Vanja Wilson is on a mission to raise ovarian cancer awareness, support and survival.
It was May 2024, Mother’s Day week. I had a busy start to the year, flying in and out of conferences, attending work events and climbing the corporate ladder, while navigating family life with two young daughters aged 4 and 8.
My husband and I were driving to school pickup, and I asked him: “Do I really need this colonoscopy? The prep is awful and I’m sure the blood in my stool isn’t a big deal. I’ve never felt better”. Who knew that his response would save my life: “Vanja, you need to just do it. What would you do if this was one of our daughters?”
I nodded agreeingly and went in for a routine colonoscopy on 10 May. As I woke up in the busy recovery room, the doctor suddenly pulled the curtain and the look on his face said it all. Everything is a blur after this moment, but I will remember his sentence forever: “We found a tumour in your bowel.”
Calling my husband to collect me from the hospital, I could barely form a sentence. That was the day life changed forever. Celebrating Mother’s Day that weekend, I was in constant tears.
My worst fear was becoming reality, leaving my two girls motherless. Having lost my dad and brother, I’m no stranger to grief and I will do anything to spare them that trauma. They are my motivation to fight this battle, cancer knocked on the wrong door.
The days that followed included various scans, tests and before I knew it, I was prepping for major surgery to remove 3 tumours in my ovary, bowel and abdomen. I was diagnosed with stage 4 Ovarian Cancer, the deadliest cancer for women in Australia.
6 months earlier, I had discovered a lump on my tummy and while it wasn’t painful, I saw two different GPs and had it reviewed via external ultrasound. The results stated a possible muscle tear or scar tissue from my two C-sections, so I left it.
That lump was actually a tumour.
I often wonder, if I’d found it in my breast, the instant action would have been a mammogram (especially as my mum is a breast cancer survivor), but I never suspected anything sinister. Nor did the GPs, the radiologist, my husband or any of the many friends I told. Our awareness about Ovarian Cancer wasn’t just low, it was non-existent.
That awareness gap has now been well and truly filled with cripplingly scary statistics about the devastating outcomes for women with my disease. A mere 49% of us survive past 5 years. In Australia, a woman dies every 8 hours, yet I knew nothing of it. There is currently no screening available to this symptomless ‘silent killer’ as it’s often called, so most cases, 70%, are discovered in stage 3 or 4.
On 10 June, I underwent a hugely successful de-bulking surgery where all my cancer was removed and started my weekly chemotherapy regime for the next 16 weeks. Chemo is widely known for its brutal effects on the body, so I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that it was a test in resilience.
Shockingly, whilst side effects are better managed today, the regime is the same one used to treat Ovarian Cancer for the last 30 years. No major breakthroughs. I incorrectly assumed that huge advances had been made, only to find out that I managed to catch the cancer that has been left underfunded, almost unchanged and seemingly forgotten.
Why? I asked. Is it an ageist matter? The average age of the disease is 64. Is there a stigma to reproductive cancers? Perhaps. It could be a gender issue but with breast cancer awareness and funding through the roof, it’s possibly a mix of everything.
Prostate cancer currently receives over $19M more federal funding than Ovarian Cancer, despite a survival rate of 96% vs. 49%.
Motivated to make a change, I’ve become an official OCRF (Ovarian Cancer Research Foundation) ambassador and proudly raised $25K through our recent “Frocktober” event at my husband’s gym Bump in Dee Why. Only through research funding will things change.
As my chemo-journey recently came to a welcomed end, the daunting reality and fear of recurrence grows stronger. My cancer has a 90% chance of coming back. Due to my genetic disposition, the PBS does not fund the only maintenance drug that may help keep this disease away.
Keen to throw everything and anything at staying alive and buying more time with my precious family, I’ve withdrawn my entire superfund to self-fund the medication.
As I settle into my new reality, grateful for positive outcomes since my diagnosis
yet acutely aware of my unfavourable survival odds, I’m making it my mission to scream as loudly as I can to raise awareness.
February is Ovarian Cancer awareness month.
Our women are dying, and on their journey, they face multiple rounds of gruelling, yet often ineffective treatment to buy themselves more time with loved ones. Let’s empower scientists to make the breakthroughs that we need to survive.