very sure I would have the full deal – long stretches of white sands, turquoise waters, swaying palms. Aitutaki was the perfect Pacific paradise. Sipping cocktails alone in a resort full of honeymooners was admittedly a strange vibe but the wonderfully warm staff and juicy cocktails under soft pacific night skies were so damn good, they made up for it. Learning to kayak alone in a safe warm blue lagoon with colourful fish at the end of my paddle was unforgettable too. I’m so glad now I took the opportunity at the time, which I will never have again.
Other memorable travel memories include eating goat curry in the backblocks of Bangladesh, slurping luscious mangoes in an old yellow Ambassador taxi in Goa, riding elephants with my children in Cambodia, and being blown away by the beauty of the longships in Oslo Museum while exploring a little of my Viking whakapapa in Scandinavia.
With stage four cholangiocarcinoma, a rare cancer of the bile ducts, and currently on aggressive chemotherapy, I am uninsurable in terms of medical conditions. So for me, the only safe destination now is Australia.
But that’s okay, because the continent offers more incredible landscapes and adventures than I could ever fit in. From stunning white Whitsunday beaches, to red outback rocks, Kimberley canyons, Snowy mountains, Aboriginal culture and history going back millions of years, food and fashion adventures in stylish cities – there is more to see and experience across the Ditch than I could squeeze into any lifetime.
We have reciprocal healthcare arrangements across the Tasman, meaning I will receive a high standard of medical care. For my recent trip to see my son, I took copies of all my medical history with me. My oncologist was also supportive but very clear – any hint of a problem such as high fevers or issues with the external drain in my abdomen, head straight to an A&E hospital. But he also pointed out that many Australians live more than three hours from good hospitals with cancer care, so flying across from NZ is not an outrageous proposition.
Travel insurance may be available at different stages of cancer. Depending what type of cancer you have, how advanced, whether chemo has been effective in controlling it, or for those in remission, cover may indeed be a possibility. My only advice is to discuss your situation with a specialist insurance adviser, have good documents from your doctors, choose your destination with care and be thoroughly honest with the insurer.
With a tight timeline to get back home to vital medical appointments, I was hit on the eve of departure with a message from Air New Zealand that our return flight had been cancelled due to “maintenance issues”.
A stressful few hours juggling plans saw me secure the very last seats on a crowded Jetstar flight instead. Anxious about my seating, I spoke with staff as we checked in, explained my condition, and they willingly looked for accessible options. After several minutes messing around with seating plans, they found me an aisle seat, ensuring access to bathrooms for mid-air emergencies. We hit the tarmac back in Auckland intact and on time. My initial flights were refunded by Air NZ as it was their issue that caused the cancellation.
The hardest part of the flight was a mental challenge on the final descent back to Auckland Airport. Circling over the city, it was hard not to let the tears fall, knowing that with a terminal diagnosis, this was very probably the last time in my life I would fly abroad, and so many travel dreams would go unfulfilled.
Travel with cancer is certainly not a cinch. But I encountered nothing but empathy and assistance from airline staff and airport officials on both sides of the Tasman. I am grateful that I made the trip – if only for sweaty post-match hugs under the New South Wales night sky.
My health since returning home has been a mixed bag. Unfortunately, after four cycles on my previous chemo regime, my CT scans showed no slowdown in my tumours’ expansion, which was very frustrating. We recently switched to a new chemical cocktail, which is tough but encouragingly is showing some signs of slowing down the growth. The hardest thing is the uncertainty. Do I have a month to live, three months or a year? Nobody can say for sure.
In terms of mindset and that elusive thing called “happiness”, the trip was a huge success. When my son video calls me, eating breakfast on his deck, or sends shots of his hard rugby training, I think “oh yes, I saw that place”, and I feel so much closer to him. Doctors have been clear that my cancer is incurable and chemo is about extending my time to make happy memories. Travelling to be with him was a huge success in that regard.
I’m not planning any more trips at the moment, but the latest news is that my son’s team is playing well, and last week I got a message saying, “We might make the grand final, Mum. It would be so cool if you could be here”.
Life remains fragile and unpredictable, but I’m not ruling anything out.
A final word for all healthy travellers with intentions to roam. Cancer strikes with no warning and closes off many pathways. Make the most of your wellness and follow your wildest dreams while you can.