I was born and raised right here in Victoria. I went to school here. I built my life here. I work here, at BC Pension. And every single chapter of my healthcare journey has taken place right here, in our hospitals.
I often say this is my third life. The first one is the life you’re born into. The second one was when ulcerative colitis and colorectal cancer nearly killed me. And this is my third.
I was 19 years old when my symptoms started. I was young and embarrassed, and in my culture, we don’t talk easily about things like bowel disease. So I didn’t.
I lost weight. I was constantly running to the bathroom. People thought I had an eating disorder, and honestly I wondered that for myself, too, until one afternoon in 2010, when I couldn’t breathe properly.
My chest hurt. I went to my mom and said: “My heart is hurting. We need to go to the hospital.”
When I got to Victoria General Hospital, the care team brought me in right away. That day, doctors discovered I had ulcerative colitis, a chronic autoimmune disease where the body attacks its own colon, causing constant inflammation. The condition had caused blood clots to travel up to my lungs and the situation was dire.
Interventional radiology saved my life that day. And I was told that if I had arrived even an hour later, I wouldn’t have survived.
I slowly recovered and learned to live with ulcerative colitis, though, I never could stop thinking about it. You plan your entire life around your body. But with the realization that I got to live that day, I bounced back. I travelled. I ran 10Ks. I lived as fully as I could, and for a long time, I believed the hardest part of my story was behind me.
But in March of 2024, I went in for a routine colonoscopy at Victoria General Hospital. Nothing unusual, I’d had many before. I was joking with my doctor, like always. But then he went quiet, and told me he needed to send some samples for testing. My soul knew before I even actually knew… and a week later, my phone rang.
“The results came back positive”, he said.
It took me a minute, almost like I had an out-of-body experience, and I asked: “Are you telling me I have cancer?”
He said, “Yes, we suspect so.”
And my world stopped.
I was diagnosed with stage 2 colon cancer. That is when I was told I would be referred to a remarkable surgeon and oncology specialist, Dr. Sepehr Khorasani.
The wait wasn’t long when I look back at it, I only waited ten days… but in that waiting, I asked myself some big questions: In my 33 years of life, have I been a good daughter? A good sister? A good partner? Because when you hear that word—cancer—everything else falls away.
I first met Dr. Khorasani at Royal Jubilee Hospital. That is when I slowly felt like I was being picked back up. From the very beginning, he was clear, calm, and deeply human. There was never a moment I felt rushed, never a moment I felt like just another case, and even after that initial conversation, never a moment I couldn’t reach him. That matters more than people realize.
We agreed that surgery was the way forward. On the morning of my procedure, I felt calm, truly calm. I remember joking with Dr. Khorasani as I was being wheeled in. He was wearing a Superman scrub cap, and honestly, that is how I still see him: my Superman. Just before the anesthesia took over, I said, “Thank you all so much for what you’re doing.”, because I knew, these were the people keeping me alive.
All I remember hearing back, before going under were the words, “You’re in good hands.”
I had a six-hour surgery, a told proctocolectomy with a permanent ileostomy. 73 centimetres of my colon was removed. I woke up in a new body and with another chance at life.
In the recovery room, I wrote down the names of every nurse who took care of me. I still have that list. They are the people who have held space for me. Among them was my sister, a nurse at Royal Jubilee Hospital.
For the week I stayed in hospital, she gave me sponge baths, fed me, washed my hair, helped me brush my teeth. She would work her shifts, go home for just a few hours to shower, and come back to spend the nights with me. She was the first person I told when I was diagnosed, the first person I saw after surgery, and she has been with me literally every step of the way. How lucky I am to have a sister who is also my very best friend, but in this instance also happened to be one of the remarkable nurses we have in Victoria. She will fight for me harder than anyone.
That surgery has saved my life, there is no doubt about it. It has also meant living with a permanent ostomy bag, and that decision was not easy. I was offered another option when it came to surgery, but it came with higher risks and less quality of life. It was a pick-your-poison situation, and Dr. Khorasani walked with me every step of the way until I chose the path that would give me a chance to truly live and the best chance at a future free of cancer. Vanity flew out of the window and survival became everything.
While this journey has been real, layered and complex, the ostomy bag did not take my freedom. It gave it back. For the first time in years, I don’t plan my life around a bathroom. I travel without fear. I live without constant urgency—I live.
Before surgery, I had to make probably the most difficult decision yet. The surgery would have a 10% chance of impacting my fertility. That may seem like a small percentage, but to me… it was everything.
Ever since I was little, I had always felt I was meant to be a mother. I felt as though that was my right as a woman. And my right was being taken away. I wasn’t ready to give up on a future I hadn’t yet lived. Again, I am so grateful Dr. Khorasani helped me through it. He listened.
Because everything moved so fast, and surgery was urgent, he acted immediately and referred me to Olive Fertility, making sure nothing stood in the way. I froze my eggs, and will always be grateful for that because women shouldn’t have to choose between survival and hope.
Being a mother, being there to watch my parents grow old… you think that is a right. But it’s not. It is such a gift, such a privilege.
Surgery removed the cancer, but my journey didn’t end there. I also had to receive chemotherapy because the cancer had spread to the outside of my colon. When I first walked in, the oncologist first said to me, “I am glad you have frozen your eggs already—we need to start chemotherapy right away.” Maybe, in a way, this was my future children looking down and helping me get the treatment I needed.
I faced months of chemotherapy that tested me in ways I hadn’t expected. Physically. Emotionally. Completely. Today, two years later since that dreaded phone call, I am cancer free, I am healing, I am rebuilding my strength, and I am living this third life, with so much gratitude, intention, and clarity.
All of this incredible care I received happened here at Royal Jubilee and Victoria General hospitals. I did not have to leave Vancouver Island to receive lifesaving care. I did not have to wonder if I would have received better care elsewhere. I did not have to ask myself, is my surgeon doing and advocating the best for me, because all along, he was.
I also no longer wonder if I have been good enough. This journey has made me a better daughter, a better sister, a better partner… and I know I will be that much better of a mother, too.
Sharing my story is part of my healing. You are healing me. And healing so many who will follow me. So when the next person hears the word cancer, they also hear: “You’re in good hands.” That’s what I heard. And because of caring community members like you, others will too.
