December 2002 Volume 83 Number 12 "serving the protectors"
His toughest-ever challenge
By Brett Williams

Even after a surgeon gave him the worst possible news, Detective Michael Nasalik never broke down. Rather, he resolved to roll up his sleeves and make the most of a tragic circumstance.

As Michael Nasalik sees in the New Year, he will know it might be the one in which an incurable tumour finally takes his life. He could scarcely forget the words of a senior surgeon who, last October, told him he would likely die within a year.

In the minutes that followed that soul-destroying revelation, Nasalik, 36, faced the toughest time of his life. With his police officer wife, Sam, by his side, he felt as if a cyclone had ripped through his body.

And, for 33-year-old Sam, who had only ever known her husband to be fit, strong and healthy, the news was numbing. She simply could not believe the crushing words the surgeon had uttered. Instantly, she thought of her infant children, Shanna and Harrison, and that Nasalik would never see them grow up.

But, ironically, the prognosis brought Nasalik as much relief as it did horror. He had, in the weeks before that Wednesday afternoon, suspected something serious and agonized over the possibilities. Sam had seen him so anxious the night before that he could not even look at his children.

Now, with a cruel but true picture of his future, he felt empowered to deal with his last and toughest-ever challenge. But how would he approach a life over which a virtual death sentence now hung?

Could this detective of Eastern European stock with intense, swarthy looks and piercing blue eyes conjure enough mental toughness to cope? It seemed he could. He opted not to succumb to emotion or spend time asking: “Why me?” Nasalik instead chose a far gutsier alternative.

“I thought: ‘Just pick up the pieces as best you can, and get on and do what you can in the time you’ve been given’,” he remembers.

“Almost instantaneously, I decided that that was the option I was going to take in all of this. The only way I know how to do it is ‘nose down, bum up’ and just get on.

“I’ve been given a term of life (and) I’m going to make the most of what I have been given.”

Nasalik’s condition had only come to light after he collapsed during a weekend barbecue at the home of a colleague in late September. He spent the rest of that Sunday afternoon under observation in hospital, where medical staff attributed the collapse to a gastric complaint.

But Nasalik sensed that something far more serious than a bout of gastroenteritis had beset him. Desperate for answers – and after a visit to his local GP the next day – he began a raft of consultations with specialists and, for weeks, underwent seemingly endless tests.

Some way into the diagnostic process, Nasalik began to sense reluctance in the medicos to be blunt with him.

“Throughout this whole experience,” he says, “that’s probably the most scared I’ve felt. I could feel that something was seriously wrong and, after more and more testing, I knew things weren’t quite as they were being told to me.”

He started to “freak out”, decided not to endure any more uncertainty and swore that he was going to uncover the facts. To Sam, he proclaimed: “Right, we cut it off here. I want the truth now, so I know what’s going on.”

By that afternoon, the determined Nasalik had secured a meeting with the RAH chief of surgery. Says Nasalik: “I’ll always remember the very first words he said to me. They were: ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have any good news for you’.”

As the meeting unfolded, Nasalik and his wife would hear how a tumour in his upper abdomen had developed from an ulcer and extended into his stomach and liver. The surgeon would tell them it was “terminal, inoperable and incurable”. And, by the meeting’s end, he had given Nasalik from six to 12 months to live.

Minutes after the meeting, the devastated couple talked as they strolled from the hospital. Sam, astounded by the strength of Nasalik’s response, told her husband: “I can’t believe your attitude towards this.”

And that strong attitude helped see him through the following days, as he broke the news of his plight to his family, friends and workmates.

Nasalik, an only child, found it an agonizing task to tell his parents. He remembered the death of his paternal grandfather at a young age from a heart attack, and how it left his father distraught and weeping.

“Then,” says Nasalik, “to go tell him there was a possibility his son was going to do exactly the same thing... I just knew what dad’s reaction would be before I even told him, and it was pretty much the same (as his reaction to his father’s death).”

Nasalik’s mother reacted stoically, and never shed a tear in front him. He knew, however, that she would be “cut up” inside. “Mum is a pillar of strength,” he says. “I guess that’s where I get my attitude and spirit from. She knows that, even though it’s crunch time, things still have to be done – and in the right manner.”

From his parents, Nasalik followed on to tell certain neighbours in his close-knit Woodside community, and his workmates at Sturt CIB. He would later speak of these encounters as riding a “huge emotional rollercoaster”.

As word spread, Nasalik found himself inundated with phone calls, cards and letters. He heard from some people with whom he never expected to have any contact. “But then,” he says, “you have to go back and tell them the story over and over again. You might do it four or five times a day. It just becomes too draining.”

“... I’m strong enough, and have enough ‘mongrel’ within me, to be able to deal with what I’ve been hit with.”

But Nasalik found the hardest of all tasks after the prognosis was facing his children, four-year-old Shanna and 18-month-old Harrison. He knew he could keep nothing from his alert daughter and so never tried.

She asked many questions about the father she now saw staying at home, and came to understand well that he was sick. But, of knowledge beyond that, she remained mercifully free.

Her parents worked – and continue to work – hard to keep her and Harrison’s environment positive and as normal as possible.

Nasalik, however, cannot hide signs of his treatment, such as the take-home chemo pack he wears on his belt. Through a tube that runs up the side of his body and into his right upper arm, the pack administers a low dose of chemotherapy – 24 hours per day.

Beyond the burden of his at-home treatment, Nasalik undertakes chemotherapy in an overnight hospital stay once every three weeks. So far, he has not suffered the hair loss, nausea, vomiting, mouth ulcers and headache that normally – and could still – come with the treatment.

Until now, he has only suffered lethargy and an expected change in some of his senses. At times, he cannot stand the smell of food cooking, and has somewhat lost his taste for meals he normally enjoys.

Today, after his two months’ experience of life with terminal cancer, Nasalik’s rare mental strength and emotional toughness continue to endure. And, his attitude has not changed, even slightly.

“A lot of people, particularly at work,” he explains, “would see me as quiet, pretty private and pretty mild. But I’m strong enough, and have enough ‘mongrel’ within me, to be able to deal with what I’ve been hit with.

“My motto is: ‘I’m not a tub of yoghurt’. I don’t have a use-by date stamped on my head. Although I’ve been given six to 12 months to live, I’ll do everything I can to extend my life.

“If I can extend it to two years, it will be two years. If it goes beyond that, (that is) all well and good. Every day is a bonus.”

Nasalik occasionally thinks of his children growing into adults – a process he knows he will never see. But thoughts of leaving his innocent young offspring behind he naturally finds “negative”, and so refuses to dwell on them.

Similarly, he still declines to ask: “Why me?” Nasalik sees no reason to bother “asking questions you’re never going to get the answers to”.

And, in any case, he says to think negative thoughts, ask pointless questions or simply mope is to waste precious moments – of which he has too few left.

Even of his condition – and how it is likely to decline with the passage of time – he seeks no in-depth explanation. He sees the cancer that rages inside his body as essentially out of his control, and better left to the medical experts.

Nasalik chooses to focus only on what he can control. With help from Sam, and his now live-in parents, he works to maintain a healthy diet, calm disposition and routine of frequent rest.

“I know what treatment I have available to prolong my life,” he says. “I don’t really want to know about what I don’t have control over.”

Ever thoughtful of others, Nasalik has stayed alert to the pain his condition inflicts on those who love him. He sees that pain in the faces of his wife and parents and finds it far tougher to bear than his own suffering.

Sam soldiers on as best she can but struggles to eat and sleep, and has, since her family’s ordeal began, lost eight kilos.

She tries desperately to be strong for her husband, while much of the time thinking of his ultimate demise, and her children “not having their dad”.

“He was always into soccer and wanted to coach Harrison when he was a bit bigger,” she says. “He’s not going to be around to do that, and that really upsets me.”

Sam resists the temptation to turn bitter but, unlike her husband, does ask why a cancer had to afflict him. She grows angry when, at work, she sees drug addicts who could simply choose good health by kicking their destructive habit.

“He’s never done anything to upset anybody, he’s inoffensive, minds his own business, and gets a kick in the guts like this,” she exclaims. “I just think it’s not fair.”

Nonetheless, Sam now tries to brace herself for what she knows the future holds. But of that time, she still harbours intense fear.

She worries about the explanations she will have to give her children – without frightening them. As well, she fears the decline that will inevitably come in Nasalik’s health.

“That really panics me,” she concedes. “That’s going to be a real test of character for me. I just have to strengthen my emotions, so I can do the best for my kids and the best for him.”

“...I just have to strengthen my emotions, so I can do the best for my kids and the best for him.”

Despite the hardship they now face every day, the Nasaliks find no discomfort in talking about their plight. Indeed, Nasalik welcomes questions – and contact in general – from his colleagues and friends.

Perhaps not surprising, however, is that some have found it difficult to approach him and not known what to say. Sam, too, has “had a lot of trouble” with people’s awkwardness.

Both say callers and visitors should ask what they please, but “keep things positive and as normal as possible”.

From his workmates, Nasalik has enjoyed a level of support that has totally overwhelmed him. In October, two of his detective team-mates, Sgt Kym Hand and Snr Const Mark Kinsley, set up a fundraiser to send the Nasaliks on a Gold Coast holiday.

The two officers had learned, on a visit to the Nasalik home, that Shanna had a fascination for dolphins and snakes. Back at Sturt, they won the help of many other officers and called for cash donations to fund the trip.

“Donations just came flooding in,” says Kinsley. “In the first week, we got $2,000 from Sturt alone.”

And money continued to flow in from almost 20 branches within SAPOL. Contributors came from local CIBs, suburban and country stations, specialist squads, STAR Group, Crime Stoppers, the police band, Prosecution and many others.

Some donated more than once; and others who gave had never even known Nasalik. Kinsley remembers probationary constables who contributed as much as $50, and an Elizabeth speed cop, who called to say: “Look, I’ve got some money to donate – how can I do it?”

“The Police Association got in on it as well, and was fantastic,” says Kinsley. “A travel agency gave us tickets at cost price – the association paid for those, and then made a donation to the fund as well.”

By the time the fundraiser wound up, it would boast a final figure of more than $10,000.

Nasalik, who had heard about the fundraising effort, made a trip to Sturt to thank his workmates. In an emotional exchange, Kym Hand presented him with tickets for air travel, theme parks and accommodation at Sea World Nowra Resort.

Says Kinsley: “You could see that he was very emotional about it, and doing his best not to break down. Little Shanna was absolutely wrapped, and Sam was pleased, too.”

Nasalik concedes that he felt simply “blown away”. “To have somebody else do that for you,” he insists, “is something magnificent. There are just no words to describe how thankful we are for what everybody has done.”

Nasalik, Sam and Shanna took their trip from Oct 31 to Nov 2. They visited Sea World, Movie World and Steve Irwin’s Australia Zoo. “It was fantastic,” says Nasalik.

“We wanted to experience it with Shanna and have her bring back those memories and hold on to them for as long as she can. I think we’ve achieved that: she’s done nothing but talk about Steve Irwin’s crocodile park, and the dolphins, since she’s come back.”

“...There are just no words to describe how thankful we are for what everybody has done.”

Today, Nasalik gazes thoughtfully into a glossy, colour photo of Sam and Shanna with a giant snake draped around their shoulders at Australia Zoo. To him, this picture of his daughter, with her beaming smile, symbolizes the great worth of the trip. He calls the photo “priceless”, and says that “that’s what it’s all about”.

For himself, Nasalik seeks no sympathy and holds few concerns. He worries far more about the welfare of Sam and the children after his death. And he much prefers to see his family rather than himself at the centre of his friends’ concerns.

One of his burning ambitions now is to leave Sam and his children without a care about the roof over their heads. To that end, he is trying to wrap up every outstanding job on the family home. So, to the jobs he expected to work on leisurely over the next 20 years, he has had to apply much shorter timeframes.

Those jobs include the construction of a carport, work on a lean-to at the back of a shed, painting and some gardening.

“I’m trying to cram that in to as short a time as I possibly can,” he says. “I can then see that dream finished for myself and enjoy it, but I will still work toward financial and other security for Sam and the kids.”

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