3 minute read
Article written by Susannah Hicks
When you sign up for a marathon, you know it’s going to be 42 kilometres from start to finish. When you’re diagnosed with ovarian cancer, there’s not that certainty.
I’m tackling that formidable distance in this year’s Melbourne Marathon and am under no illusions about the task at hand. I know that however slow I am, if I put one foot in front of the other that I will cross the finish line at the MCG about six hours later.
For some with ovarian cancer, that finish line can just keep shifting. There’s no certainties just high odds the cancer will return. That was the case with my beloved mum, Beth. She was my best friend and one of the most giving people you could ever know.
Not long after Christmas one year, mum felt something wasn’t right. She was bloated (hello festive fare) but also had abdominal pain. The locum GP said that she may have pulled a muscle and if it wasn’t better in a fortnight, they would do some tests.
It took nearly a full year until she was diagnosed.
During that year, mum had pain on and off and described it like being stabbed with a knitting needle. In the months that followed, mum was put through the wringer with every conceivable and invasive test. In the end it was a hunch from one specialist that resulted in a blood test and then a laparoscopy.
Her oncologist said there were so many tumours that it looked like someone had dropped a bag of rice into her abdomen."
He said that even if mum survived and did become cancer free, that this type of ovarian cancer would come back. No ifs, ands or buts. There was no finish line.
Mum wasn’t one to take things lying down and put one foot in front of the other to square up to the fight. She survived intensive chemo and major surgery to be declared cancer free later that year. It came back several times after that, but she fought to stay with us for nearly five years and time enough for her to meet all her grandchildren.
Chemo for mum wasn’t so much about curing her cancer but buying her time. With time came hope. Hope for new treatments and in turn, more time.
The problem is that the treatment for ovarian cancer dates back to the 1990s. We have come a long way since then with technology – smart phones, virtual doctors, AI – yet with ovarian cancer treatment, it has barely changed in more than two decades.
I’m not a natural runner, but I am determined. Until a year ago I was a patchy 5km jogger but took on the half marathon to raise money for the Ovarian Cancer Research Foundation.
I declared at the end of it that there’s no way I’d do a full marathon, but not long after that I felt there was some unfinished business.
I am deeply humbled by family, friends and the wider community who have thrown their support behind this run and donated where they can.
Anyone with ovaries, and those who love them, deserve better than this. Ovarian cancer is the deadliest of gynae cancers, but it won’t be forever.
We will get this done and give those diagnosed a fighting chance to get them over that finish line.
Support Susannah's fundraising by making a donation to her Melbourne Marathon fundraising page.