Lindy Spicer, 44 years

It is some 15 years since I suffered my illness. During those years I have suffered the loss of a child and rejoiced in the growth of my two beautiful children. I can now look back at my illness and be proud of how I conducted myself.

On 3rd July 1989, I turned 25 and celebrated by cooking up a feast and having 30 friends over for a party. Life was good. I had been married for seven months to my very long time boyfriend and purchased a commercial kitchen to accommodate my growing catering business. Ten days later, I was in the operating theatre of the Freemasons hospital having my left ovary removed as a result of a malignant tumour. After returning to my room from recovery, I took one look at my husband Maurice and told him that he looked awful. His response was that I had ovarian cancer and that I may need another operation in a week, followed by treatment of some kind. I asked if I was going to die. My mother reassured me that, I was not going anywhere she hadn’t been first. It was all very sudden and dramatic considering I was booked in for the removal of a cyst and ended up facing the most challenging experience of my life.

Biopsies concluded that I would need another operation but that I would start chemotherapy immediately. The chemotherapy involved two days on an intravenous drip. I had five such painful treatments over five months, which took place in hospital every third weekend. The treatments were not painful; however the weekends weren't very pleasant. The time was spent throwing up, sleeping or watching the black bags being changed. I would feel very tired the week after treatment, fine the second week, however by the third week my nerves would rattle as hospital and the black bags approached.

I suffered many side affects from the treatment and operations. These included loss of hair and weight, my sense of taste changed, I had ringing in my ears and tingling in my hands. In the period immediately after chemotherapy, I emitted a chemical fragrance. None of these problems were permanent; however, to this day I suffer from bad nightmares and excruciating abdominal pain due to adhesions.

In November 1989, I had a second and final operation in which lymph glands were removed. The absence of lymph glands means that my left leg retains fluid and is now bigger than my right. My condition is known as Lymphoedema. On a positive note, this operation confirmed that I had been cleared of cancer, however, I was to have regular checkups over the next five years. This good news was a source of relief and joy for my family, my physicians and the hospital staff; I still had challenges ahead of me.

My husband was twenty-seven when I became sick. He was a pillar of strength, however he found it very difficult and draining, he claims that he gained strength and inspiration from my courage and determination. My mother would not let me be sad; she was my rock and cared for me daily.

Five years later in 1994, our first child was born at 4pm, Thursday May 5th. The following morning we were told that he had to have an operation and we were transferred to the Royal Children’s Hospital. That night we found out that he had a chromosome defect that resulted in his death on the May 12th. My oncologist was contacted to investigate whether the treatment and operations were somehow connected to the problems with the baby, no connection was found. The process however brought us back in touch with the physicians who had looked after me years earlier.

As I reflect on my illness, I now know that certain things happen in life that we are unable to control or predict. Before I turned thirty, I was dealt two major tragedies. Throughout these times and regardless of how I felt physically or mentally, I remained positive and was able to get out of bed every morning and get on with my life. I also learnt that time was the best healer. Having a sense of humour and a positive outlook on life are wonderful attributes.

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