The first-class cabin was dark, the hum of the Qantas jet hypnotic as it settled in for the long haul from LAX to Melbourne. The cabin crew had been watchful as the two women boarded, but there was no indication of what would unfold over the next fifteen hours.
Daughter and mother presented a contrast of colour and energy. The younger woman was clearly unwell, having boarded in a wheelchair, then curled into herself in her seat, dark hair framing a face struggling with pain. Her mother Susan was immaculate in middle age, with her perfect blonde coiffure, her pearls and glossy lipstick. She commanded the usual service and respect from the flight crew with a gentle, polite power.
Both women were worried. The reality of the ravages inflicted by type 1 diabetes for two decades had hit Danielle when her kidneys had finally failed two days prior. Though she struggled to see, the last flickers of her vision still allowed some light to register, giving her energy to fight on. But the kidney failure was absolute. A kidney transplant meant admitting help was needed, acknowledging that a part of Danielle’s own body had failed. It meant accepting someone else’s kidney, accepting that she couldn’t beat this disease—at thirty-two, finally accepting her condition.
Danielle had broken down in front of her mother the night before. Sue hadn’t known how bad things had become. She’d known that Danielle was not well, but it was typical of her daughter to hide the severity of her suffering. An independent, strong-willed artist, Danielle had protected those around her from the reality of her illness, frequently commenting, ‘Other people are sicker than me’. But in a call from New York to Sue’s home in Australia, Danielle’s kidney specialist at Mount Sinai Hospital was direct: ‘Your daughter’s very ill. You’d better get over here’.
Upon landing in New York, Sue collected Danielle from her apartment and went straight to the specialist, who was matter-of-fact, if not cold: ‘Your daughter’s kidneys have failed. She’s going to need a transplant’.
Several of Danielle’s university friends in Philadelphia, who had witnessed the deterioration of her health, had stepped up and offered a kidney. In a late-night phone call between Danielle and her beloved uncle, Sue’s brother Richard had offered his kidney also. There was no shortage of kindness.
But a mother is a mother. There was nothing Sue would not do. She was tested, found to be a compatible donor, and immediately put the wheels in motion for a return to Australia for the transplant operation. Mount Sinai was an excellent facility, but it wasn’t the Royal Melbourne Hospital—at home, Sue and Danielle would be supported by Sue’s powerful network of friends and medical connections. The mother wanted to take her daughter home.
The day before the flight, Danielle had insisted on having her hair done ‘to look elegant’ for the travel. On returning to her apartment, she had collapsed on the floor in exhaustion. Her handbag spilled open and photos spread across the carpet like a fan—photos of her father and mother, her family. Danielle was weak but tried to scrape the photos back into the bag. Surprised by the sentimentality, Sue pretended not to notice as she helped her daughter put away the photos and other personal items.
Several hours into the flight from Los Angeles, still more than nine hours from Melbourne, Danielle began to complain about being hot. She was agitated, moving around in her seat. The cabin crew were patient, professional and helpful. Sue asked the steward to call a doctor and did her best to keep her daughter calm, reassuring her, as Danielle started to pull at her clothes, arms flailing. Danielle’s frustration turned to anguish: ‘My back hurts Mum, my back really hurts’. The flight crew silently made space for Danielle as she writhed in pain. Sue massaged her daughter’s back and spoke lovingly, practically: ‘We’ll be there soon. Try to relax. I’m here. We’ll get through this’.
Danielle started to sweat. She moaned in agony. The ache in her back became an unbearable tearing pain in her chest and abdomen. As Danielle thrashed and struggled to catch her breath, she said, ‘Mum, will you hold me?’ Sue sat on the side of her seat and held her beloved only child, gently rubbing her back. But nothing could stop the disaster that was unfolding. A few minutes later, Danielle suffered a massive heart attack and died in Sue’s arms.