Half way is not all the way, but it is better than no way

I almost didn’t make it to my third round of chemo. Whilst taking my drugs one hour pre chemo, I dropped one of the pills down the side of the car seat as we were about to enter the on-ramp to the motorway. Now I have sat through enough Air New Zealand safety videos to know that if you drop your phone down the side of your seat that is bad and you need to call the flight attendant. Alas there was only me and my chemo buddy and she was driving - and neither of us are flight attendants. During my attempt to rescue the pill my hand got stuck between the centre console and the seat. I panicked for a couple of minutes because my hand would not budge and I was wedged against a screw securing the seatbelt. It hurt. I was imagining the humiliation of the fire brigade having to be called to rescue me. Fortunately my chemo buddy, Nikki aka The Evil Diet Witch, saved me by suggesting I move the seat forward. I sustained a wee injury from the screw contacting my wrist. Only Nikki and you know this embarrassing story and fortunately not the fire brigade. Nikki also rescued the pill for me. She’s a real life hero and would make an excellent flight attendant or fireperson (if she was not an awesome nutritionist).

This week one of my litigation experts/friends (Vincent) sent me this…

Apparently Franna is a very popular pick and carry crane. We have a saying at my law firm, coined by our namesake David Heaney QC, “Where there’s cranes, there’s claims”. So I am quietly stoked to have a crane as a namesake.

It got me thinking about my name. It is unusual. There are not many Franas in this country. There are even fewer Divichs. Fortunately my name accounts for a few amusing anecdotes.

My iteration of Frana is Slavic. It is a girl‘s name in Croatia. It means Frenchman. Go figure. I think it is to honour St Francis of Assisi, one of the most venerated religious figures of Christianity. St Francis was not French but Francis means Frenchman too.

I was named after my Baba (grandma). She was known by her nickname Mile/Mila. When my mother learnt Baba’s real name she really liked it. So I became Frana 2.0. I like my name. It pairs well with Divich. I also love that I share my Baba’s name - who I adored.

Growing up I was commonly referred to as Frana Banana or Banana. I hated it. The most ingenious of nicknames came from my next door neighbour in the Halls of Residence at Otago University - Pirahna D’Fish. Kudos Glenno Martini - best nickname ever!

Fast forward to 1997 and backpacking in Italy. When I introduced myself Italians would frequently start laughing. They struggled to explain why. At a Youth Hostel in Naples a young man behind the desk explained, between gaffaws, it was some kind of “disaster”. This is why:

Frana means landslip in Italian.

How can this be? Italy and Croatia are separated by a narrow body of water called the Adriatic Sea or a sliver of Slovenia. How can the nouns mean something so different?

There is also SOFRANA for when I am too much - or “so Frana”. A shipping company…

My name’s greatest recent honour was bestowed by NZ’s greatest shoe designer, Kathryn Wilson. Kathryn named a boot after me and she is a beauty. It is made all the more amusing because of my first date with my husband and what he impolitely referred to as my “man shoes”. My husband thought I wasn’t interested in him because I dressed in a maxi skirt and flat boots for our first date. I thought I looked chic in my vintage skirt. I was unsure how tall he was, so I went with flats. I failed to appreciate that I should have dressed in a more alluring manner. Anyway my “man boots” don’t look unlike the Frana boot…and I think she’s alluring. For your very own pair, on sale, try here https://www.kathrynwilson.com/products/frana-boot-2

One of the advantages of an unusual first name is you can announce yourself as just “Frana” as opposed to Frana and Surname. It is a rare privilege shared with the likes of Madonna and Cher. Until 2009 I had walked into every appointment and just said “Frana, here to see [X]“ and everyone and everything had been fine. However this changed one day at Auckland Obstetrics. I arrived for my 11am appointment and made my usual announcement and the receptionist looked confused. She looked at the other receptionist who was serving another woman and she also looked confused. “Frana who?” they both parroted back. Two pregnant Franas had 11am appointments that day and we’d both announced ourselves by our first name within seconds of eachother. We looked at the other Frana at different ends of the reception desk and smiled. We had a nice chat while we waited for our appointments about being the only other Franas of a similar age that we’d ever met and it turns out the other Frana went to school with my cousins.

And that then leaves Divic (or Divich here). In Serbo-Croatian div means giant. Divic is therefore “son of a giant”. If you’ve seen me this probably makes sense to you. As I have advised in a previous blog there is a Divich Avenue in West Auckland named after my grandparents. It is where their farm/orchard/vineyard was before it was consumed for housing in the 60s. My parents live next door to the original farm house. I wonder if my Baba’s walnut tree still exists at her old house across the road (built after she moved from the farmhouse). I loved that tree. It was amazing to climb, fresh walnuts are very delicious and they require a satisfying amount of effort to extract. My parents have fig trees, probably some long ago biosecurity risk from the former Yugoslavia. There is a Divich Reserve down the road next door to my old kindergarten. Speaking of kindergarten, free chocolate to the first person who correctly identifies me in this photograph…(I see you Kay, Karen & Louise)…

Touch wood but this round of chemo has been relatively smooth sailing (apart from becoming trapped by my hand in a car). It might be because I know exactly what to expect (nausea and exhaustion) and have surrendered to it. I have taken all the naps, watched all the TV and eaten all the white food. My life post chemo will be healthy eating and minimal white bread so I might as well embrace a diet described by a former boss of mine very dramatically and eloquently as “white death”. I had chicken nuggets for dinner last night and am currently contemplating a visit to a very nice bakery for some lunchtime bready goodness. I haven’t gained weight because in my white food phase I’m not very hungry. In my non white food phase I “free eat” to regain condition. I try to enjoy both phases.

Thanks to my round 3 chemo buddy, Nikki. She brought along fabulous snacks, magazines and her wonderful, beautiful energy. The stem ginger crackers Nikki brought to chemo round 3 have inspired me to write a guide to products that have helped get me through chemo. Love your sweatshirt my friend and thanks for saving me from your car.

* Photo credit to Chris Pickering for the Frana sign in Sicily. If you are reading this Chris, that photo is also on my work coffee mug.