A man in a hurry to tell his story
Source: http://news.google.com/news/url?sa=...n-post/local/3905044/Documentarys-sad-ending/
A man in a hurry to tell his story
By NIKKI MACDONALD
Last updated 11:40 10/07/2010
Diagnosed with terminal leukaemia, young aspiring film-maker Kurt Filiga refuses to give up on life, and is making a documentary of his experiences. He tells Nikki Macdonald about drugs, film-making and meeting Taika Waititi.
It's the first time in weeks that Kurt Filiga has felt warm. His drug- depleted body is cocooned inside a hot box at 45 degrees, towel-swathed head popping out the top, trialling an ozone steam sauna.
The public health system has given up on him, but he's not ready to die. So the bills go unpaid as his Newtown family spend every dollar they can find trying alternative treatments that might help Kurt make his 21st birthday.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. The doctors said his aggressive leukaemia could be cured.
An aspiring film-maker, he started making a documentary about hope and survival, as he prepared for a bone marrow transplant. Now it's a film about courage in the face of hopelessness; about faith and family; about wealth and inequality, and about the wonderful ways a community pulls together to ease a young man's pain.
It was about 3pm on November 9 when Kurt got the call. He was about to sit his last exam, Brazilian cultural history, at Victoria University, where he was studying film and media. He'd been feeling sick, wasted and achy on and off since the end of September.
On November 5 he visited Newtown Union Health and was told he probably had the flu, and sent home to rest. His mother Perise remembers being told to buy garlic capsules and recalls asking for a blood test. That is not recorded in the doctor's notes, which also state only a four-day history of flu-like symptoms.
A mother's instinct led her to seek a second opinion, from Wellington Hospital's emergency department, where they took a blood sample. When the results came back two days later, the hospital sent a taxi to take Kurt straight to hospital. But the message was confused - Kurt thought something had happened to his mother.
"When I got home, Mum was upset but I didn't know why. My sister had come home from school. We all went up to the hospital and I was expecting them to examine Mum but they were examining me.
"They told me, 'We have bad news: you have one of the worst types of leukaemia a person could get. But the good news is we can cure it', so I wasn't particularly worried. I was just frustrated and angry. I knew that I would have to put my life on hold. No more uni, no more being normal."
As he tells his story, Kurt is tucked under a rug on the couch at home, bald head cradled in a sweatshirt hood. Perise perches on the couch end and the two share a box of tissues - Kurt to dab his always- running nose, Perise to dab her eyes.
Halfway through the interview Kurt disappears to throw up. The nausea nags constantly but he's determined to talk.
He started chemotherapy two days after being diagnosed with acute myeloid leukaemia. But the symptoms came back. The doctors raised the dose and the second drug round put him in remission.
By round three things were looking hopeful. Kurt was coping well with the toxic treatment, and there was talk of a potentially life-saving bone marrow transplant. Neither younger sister Karite, 15, nor older brother and rugby league prodigy Karlos, 21, were a match, so a global donor search began.
THE doctors warned it would be a hard task, as few Pasifika are bone marrow donors. But likely matches were found in the United States and Hong Kong. It was then that Kurt began filming, with a view to making a documentary about his experience. Since the age of 13 he's been determined to be a film director. Among his favourites he counts George Romero's zombie movies, ET and anything by Sir Peter Jackson.
"When I heard King Kong was coming I was really excited. I emailed about being an extra but I never heard back. I just want to get closer to Peter Jackson to ask him questions - what was his inspiration for becoming a director?"
Until then he'd filmed only family stuff: Karite being crazy; Perise playing with Karlos' two toddlers. But the time had come to turn the camera on himself. The only problem with documentaries is that they can't be scripted.
"[At the beginning] we were talking about what I was going to do when I came out of my transplant, how I was going to adapt to life again. But then it changed so we decided to change the story to what we were going through. How things are so challenging and just when you think you are there something else has to come up and make it harder."
That "something" was a relapse, after Kurt's fourth cycle of chemo. For the first time, his belief in the treatment wavered. "When I relapsed I started to get scared. Maybe they won't be able to get my leukaemia under control. Which is the situation I'm in now. A couple of days after I'd relapsed they told me the donor had pulled out. They didn't want to tell me everything on the same day. It was too much for us to handle."
That was April. The beginning of the unravelling. And the beginning of the family's fight with a health system they believe leaves average families out in the cold.
The hospital oncologists gave Kurt one last shot at beating the cancer in his blood - a heavy-duty trial drug called clofarabine. It's the drug Infratil boss and fellow AML sufferer Lloyd Morrison travelled to the US to access. The drug is not approved in New Zealand, but can be imported in individual cases, if the health board agrees to fund it.
"They said there was a drug available but they didn't know if it could come over, or if it would be funded. They were telling me the chances were very slim, so I did start to worry." Perise also began to fret. "That was such a hard thing for me, to see that my son's life was between the lines, if he was going to make it.
"And they were mainly worried about who was going to fund these drugs. Money, for me, shouldn't be coming in between anybody's life. Kurty is only young. They should be trying so hard to help him."
Kurt was lucky - according to Pharmac records, he is the first leukaemia patient to receive publicly funded clofarabine in New Zealand. But not lucky enough. The clofarabine did not work.
The doctors suggested Mary Potter Hospice. "They said I could have days, weeks or months. That I might not make it to the end of June."
But Kurt isn't ready to die. There are days when his back and legs ache so much it's hard to walk. Days when the nausea is so overwhelming he can only lie in bed in the front room Perise and Karite used to share. The headboard shelves are crammed with plastic medicine bottles and assorted supplements and vitamins - among the 20-odd drugs Kurt must take every day. He's lost 11kg and looks skeletal next to his muscular brother.
But other days he can stomach a drive, or play PlayStation in the lounge. "I still feel good. There are times I do break down when I'm feeling really sick and I hope nothing bad is going to happen. But I haven't really been put in a situation where I feel like this might be it. Where I feel like I might die."
He's sure he can handle more chemotherapy. On advice from Seattle cancer expert Elihu Estey, Kurt asked for another experimental treatment, called sorafenib.
Dr Estey told The Dominion Post there had been no controlled trials proving the effectiveness of sorafenib for AML patients. However, it is available free in Seattle and many patients with the same type of aggressive leukaemia as Kurt would want to try it anyway, because of their poor prognosis. He estimates the chance of remission at probably less than 10 per cent.
The odds are good enough for Kurt to want to give it a try. "I was thinking either way I was going to die anyway. I just wanted to try all my options. I think it would be easier for my family to accept that, if it was my time to go, it was my time to go. But I felt I had not tried all my options. That will play on my mind."
His request was turned down. "They said, 'You've had more than your fair share.' After the clofarabine didn't work, I felt like that was it. If you are wealthy you can go elsewhere and get treatment. If you are just an average working family you have to rely on the public health system and hope everything works out."
Wellington blood and cancer centre clinical director John Carter says that, after consulting Australian and New Zealand experts, the team decided sorafenib was not in Kurt's best interests.
"While I understand the anxiety that this may cause Kurt and his family during what is a very difficult time, his team of doctors strongly believe the drug is not clinically suitable for Kurt's condition and in fact would be likely to severely negatively impact on the quality of his life. The drug would not have provided a cure."
But Kurt argues that should be his decision to make. In fact, this quiet, considered young man told the doctors: "This is bull****."
The family had offers to help fund the drug, and believe that, if the health board will not fund it, they should be able to pay for it themselves. Under the law, public health doctors cannot administer privately funded drugs.
Perise's voice squeaks as anger grips her. "I know for the rich they will get exactly what they want. And for the poor: take your loved one home and wait for him to die. I saw it in my own eyes. We have to go through so much pain with Kurt. Money seems to be so much more important than people's lives. I'm not going to be afraid of speaking out. Because I know we will benefit people with low incomes. We had nothing. We are struggling as anything.
"I am crying out for my son's life. He has so much potential. He wants to do wonders for people in life. They are not helping him to make those dreams come true."
It's been a crazy few weeks for Kurt and his family. The best and worst of times.
With his fatal diagnosis came a welling of support that has seen dinners deposited on the Filigas' doorstep. Friends, old teachers, a social worker who knew the family when Perise fostered children, have clubbed together to make his last months the brightest possible. The film community has gone far beyond token gestures. A visit to Weta and Park Road Post ended with an offer to help him polish his documentary, which they hope to screen in the annual short film festival.
When Kurt feels up to it, editor Katie Hinsen makes a special trip into town with her equipment, and they review and cut footage together. There are still a few gaps - the family tend to congregate en masse so they need to shoot more one-on-one interviews.
The camera came out last Friday, when Kurt celebrated his 20th birthday with a small party of close friends at social worker "Aunty Brendy's". And again on Monday night, when film-maker Taika Waititi popped in to Kurt's lounge for a chat.
"That was part of my wish list. We got that on the camcorder. We talked about how he made Boy. He was like really laidback. He said some of the quotes from his movie."
Kurt had no trouble remembering which bits came where - he was given a personalised DVD copy and has watched it about 20 times.
Tuesday was a Trinity Roots doco screening, again at Park Road.
* * *
Family has always been Kurt's greatest support. When he heard his brother had had a relapse, Karlos, who moved to Australia in 2007 to take up a $600,000 contract with the Cronulla Sharks, returned to help out.
Once billed as the next Sonny Bill Williams, he has put his career on hold to support his brother. He now plays for the Parramatta Eels.
There are seven living in the small Newtown villa. Karlos' two toddlers tear around and the lounge television is tuned to cartoons. Kurt's cousin Kim visits regularly - they are close, as Perise helped bring up her niece when her sister had a nervous breakdown.
There is laughter among the tears. But Tuesday night brought still more bad news. While the family were celebrating Kurt's nephew Judah-Fai's third birthday, Karlos got a text from his manager in Australia telling him he needed to go back to play.
It will be disastrous for Kurt if he has to leave. "My brother is the only one who can drive and the only one that can carry me and put me in the car if I'm too weak and need to get to the hospital right away. He's a really big help, and in support too. When I'm feeling down he will pick me up and say it's OK to be angry."
Kurt is also tight with his sister. One of the hardest video clips to watch is Karite's tear-choked speech at the party organised to celebrate Kurt's life, on June 19. Flanked by blue and yellow balloons, she tells of her disbelief that the brother with whom she does everything, right down to tanning sessions, could be struck down by such a terrible disease.
She relates how she would make him do Thriller renditions to satisfy her Michael Jackson obsession, and would "cry like a bitchy little brat" until he agreed. "He has always put a smile on my face, or made me laugh so hard I realised I had abs."
Even more heartbreaking is Kurt's take on the special party. "It's kind of hard. You are celebrating your life. You think you do that kind of stuff when you are 70 or 80. You don't really celebrate your life when you're just beginning to see what life is all about."
But to end this story with heartbreak would be a disservice to Kurt's relentless positivity. Despite all the trials, he can still use seemingly unfathomable words like "blessed" and "honoured".
"Things right now seem to be working out. I'm getting to meet awesome people and work with people like Katie, who are really experienced. That was the kind of stuff I wanted to be doing.
"I definitely still have hope. I'm in this position. I can still walk. I can still eat. Don't stop believing. Anything's possible really."
TO BE A BONE MARROW DONOR
Kurt wants to encourage more Pasifika to become bone marrow donors, as they are in short supply. "It's sad to see people at the hospital being told that they cannot find a donor, and being sent home. You don't know how important that is until you are put in that situation."
For more information see bonemarrow.org.nz
Attachment: BROTHERLY LOVE: Kurt Filiga, 20, who has terminal cancer, with his league-playing brother Karlos.