When “Nothing Has Changed” Isn’t Reassuring: My Journey to a Stage 4 Ovarian Cancer Diagnosis.
In 2018, I began experiencing pain down my right side. Like many people, I did what I was supposed to do: I saw a doctor. A CT scan was ordered to check my gallbladder. It came back “all fine”. However, during that scan, a cyst was spotted on my ovary. I was told it was normal and nothing to worry about. I trusted that reassurance and got on with my life. Five years later, in 2023, everything changed—almost by accident. A doctor noticed tumours along my old C-section scar and referred me to a colorectal bowel specialist. This led to an ultrasound and then two CT scans over the following six months. Despite the tumours still being present and the ovarian cyst now larger since 2018, I was told again that there was no cause for concern. I was reassured it was scar tissue—despite the fact that my daughter was 20 years old at the time of these findings. What haunts me now is that the CT technician consistently recommended, in reports dating back to 2018, that a biopsy should be done “to be sure.” Those recommendations were ignored. I questioned it. I pushed back. I was told I was well and healthy and should get on with my life. I remember sitting there, unable to stand up to leave. The doctor had to practically guide me out of the room.
The Lump That Changed Everything
In June 2024, I felt an enlarged lymph node in my groin. My GP acted quickly. An ultrasound was ordered, followed by a CT scan and finally a biopsy. In August 2024, I was diagnosed with low-grade serous ovarian cancer (LGSOC). By then, it was stage 4B.
Complex Surgery and a Long Road
Because the cancer involved so much of my abdominal wall, surgery was complex and required both a gynaecological oncologist and a plastic surgeon. The operation took over 10 hours. In October 2024, I underwent extensive debulking surgery. Much of my abdominal wall had to be removed. I now have no transverse abdominal muscles across a 20 cm width from hip to hip and 15 cm from my pubic mound to my belly button. I was incredibly lucky that the incision followed my old C-section line—just wider—and that I didn’t lose my belly button. These details may sound small, but when your body is changed forever, they matter deeply. I remain profoundly grateful to my surgical team.
Treatment, Hope, and Uncertainty
Following surgery, I had six rounds of carboplatin and paclitaxel chemotherapy, which finished in April 2025. In May 2025, I started maintenance therapy with Letrozole. In August, my CA-125 dropped to 35. It felt like a moment to breathe. But by October, it had risen to 148. A month later, it climbed again to 164. Now, I am waiting for another CT scan, knowing recurrence is likely.
Why I’m Sharing My Story
Low-grade serous ovarian cancer is rare, slow-growing, and often difficult to diagnose. In my case, warning signs were visible for years—but reassurance replaced investigation. I share my story not to place blame, but to highlight how easily women’s symptoms can be minimised, how “stable” scans can still hide cancer, and how important it is to listen when something doesn’t feel right. If a biopsy had been done earlier, my story might look very different.
A Message to Others
If you are told:
- “It’s probably nothing,”
- “It hasn’t changed,”
- “You’re healthy—move on,”
but your body or intuition says otherwise—please keep asking questions. You are not difficult. You are not wasting anyone’s time. And you deserve to be taken seriously. I don’t know what the next chapter holds for me. But I do know that sharing our stories can help change outcomes for others—and that gives this journey meaning.
We are grateful to Debbie for sharing her experience with low-grade serous ovarian cancer and for helping us raise awareness. If you would like to share your story too, find out more here.
