I love the physical demands of golf, too. You have to be an incredible athlete to play well. Look at Tiger Woods in his heyday. I also love the fact that you are at one with nature, the tranquillity, which, when I was racing, was absolutely wonderful compared to the frenzy of a race weekend. When I retired, one of the elements of my future life that I was really looking forward to enjoying was my golf.
By 2004, I had managed to get my golf game to a really good standard. By that I mean I was a scratch golfer. One particular morning, Rosanne was due to accompany me on a trip to England, to watch me play in a tournament. She had been feeling under the weather for several weeks and had had various tests which proved inconclusive. I left that morning on my own, but only after much heated discussion, and an insistence from me that she stayed home, as she was feeling quite unwell. She finally agreed and I arranged for our GP to call round for a home visit.
When I finally arrived at the golf club, it was a beautiful day, the sun was out and the banter was fantastic. Then my phone rang. It was a surgeon at Jersey General Hospital who informed me he was about to perform an emergency operation on Rosanne. Little did I know just how severe the emergency was.
Unfortunately, when they did the operation they discovered that she had a tumour the size of a small grapefruit growing on the side of her appendix. Luckily, we were able to get Rosanne in straight away. Time was of the essence (this is where I feel so sorry for people who receive terrible news and then have to wait for weeks or even months sometimes).
Matters became even more serious during surgery when the appendix burst and, as if that wasn’t enough, she developed septicaemia, itself acutely life-threatening. I didn’t know what to do, where to turn, what to say . . . It was a total nightmare. Then, a number of weeks after the appendix was removed, they told us that there had been cancerous cells present. Cancer does not discriminate; it hits anyone at any time. You can plan for the eventuality, but illness has a way of catching you off-guard.
The appendix operation was just the start of a protracted sequence of events that lasted many years, including numerous operations with different specialists for various health challenges, in Jersey, London and Southampton. It was almost like working on a car. You fixed one part and then another part broke. What was needed was a complete overhaul. Unfortunately, with this really complex series of problems there was one calamity and complication after another.
I didn’t feel equipped to deal with Rosanne being critically ill. I had no idea how to deal with this challenge. I think a large part of that helplessness was because I had always been on the receiving end of the medical emergencies in our house. I had the accidents; I had the operations, the recovery. I was at the centre of that and I knew the landscape, I knew what was involved, I knew the surgery needed and the recovery process to go through. Most of my injuries, apart from concussions, were physical in the sense that broken limbs heal, cuts are stitched up, torn muscles recover. I felt more in control. This was something altogether more insidious and unknown, not in my control at all.
Relatively speaking, when you are frequently injured like I was, you can almost carry on as normal. You can choose to drive with a broken limb. I drove with broken bones on many occasions. I knew that if I hadn’t done that I would’ve been replaced in the car, a simple fact. So you have a choice: do you want to do it or don’t you want to do it? However, serious ill health like Rosanne’s does not give you choices. You can’t just carry on as normal.
An illness is totally different to an accident. Okay, illness comes out of the blue just like an accident. One moment everything is rosy in the garden, then a severe health challenge or an accident hits you and poleaxes your family. However, that’s where the similarity ends. There’s nowhere to go with illnesses like Rosanne’s in terms of analysing them. This has happened to you; all of a sudden your world and life are totally put on hold. It was no good me trying to find out what had caused the various problems, what could be done to prevent it happening again, as I did when I analysed all my on-track accidents. If my suspension broke and I crashed, we could analyse that suspension, find the cracks or faults, manufacture the part differently next time and prevent it from happening again. This was a completely different scenario and I was totally shellshocked by it. I wasn’t equipped to be a witness to this type of carnage.
This feeling of helplessness was exacerbated by the fact that, up until that point, Rosanne had been blessed with very good health. In sharp contrast to me, she hadn’t got a single broken bone in her body or even been particularly ill. Now we were looking at a series of very worrying developments that was going to take years to overcome. With me, when I was injured at work, it might be a month, two months, six months. Worst case, you might lose a season. Eventually, though, I’d be back to full fitness and crack on in a car and start being successful again, and then the racing would overwhelm the downside of the injury.
In Rosanne’s journey, this would be very different. What I found hard to get my head around was the fact I couldn’t apply those time parameters. It wasn’t possible to define the recovery in the way you can with a muscle strain. ‘Oh, that hamstring pull will be four weeks and you will be back to normal.’ We couldn’t say anything like that. All we knew was that it would be a long time if she was going to beat this. And it was an ‘if’. What we didn’t realise at the time was just how many years – and how many more setbacks – it would actually take before she finally conquered these problems.
I don’t wish to go into detail because it is Rosanne’s private business, but she has very graciously agreed for me to write about elements of her health in this book. Without going into depth, what happened next was beyond anything any of us expected. Over the course of many procedures, and too many setbacks and recurring problems to recount, my lovely Rosanne endured multiple operations and eight years of fighting very serious ill health. Even the simplest operation can cause so many downsides. People don’t realise that complications can be catastrophic and dangerous. On two separate occasions, she was critically ill. When you are a motor-racing driver, death is potentially around the corner every time you go out on the track for up to two hours. With Rosanne, we lived with the stresses of ill health for eight years.
I have to be honest, the aspect that impacted on me perhaps most of all in terms of processing what was happening was the indeterminate timeframe: was it going to last a month, two months, six months, a year, five years? Like I said, in the end it was eight years. Over that timescale, you run out of puff. I don’t mind admitting I did. You are actually totally guilty of going braindead, not making decisions, not focusing. You are in pure survival mode.
Then, a couple of years into this period of ill health, she was put on certain drugs, the side-effects of which meant she gained two stone, a lot for a dainty lady such as Rosanne. This put an enormous strain on her heart (which in turn caused great concern, as her mother had died of heart disease). So another operation was looming, but this might prove to be too risky, due to these heart problems. However, it was explained to us that this procedure was essential.
I can’t go into detail, again to protect Rosanne’s privacy, but there was one particular day in theatre when I very nearly lost her. As I tell you about this now, I am filling up. It was just the most dreadful moment in my life, but I refused to let the circumstances take her away from me and, thank God, she somehow found the will to pull through. Life isn’t always fair. It is an extraordinary realisation when you’ve had good health most of your life and then you suddenly hit a brick wall. Rosanne’s brick wall came at 50 years of age. She has sadly had to face more obstacles than most women have in their entire two or three lifetimes. What a woman. Her iron will to beat this has just been a privilege to witness. She is an incredible lady.
I don’t mind admitting that when I was racing, and indeed in life generally, I had a strong degree of self-esteem and confidence about most things. Certainly in terms of winning races, I had an incredible level of self-beli
ef. I knew what I was trying to do and I knew how I wanted to do it. However, Rosanne’s ill health and the very lengthy recovery absolutely rocked my self-belief to the core. I pretty much lost that overnight, through no fault of my own, but because someone I love immensely and care for dearly was fighting so hard for so long. This impacted on me hugely and I don’t mind admitting that for a long time I was in the wilderness. I lived several years just numb from dawn to dusk. All of a sudden, my whole life came to an emergency stop.
I also noticed that when an illness like that suddenly smashes into your life, you quickly find out who your friends are. That applies to all of life’s downturns – business, money, success, achievement and so on – people who are around when the good times are rolling are often nowhere to be seen when tougher times arrive. Thankfully, we did have a number of very good and dear friends and family who were wonderfully supportive.
Looking back now, at the time of writing it is 12 years since I had that phone call by the golf course that changed our lives forever. Only now, writing this, am I beginning to realise the magnitude of what Rosanne went through. What we all went through. It was a shocking, terrifying experience.
Due to Rosanne being so ill, I didn’t play competitive golf for over three years. As I have explained, when I took that phone call and first found out about how very sick she was, my game was in the most spectacular place. However, because I had to give my full attention to Rosanne, I didn’t hit another golf ball in anger for those three years. That is as it should have been, too. Here was someone who had helped me achieve so much, been there with me all the way, and had cared and nursed me back to full health all the times that I was ill or injured. Now it was my turn. I had to put Rosanne first and help her to get back on her feet again. I don’t regret the decision for one second because it allowed me to give my attention to someone who needed it and absolutely deserved it. As much as I adore the game of golf, shooting a low score is of no consequence whatsoever if Rosanne is ill and I’m not there to help.
I was poleaxed with what was going on, still functioning, but at 20 per cent for a long time. I can remember turning down jobs and opportunities because I was just terrified to go away in case the phone rang. Hence why I never played golf. It just felt pointless attempting to do anything because of the possibility of receiving a call, so the trepidation ruined anything you were trying to do.
I didn’t speak to anybody professional about what I was feeling. I was so focused on Rosanne and making sure she was okay. Eventually, some specialists I know personally told me to be careful of becoming too insular and they advised me to speak with someone. I wasn’t keen on counselling as such, but I knew I needed some really sound, solid advice about what to expect. This was not going to go away, for a long time.
I am being really honest with you here, but at this point in my life I was very lonely. When your partner is so ill, it is a very lonely place to be. You can’t put any unnecessary worries on their shoulders because it is all they can do to battle their own ill health. You can’t unburden the severity of the situation on your children because as a parent it is your job to protect them, too. So I took it all on my own shoulders, alone. I found this very, very hard to manage, I don’t mind saying.
Part of not wanting to open up is that I noticed a lot of people (not close friends, obviously) ask you how you are but actually they don’t really want to know the answer. They don’t want to know the truth. When I did decide to open up a bit, I noticed that a lot of people were uncomfortable with that. ‘How’s the family, Nigel, how’s Rosanne?’ ‘Well, actually, she’s really quite poorly . . .’ They didn’t want to know. I have learned now that when people ask you how you are, the best thing is to just say, ‘I am fine, thanks!’
To be fair, I wasn’t my usual self. I love to have a laugh and a joke. I like to think I have a playful disposition, but that was being eroded all the time. Life had me utterly on the back foot.
Even when Rosanne started to beat this challenge, the changes it made to our life were enormous. As I mentioned, that first major operation was an emergency life-saving procedure. It was touch-and-go for about six days. The astonishing thing for me was that, when she woke up and started her recovery from this operation, she was a different personality in some ways. Specifically with regard to our two boys going racing. Everything changed. All of a sudden, from being told for years and years the boys will never go racing, she completely flipped that upside down and said, ‘We should support them in whatever they want to do. It is their lives and who are we to dictate what they should and shouldn’t do?’ The close escape she’d endured had altered the way she looked at certain things in life. At times, it’s been like dealing with a totally different psyche in my wife. However, I totally understand and accept that; I think it is a normal and natural reaction. If you are not careful, and I include myself in this, being around serious illness ends up changing your psyche completely.
Of course, Rosanne’s health impacted massively on the children, too. We tried to play down the full extent of her situation as much as we could. My youngest lad, Greg, couldn’t handle it, not surprisingly at that age, so we shipped him back to Woodbury where he stayed in a lodge and we put him to work with the greenkeepers. We did a deal with him: we said, ‘If you work really hard with the greenkeepers, you can start going racing.’ He just couldn’t handle seeing how poorly his mom was, day after day. The children had their own lives and we were very conscious of not overburdening them. You can choose to sit them down and explain what is going on, but it would have been a massive worry and also hard for them to understand. In that sense, I don’t think you should reveal all to them about what you as a wife, husband and parent are going through.
Writing this book has been a very emotional experience in many ways for me. With regard to Rosanne, I have never really sat back and reflected on what happened, how it affected her, affected me, the family, the repercussions at the time and those we are still feeling to this day. Due to the process of working on this book, we have both talked about those events and we are very proud to feel that we have turned a negative into a positive.
We have bounced back. Again.
You have to. What I really want to come out of this book with regard to Rosanne’s journey is that you can beat illness. You can come through the other side and move on. You have to bounce back. At times during that eight-year period it was very hard to imagine a light at the end of the tunnel. However, you have to bounce back. Let me say that again: you have to bounce back. Whatever challenges you face, whether it is a family member, a friend, someone close to you, you can get through it, and our family is no different from any other family in that sense. Just because I am well known for driving fast cars is totally irrelevant. Serious illnesses do not discriminate. My family has had its ups and downs like any other family. I am very proud to say that, although it’s been a long and very tough battle, we have finally bounced back from this one. Rosanne is back to her best and I am very thankful for that. She is a blessing to me. We have made it. Rosanne has made it.
After 16 years of working and building up Woodbury, we decided to sell the hotel and golf complex. I don’t mind saying now that if it wasn’t for the ferocity of Rosanne’s complex health issues, I don’t think I would’ve wished ever to sell that wonderful place.
As I mentioned, the children never knew quite how seriously ill their mom was, for the reasons I have stated. They had school life to contend with, socialising, growing up; they had their own lives, so we were conscious of shielding them from the severity of Rosanne’s state of health. The boys were reaching an age where they could contribute up at the club and the youngest one, Greg, was doing a fantastic job greenkeeping. After a short period of time working there, he came to me one day and said he felt that he could cut the fairways in probably two-thirds of the time it was normally taking. There was a big team and so there were some efficiencies that we were able to implement. Greg also told me a few other ideas to make the c
lub run more smoothly, so I was very impressed with his instinct and application. We had something of a revolution down at the club and Greg was absolutely a part of that. He did a great job.
Anyway, out of the blue we received an offer to buy the club. At first we were totally not interested, it was not for sale. Apart from the fact that Woodbury was very dear to our hearts, I was completely focused on Rosanne getting better. Then another offer came in, higher this time. We both started to wonder if we should consider it. The problem was, I was so worried about Rosanne that it was very hard for me to focus on anything else and selling a golf club, hotel and resort like Woodbury is not exactly a simple transaction.
When yet another revised offer for the club came in, I was confused, upset, uncertain – it was just such a massive development at a time when we had so many other things going on that were, let’s face it, far more important. Eventually, we decided that we would consider this offer and possibly sell Woodbury. However, I did not want ever to regret the decision so, with the legacy of the club in mind, I spoke to all my three children individually and said, ‘Look, the business has really grown at Woodbury now, we have had this offer to buy it and we are considering it because your mother and I want to step back a little. So I want to ask, do you have any appetite to take over the business instead? Do you fancy coming in and putting some elbow grease into the business and one day taking over?’
Unilaterally, the answer was, ‘Not on your life!’ All three of them said, ‘We have seen how hard you and Mom have worked and how many hours you have to put in, 24/7! And how much stress that can create.’ People don’t realise how hard those in the service industry work; it is literally non-stop. My children had seen it first-hand, to be fair, so they knew exactly what would be involved. They knew that we hadn’t closed Woodbury for one single day in 16 years. So they politely said they did not wish to take it over. I went away for a week, then asked them again, ‘Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want you to come to me if I was to ever sell the place and say you wish I hadn’t done that,’ and, once more, they said, ‘No, absolutely sure.’
Nigel Mansell Autobiography Page 27
