10 Years Strong: My Journey Since Life-Saving Surgery
Today marks 10 years since my debulking, life-saving surgery—10 years since everything in my life changed, and since I began dealing with cancer. It has been a rocky road, filled with tears, pain, and anxiety. The journey has included surgery, chemotherapy, recovery, recurrence, and hospital stays due to infections. I had to be extra cautious during COVID-19 lockdowns because of low white blood cells and a compromised immune system.
There was pain, endless side effects, countless checkups, CT scans, MRIs, mammograms, endoscopies, gastroscopies, kidney exams, bone scans, broken bones, and litres of blood samples taken. You name the medical examination—I’ve likely been through it. But here I am, still standing, still on Olaparib, and still fighting. These 10 years have flown by, and not everything has been bad.
There was pain, endless side effects, countless checkups, CT scans, MRIs, mammograms, endoscopies, gastroscopies, kidney exams, bone scans, broken bones, and litres of blood samples taken. You name the medical examination—I’ve likely been through it. But here I am, still standing, still on Olaparib, and still fighting. These 10 years have flown by, and not everything has been bad.
I’ve had 10 incredible years filled with laughter, happiness, and unforgettable memories. I traveled around Europe, enjoyed special moments with my family, and watched my son grow. He’s now 14—a handsome, intelligent, kind, and funny young man. Watching him become who he is today has been one of life’s greatest gifts.
I’ve also spent precious time with my parents, who have been a pillar of strength for me. My diagnosis was particularly hard on them, especially as I’m their only child. Life threw my husband, my son, and our family into an unimaginably hard situation, but together we managed. We emerged stronger and more appreciative of every precious moment.
I don’t know what the future holds, but I am immensely grateful for the time I’ve had. My surgeon, whom I see once a year, saved me. My oncologist and the doctors I’ve met continue to care for me, and every nurse I encountered was kind and helpful.
I’ve also spent precious time with my parents, who have been a pillar of strength for me. My diagnosis was particularly hard on them, especially as I’m their only child. Life threw my husband, my son, and our family into an unimaginably hard situation, but together we managed. We emerged stronger and more appreciative of every precious moment.
I don’t know what the future holds, but I am immensely grateful for the time I’ve had. My surgeon, whom I see once a year, saved me. My oncologist and the doctors I’ve met continue to care for me, and every nurse I encountered was kind and helpful.
Now, I face two major decisions—neither of them easy. The first is whether to continue taking Olaparib. I’ve been on it for the past 8 years, and it’s kept the cancer at bay. However, there’s a significant risk: prolonged use could lead to leukemia, which would be fatal in my case. I struggle with the decision daily. One moment I think I should stop taking it; the next, I think about recurrence—and I’m not ready for that.
The second decision is one I’ve already made: undergoing a prophylactic mastectomy with PAP DIEP reconstruction. It’s a long and complex surgery with an extended recovery period. Skin and fat from my thighs will be used to reconstruct the breast area. I’ve decided against implants because I don’t want artificial materials in my body. However, this surgery has been delayed because I’ve been losing weight—when I actually need to gain weight in order to qualify for the procedure. The weight loss is due to a hiatal hernia and severe reflux, which medications haven’t resolved. Unfortunately, surgery to fix the hernia isn’t an option because it’s too small to qualify. Ovarian cancer is known for its grim survival rates. For those diagnosed at stage IV, the 5-year survival rate is around 15%. It’s a tough reality, and the statistics paint a sobering picture. But we are more than statistics. I am living proof of that. Not everyone’s journey follows the same path, and with the right care, resilience, and support, we can defy the odds and build meaningful, fulfilling lives.
There’s a lot on my plate in the near future, but what choice do I have? I’ll face it all—because being alive, being here with my husband, son, and family, is worth it. I want to see more places, experience more things, and cherish more moments. I want to live, laugh, and find happiness wherever I can. Above all, I want to show that we are not just numbers in a report—we can have fulfilling lives, even 10 years after a stage IV ovarian cancer diagnosis. To everyone out there: Be strong and fight hard.
The second decision is one I’ve already made: undergoing a prophylactic mastectomy with PAP DIEP reconstruction. It’s a long and complex surgery with an extended recovery period. Skin and fat from my thighs will be used to reconstruct the breast area. I’ve decided against implants because I don’t want artificial materials in my body. However, this surgery has been delayed because I’ve been losing weight—when I actually need to gain weight in order to qualify for the procedure. The weight loss is due to a hiatal hernia and severe reflux, which medications haven’t resolved. Unfortunately, surgery to fix the hernia isn’t an option because it’s too small to qualify. Ovarian cancer is known for its grim survival rates. For those diagnosed at stage IV, the 5-year survival rate is around 15%. It’s a tough reality, and the statistics paint a sobering picture. But we are more than statistics. I am living proof of that. Not everyone’s journey follows the same path, and with the right care, resilience, and support, we can defy the odds and build meaningful, fulfilling lives.
There’s a lot on my plate in the near future, but what choice do I have? I’ll face it all—because being alive, being here with my husband, son, and family, is worth it. I want to see more places, experience more things, and cherish more moments. I want to live, laugh, and find happiness wherever I can. Above all, I want to show that we are not just numbers in a report—we can have fulfilling lives, even 10 years after a stage IV ovarian cancer diagnosis. To everyone out there: Be strong and fight hard.
