Unknown: A Memoir – Guillain-Barré Syndrome

By Meg Lumsden

At the age of twenty-six Meg believes she is happy. Blessed with good health, a devoted family and a career that she loves, she possesses everything a young woman could want. Her diary is awhirl with social engagements. A passionate traveller with a taste for adventure, she is forever jetting off to exotic locations and keeps an ever-expanding list of countries she wants to visit before she turns thirty. When a new relationship with a dream man beckons, the sky is the limit.

But then suddenly, on holiday in Asia, the unthinkable happens when she succumbs to a mystery illness that reduces her to a state of utter helplessness and dependency on others. Miraculously revived after being left to die in a Vietnamese hospital, she is diagnosed with Guillain-Barré syndrome, a rare but potentially life-threatening neurological disorder offering no clear outcome. As her world is turned upside-down, Meg must fight not only her rebellious body but also a frightening element of uncertainty about the future. Will she recover? Nobody - least of all the doctors who treat her - is able to say.

Unknown is about being pushed to the brink and coming back again, about the power of the human spirit and about discovering through adversity a new and more rewarding way to live.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Jul 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922628411

Meg Lumsden

Hi, I’m Meg.Unknown is the first novel I have written, and it hastaken a little over five years to complete. I began writingafter suffering full body paralysis from a condition knownas Guillain Barre Syndrome. My hands were the first partsof my body that returned sensation and as part of myrehabilitation I began tapping away at the keyboard andrecording my journey of recovery. As time went on, Irealised how therapeutic writing was, particularly when Iwas in a situation where I felt so lonely and like no oneunderstood.As my health improved, I searched for books andmaterial that were positive and uplifting, stories like myown, however I felt the information available aboutGuillain Barre fell short. It was the road to recoveryintertwined with life experiences that led me to ask thequestion, how many other people must be suffering fromdebilitating medical conditions? This made me moredetermined to finish Unknown with the intention that if ithelped one single person, either emotionally, physically, orjust gave them a laugh, then I had accomplished my goal.

Book preview

Anotification on my phone alerted me that my eBay purchase had been successful. I clicked into my emails and noted the usual junk mail from airlines and tour companies. As I scrolled through, ready to delete all, one email caught my attention. I opened it.

Seeking experienced dental operators to join our team for a Vietnam-based dental health project. Must be able to work independently, limited spots available.

I sat with my half-eaten lunch on my lap and thought how bored I had become with work lately. It was not the people, or the place, but rather the fact that I had been in the same job for nearly five years. For someone who cannot sit still, five years feels like a long time. I had no holiday pay owing and was thinking that a change was in order.

My home town is Warrnambool, on the south-west Victorian coast. Together with my younger sister, I had recently been thinking of moving to Melbourne, the state capital, a three-and-a-half-hour car journey away but, in terms of lifestyle, a completely different world. I love food and music, and Melbourne is renowned for both, so the move made sense. But still, nothing was set in stone. I glanced at the clock above the window: it was 1.50 p.m., which left me ten minutes for lunch. What the heck? I thought. It was a spur of the moment decision. I attached my resume, scribbled a quick cover letter outlining my key attributes and hit the send button.

Volunteering was something I used to do a lot of in school. In recent years, though, I had not thought much about it. I knew the chances of being selected were slim. The initial message was a chain email sent to every dental professional registered with the Australian board. I put my phone away and prepared my notes and equipment for the next patient. After that I didn’t think anything more about it.

Two weeks later, my phone buzzed as I was leaving work. Glancing at the screen, I saw a voice message had been left by a private number. I got into my car and waited for Bluetooth to initiate, dialled my message bank and a heavy British accent oozed from my car speakers. ‘Yes, ah, hello, Meg, my name is Joshua Taylor. I am the project coordinator for the Dental Health Project Vietnam. I’m calling to inform you that your application has been successful. If you could please check your emails I have outlined the date and time of our first meeting. Thank you and I look forward to seeing you soon.’

The message came as a shock, as I had forgotten all about my application. Still, I felt a thrill of excitement surge through me. Along with it I experienced an immediate sense of readiness. I had that feeling I got when I was about to have an adventure.

When I walked into Joshua’s house the first thing I noticed were the high ceilings and solid timber floors. His wife greeted me with a tiny white teacup full of traditional Vietnamese tea. She appeared Vietnamese herself, but, as I thought it would be rude to ask, I kept my thoughts to myself. She led me into the living room, where half a dozen people stood around a huge dining table. In the middle of the table, I soon saw, lay outspread a large, detailed map of Vietnam with the province of An Giang highlighted in fluorescent yellow. Joshua did not introduce the other people, four men and two women. Instead he launched straight into his presentation.

‘Tân Châu is located approximately seven hours’ bus ride from Ho Chi Minh City, close to the Vietnamese border. The climate is hot and sticky. Our working conditions will most likely be poor. We could be in a shed, booting the chickens away from under our feet, or in a hospital with staff who would rather us not be there. The sterilisation procedures will not match Australian standards. You will learn a completely new way to treat patients, improvising most of the time, and applying agents sparingly. You will be expected to complete long days, ten hours at the least. Lunch will be prepared locally and it is considered rude not to eat what you are given. Chopsticks are the traditional cutlery choice and you will be expected to embrace the Vietnamese culture. Now, will anyone be pulling out at this stage?’

I exchanged glances with the people around me. We began to laugh. I turned to Joshua and said, ‘Well, with that sales pitch, Joshua, you have really sold it. I’m in.’

From the start, I didn’t have a single doubt in my mind.

The volunteering, Joshua went on to explain, would go for two weeks with two days of free time in between. My travel bug kicked in: two days was not enough to explore Vietnam. I had been to Thailand once before and visited the islands, but the rest of Asia remained a mystery to me. I had always been wary about travelling there alone, having heard that it could be dangerous for blue-eyed, blonde-haired, fair-skinned young women like myself. With this in mind, I did some research and discovered a four-week tour that covered Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam. It took some manoeuvring to tie it all together date-wise, but eventually I arranged to depart Bangkok two days after I finished my volunteer work. It worked out perfectly, which in my mind meant it was supposed to be.

I called Tim, whom I had recently started dating. He was a Kiwi and had eight to twelve months left of a heavy diesel mechanic apprenticeship to complete. We were doing the long-distance relationship thing. He was in New Zealand and I was in Australia. At this point, I was more than happy with this.

But first things first. I didn’t plan to have a relationship with Tim. In fact, when we met, I was trying my best to avoid relationships altogether. I had been married before and it had been an absolute train wreck, which had destroyed my faith in relationships and in people in general. Since then, I had dated other men, but without ever allowing myself to get too close to anyone. To be honest, I didn’t want a relationship which required a lot of commitment or became too serious too quickly. After the experience of my marriage, it freaked me out when I became too intimate with a man. I craved my independence, but I was also deeply fearful. I guess you could say I had my wall up.

I only knew a handful of couples that truly appeared to be happy. It seemed to me that most people settled down too soon. And often they became stuck in situations that were toxic and harmful to them, for all manner of reasons. So often, people made excuses to stay with partners they were not truly happy with simply because, over time, their situation had become comfortable and familiar.

Of course, I couldn’t see these things when I was married. It was only after my husband and I had split and I went through the subsequent heartache that I saw things from a clearer perspective.

Many people don’t like change, but I’m not one of them. I absolutely hate routine, which bores me stiff. I much prefer to be free and spontaneous. That was why I thought that being with someone in a different country would work perfectly for me. This way I could see Tim when it suited me, and on my terms.

But, yeah, basically, and despite my best efforts, Tim and I just fell into it. Whenever we caught up with each other, after a spell apart, it was always exciting. We were cheeky to each other, teasing one another, but in a good-natured way, laughing endlessly. In some ways it felt like we were the male and female versions of the same person. We were that alike, no kidding. We shared similar interests, had the same strong morals and were both equally competitive – yet thanks to the ‘ditch’, as it’s known, we retained our own separate lives. I loved coming home at the end of the day, turning on Skype and finding Tim there. For hour upon hour, we would laugh and joke and discuss our lives, together and apart. From the start, Tim truly felt like a great friend.

‘I’m going to Asia,’ I said.

Tim looked at me through my laptop screen and smiled a cheeky grin. ‘When are you going?’ he said.

I ran through the ins and outs of my plans. I told him about the volunteering and said I’d be leaving Australia in two months’ time, bound for somewhere in rural Vietnam, where I probably wouldn’t have Wi-Fi or any other means of communication. Afterwards, I said, I would fly to Thailand and, following a day in Bangkok, set off on a four-week tour of Asia. Excitedly, I talked about the temples I planned to see, the bays I had researched, the distant vistas that I couldn’t wait to embark upon.

Tim sat there and stared at me blankly. ‘So you are basically telling me that you will be gone for six weeks and that we won’t be able to see or talk to each other?’ he finally said.

I knew why he was bothered. Since getting together, the longest we had gone without seeing each other was four weeks and that had been tough enough. I assumed it was probably even harder for a guy, with all that testosterone. But before he could get too worked up, I tried to steer the conversation elsewhere. ‘What did you do today?’ I said.

He ignored my question. He already knew me too well. ‘Six weeks without seeing each other?’ he said.

I explained that I thought it would be fine. I hadn’t been happy at work lately, I said. I needed to get out of the small country town where all my ex-husband’s family were and his so-called friends were constantly hitting on me. I needed something extra, in other words, and I thought that this would be it. I was also hoping that the volunteering would make me appreciate the things I had in my life, and that the travelling would help me meet new people and encourage me to plan my next adventure.

I mentioned my fascination with Buddhism as a way of life, which had begun when a friend had introduced me to some basic meditation techniques aimed at focusing on positive thoughts and manifesting the things you wanted in life. This was something I hadn’t talked about much with anyone, as my family were not religious and I worried that people might think I had lost the plot. Tim didn’t say anything, either way. Our conversation ended in stalemate with me sticking to my plans and Tim appearing somewhat defeated.

He tried reverse psychology, saying bluntly, ‘OK, no worries. I had better go get some things done.’

I knew he was digging for me to tell him to cheer up and say that I would change my mind, but it wasn’t going to happen. Should I have felt guilty? I didn’t think so. I had spent ten years in a bad relationship not doing what I wanted with whom I wanted. This was my time to look after myself.

I had an inkling that Tim wanted me to ask him to come to Asia. But I didn’t ask him.

*

Of the guys I’d dated after my marriage, a couple had played a significant role in my life. Timing was an important factor. The first guy lived seven hours away. He was beautiful, smart and polite, with a great sense of humour. We met organically; he nurtured me and made me feel safe. But, as I say, this was only twelve months after a messy breakup and I wanted to travel and be free. He was in a similar situation, on the rebound like me, not necessarily wanting a relationship but keen that we should get to know each other, if only because it might help us get over our previous bad experiences. We used to spend hours on the phone talking about books and music and all the crazy, random stuff in life. We ended up parting, because it seemed right, but he will always hold a special place in my heart. Our relationship worked. We had our time and remain firm friends.

Next there was a guy from Queensland, whom I met on a plane. This started as a sexual attraction, but the more time we spent together, the more intriguing I found him. Once again, the distance between us ensured that the relationship could never get too serious, which meant that I felt safe from commitment. We were still in contact when I started seeing Tim and he was respectful and understanding. He remains one of my appreciated people due to an unspoken, but definitive, connection I couldn’t explain if I tried.

I told Tim about these two guys but he said he wasn’t worried. No doubt this was partly because they were both located in different states from me and so not easily accessible; he might have been more concerned if they’d been living round the corner. But I also don’t think Tim realised the significant role these guys had played in my life at such an important time. I always said to him that I felt that people moved in and out of your life at the exact right times for the exact right reasons. He was content with that.

Tim was always respectful. He played it cool. Maybe this was because when we first started talking I drilled into him the things that I did and didn’t want at this time in my life. To his credit, he understood why I didn’t want to rush things and respected my position. Yet at the same time, he often made it clear in conversations that he would give up everything to move to Australia and be with me. I knew therefore that when I was ready to take things further, all I had to do was ask him. Sometimes I toyed with the idea but then my defensive barrier would go up and I’d put it on ice. At this stage we had only been seeing each other for three months on a fly in, fly out basis. Too soon, in other words. Plus, deep down, I wanted to do this trip by myself.

Meanwhile Tim was due to come to Australia for two weeks over the Christmas/New Year period. To be honest, I was already a little nervous about this. Two weeks together is a long stretch when you have previously only seen each other for a maximum of four to six days at a time.

The next time we talked, I focused on other subjects besides my travel plans. ‘I am really excited about seeing you in a few weeks’ time,’ I said, adding, ‘A whole two weeks together, hey? I might have to do a runner after one.’

I laughed, half joking, half serious. Tim laughed with me, but I could see in his eyes he didn’t know what to expect.

Christmas approached quickly. It’s one of my favourite times of the year because all the family gets together for a huge meal. There are nine people in my direct family, which is quite a lot. Back when we all lived together, dinner times were always chaotic, but I loved it.

Maybe it’s just me, but whenever I read a book, it always takes me a few chapters to work out who the characters are and where they sit in the plot. So I will try and simplify things for you from the start.

My Mum is called Michelle and my Dad’s name is Robert. They have separated but have a mutual friendship, where they tolerate each other for birthdays, Christmas and special events. Dad likes to say, ‘Your mother and I will always stay married. That way I won’t go and do something stupid like get married again.’

All us kids feel very fortunate that things are civil between Mum and Dad and neither of them gets to miss out. I know that many families find it hard after the parents separate and things can become difficult. But the truth is, Mum and Dad are much better people for being apart. Each of them is in a new relationship, in which they are happy.

My eldest sibling is Cameron. Sometimes we tease him, saying he was adopted. No offence intended to those who are adopted, but those with big families will know what I mean. Cam’s partner is Katelyn, who’s pregnant with their second child. Their first child is Rose who’s utterly adorable and a favourite with my sisters and me. She’s two years old, has long, curly, auburn-coloured hair and, to my delight, is a mini-me with a similar character to mine and energy levels to match.

Next in line is my sister Vicky. She’s super smart and ferociously efficient in everything she does. She takes after Dad, with whom she shares a stubborn streak. Wayne, her partner, is the complete opposite in personality, a real Aussie bloke, but somehow they work. They named their first child John Wayne, like the cowboy. He looks like the model child with the biggest, bluest eyes you can imagine.

I am the third child in the family. You have started to get to know me already and there’s more to come.

My younger sister Eleanor is my best friend. Sometimes I think we are twins, albeit separated by three years. Often when we talk we find ourselves saying the same thing at the exact same time. Or we’ll look at something and laugh without needing any words at all. She thinks her name makes her sound ancient, so we call her ‘Ele’ for short.

As I mentioned, our family dinners are not your usual, run-of-the-mill affairs. We don’t sit down at the dinner table with different types of knives, forks, spoons and classical music playing in the background. Let me set the scene. Picture a zoo pen, with six adult monkeys, Dad and Mum and us grown-up children, and two baby monkeys, the nieces and nephews, and none of us have been fed for weeks. The zookeeper, Mum, prepares the food. She feeds the baby monkeys bits and pieces as they hang off her legs. There is continual chitter chatter and other banging and crashing sounds in the background. The adult monkeys try to pinch pieces of food while the zookeeper isn’t looking. But their hands are slapped away, or scowled at, as if the zookeeper has eyes in the back of her head. Once all the dishes are out on the table the zookeeper says, ‘OK,’ whereupon the monkeys go crazy, trying to cram as much food as they can in their mouths. Sometimes they steal from their fellow monkeys. It’s not unusual for them to throw food at each