'18 months after my mum died, my wife started having strange symptoms.'

This is an edited extract from Honey: My Story of Love, Loss and Victory, by Honey Hireme-Smiler with Suzanne McFadden, available now. 

It started with an itch.

Towards the end of 2021, Rochelle was itchy all over with no idea why. We joked about it, brushed it off as eczema, but it was constant — and worse at night. It was driving her crazy.

We had to banish it from our minds, though, when we got a call late one night. Rochelle's brother Daniel had died unexpectedly of a heart attack at home in Gisborne. He was a year older than Rochelle and they were close.

Rochelle was in shock as she began calling her siblings, often unable to finish her sentences as she told them their brother had died. Within an hour, they'd all arrived at our house and, with our kids, we packed the car to drive through the night to Gisborne. We got there at dawn.

Daniel's wife, Libby, had asked us to be there when she broke the devastating news to their three children. It was one of the hardest things I've ever witnessed. The kids — aged 10, eight and six — were surprised to see us. They'd seen their dad collapse the night before and then were taken to stay at the neighbour's house while paramedics worked on him. It was heart-breaking. Rochelle and her siblings had been around the same ages when their dad passed away.

Rochelle stayed a couple of weeks with Libby and the kids, heavily involved in organising Daniel's tangi. It was a challenge with so many Covid restrictions in place.

Watch more on dealing with grief and loss below:

Back at home, she wasn't feeling great, but put it down to the grief and stress. The itchiness persisted to the point where her feet would be on fire, and I'd wrap them in cool flannels. I knew something was wrong.

Rochelle was already booked in to have gastric sleeve surgery the following week. After the operation, she was unwell for days.

At home on bed rest, her doctor rang to say her bilirubin levels were high. Bilirubin forms when old red blood cells are broken down; it's what makes your bile yellow. High levels can mean the bile duct is blocked, which can cause itchy skin. I noticed Rochelle's eyes were yellowish too, another sign.

Rochelle had more blood tests, and the bilirubin level was worse. The doctor was very concerned, so we shot straight to the hospital for a CT scan.

It was 1 December.

At first, they thought it could be gallstones. We waited for two hours before three specialists led us into a room; a knot tightened in my gut as we followed them in.

The lead surgeon started with, 'I'm sorry but the scans show Rochelle has cancer.'

I broke down in a flood of tears.

Image supplied.

Rochelle had stage 4 bile duct cancer — a rare and aggressive cancer, otherwise known as cholangiocarcinoma. Her tumours were inoperable, they said, but she needed surgery to insert stents to drain her liver, which was completely blocked.

The cancer had metastasised significantly — she had massive tumours on her ovaries, nodules in her liver, lungs and stomach lining — and her only treatment option was palliative chemotherapy. It would prolong her life from six months to 12.

My beautiful young wife was riddled with cancer, and it was terminal. We were absolutely blindsided.

The primary tumour wrapped around her external bile duct was blocking her liver, which could be fatal, so she needed surgery the next day. We were told to go home and pack a bag because she was going to be in hospital for a while. We walked through the hospital doors like zombies.

We asked our sons to come home straight away, sat them in the lounge and, as calmly as we could, relayed to them what we'd just been told. They sat there stunned, confused, then speechless. Visibly upset, Rochelle was consoled by the boys as I attempted to answer their questions.

Tyronne, who's always been mature in his thinking, said, 'Nope, we're fighting this, Mum. We're gonna fight it.'

And we all agreed — we were up for the battle.

Over a video call, we told Rochelle's sisters and niece — still processing the grief of losing their brother and uncle — before we packed two bags for the hospital. I was going to be there next to Rochelle every painful, distressing step of the way. We were there, together, for 17 days.

Just 18 months had passed since we had been in that same hospital with Mum. History was repeating itself. Rochelle had four surgeries in those two-and-a-half weeks and, just as it had been for Mum, she had complication after complication. She was put through the wringer.

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After four hours in theatre, they couldn't get the stents into her liver. Once Rochelle recovered from that ordeal, her stomach sleeve was reversed — she'd only had it six days. In the third surgery, they managed to insert one metal stent with a plastic stent inside, and an external drain to unblock her liver. In her fourth procedure, they succeeded with two more metal stents.

Only this time, they accidentally nicked her pancreas. Rochelle was in a world of pain and struggling with nausea and other side effects. She has a high pain tolerance, but she suffered something wicked. It was so hard to watch her crying out in agony. The medication they gave her made her sleepy, but she needed sleep so her body could rest and heal. I sat there and watched her — reminded over and over of Mum.

Under Covid restrictions, she could have only one carer in the room, who couldn't be swapped out. The boys, wearing masks, could only visit Rochelle in the open area. It was so hard when we couldn't support them through their worry and sadness, seeing their mum so ill.

But we needed to get Rochelle through these surgeries so she could finally see an oncologist and have treatment for the cancer. We pushed hard to get her home before Christmas. Rochelle had already lost 12 kg while she was in hospital — the external signs of this cancer were now becoming visible.

We had to figure out what our new normal would look like. I told the Halberg Foundation and Sky I needed time to care for Rochelle, and they were both understanding. I'd just been named in the second intake of Te Hāpaitanga, a High Performance Sport New Zealand scholarship programme for aspiring female coaches. Unfortunately, I had to withdraw because I couldn't commit the time while Rochelle was sick.

I was the assistant coach for the Upper Central Stallions and, while the league season had finished, I stopped all coaching from that point on.

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My brain went into overdrive. I remembered how quickly Mum had deteriorated when chemo was taken off the table. I was determined that wouldn't happen for Rochelle.

We had medical insurance, so, rather than wait for a public referral, I rang a private hospital. No one could see Rochelle till after the Christmas break. We couldn't afford to wait that long…

Image: Supplied.