Cancer Didn’t Change Who I Was… It Revealed Who I Was Meant to Become

There are moments in life that divide your story into two parts.

Before.

And…

After.

For me, that moment was hearing the words, “You have bowel cancer.”

Like many people, I thought my story had already been written.

Work hard.

Enjoy family life.

Grow older.

Spend time with my grandchildren.

Walk the dogs.

Tend to my allotment.

Learn something new every day.

Keep helping people.

That was me.

Or at least, I thought it was.

What I didn’t know was that cancer wasn’t going to take away who I was.

It was going to reveal who I was always meant to become.

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Before cancer, I already knew my purpose

People often ask me whether having a stoma, ostomy changed me.

My answer usually surprises them.

No.

Not really.

Before cancer, I managed a hostel for single homeless men. I worked with an incredible team, helping people rebuild their lives. We gave them the tools, support and confidence to move forward, not just survive.

I loved that work.

Not because it was easy—it certainly wasn’t—but because I believe everyone deserves the chance to build a better future.

Looking back now, I realise something.

I haven’t stopped doing that.

Today, I still help people rebuild their lives.

The only difference is that now the people I help are living with a stoma, ostomy.

My purpose never disappeared.

It simply found a new home.

I honestly thought six months would fix everything

When I was diagnosed with bowel cancer, my focus was simple.

Get through treatment.

Have the surgery.

Recover.

Get back to normal.

In my mind, six months seemed a reasonable amount of time.

I genuinely believed life would pick up where it had left off.

Nobody told me that recovery isn’t just about scars healing.

Nobody explained that your body can recover long before your heart and mind do.

Nobody prepared me for the emotional recovery that quietly creeps up on you.

I wish they had.

Because I wasn’t just healing from surgery.

I was trying to understand a body that worked differently, a future I hadn’t planned and a life that looked nothing like the one I’d expected.

The years that stole my freedom

People often think my biggest challenge was learning to live with a stoma, ostomy.

It wasn’t.

The hardest time came after my reversal.

For three years, my world became smaller and smaller.

My family even had a phrase for it.

“The toilet dash.”

If someone said those words, everyone knew exactly what they meant.

I could spend four or five hours going to the toilet more than fourteen times.

If we had plans in the evening, I usually stayed at home.

Meals out disappeared.

Theatre trips stopped.

Long walks became impossible.

Christmas markets, one of my favourite places in the world, ended with an accident that sent me home, straight into the shower, clothes and all.

My husband quietly fetched the black bags while I cleaned myself up.

No fuss.

No judgement.

Just love.

That wasn’t living.

That was existing.

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The surgery that gave me my life back

When I chose to have my second stoma, ostomy, people assumed it must have been a difficult decision.

Of course it was.

But I also knew something else.

I wanted my life back.

Not because I wanted perfection.

Because I wanted freedom.

Freedom to say yes.

Freedom to pick up my grandchildren from school.

Freedom to drive through Wales without planning every service station.

Freedom to go to the theatre and actually watch the whole performance instead of sitting on the steps near the exit, terrified I’d need to run again.

Freedom to laugh.

Freedom to live.

That little bag gave me something my bowel no longer could.

Control.

And with control came confidence.

Confidence wasn’t about my body

People often think confidence comes from accepting how you look.

For me, confidence came from trusting my body again.

It came from waking up and deciding to go out without spending hours planning every toilet stop.

It came from being able to enjoy a picnic, a day trip or a family gathering without fear running the day.

It came from standing on the sidelines at my grandson’s rugby match, not as “the poorly grandma”, but simply as Grandma.

That is what confidence looks like to me.

Not perfection.

Freedom.

The bag became a tool, not a burden

Do I still have leaks?

Yes.

Does my bag still decide to perform like an out-of-tune brass band at the most inappropriate moments?

Absolutely.

Do dogs still come and sniff my tummy because, as far as they’re concerned, that’s where my bottom is?

Every single time.

Life with a stoma, ostomy isn’t flawless.

But here’s what changed.

Instead of seeing the bag as the problem, I started seeing it as the reason I could finally live again.

That shift changed everything.

My scars tell a different story now

There was a time when I looked in the mirror and saw what cancer had taken from me.

Now I see something different.

I see life scars.

Proof that my body and I fought together.

Proof that we survived together.

My body isn’t the same.

It never will be.

But instead of being angry with it, I’ve learnt to respect it.

It’s been through more than most people will ever know.

And somehow, it still gets me out into the world.

The business I never planned

When I started looking for beautiful lingerie for women living with a stoma, ostomy, I couldn’t believe what I found.

Or rather…

What I didn’t find.

Where was the elegant lace?

Where was the silk?

Where was the confidence?

Where was the feeling of being beautiful?

I remember thinking,

“Why isn’t anyone doing this?”

Then another thought appeared.

“Maybe I should.”

That’s how Unspoken Rosebud was born.

Not because I wanted another business.

Because I wanted women to look in the mirror and remember that they are still beautiful.

Still feminine.

Still worthy of feeling confident.

My purpose became clearer than ever

Over time, something unexpected happened.

Women didn’t just contact me about lingerie.

They wanted to talk.

About fear.

About body image.

About relationships.

About confidence.

About the loneliness that often follows surgery.

I realised there was another gap.

People were teaching how to change a pouch.

Very few were helping people rebuild a life.

That’s when mentoring became part of Unspoken Rosebud.

Because emotional recovery deserves just as much attention as physical recovery.

What life has taught me

Living with a stoma, ostomy has taught me that resilience isn’t about pretending everything is fine.

It’s about facing reality and deciding that it won’t have the final say.

It’s taught me that leaks happen.

Fatigue happens.

Embarrassing noises happen.

But so do laughter.

Family adventures.

Christmas markets.

Long walks.

Picnics.

Quiet moments in the garden.

Grandchildren’s smiles.

There is always more than one chapter to your story.

If I could sit beside you today…

If you’re reading this while you’re waiting for surgery, or adjusting to life with your stoma, ostomy, this is what I’d want you to know.

Take your time.

Don’t compare yourself to anyone else.

Your recovery is yours.

Some days will be brilliant.

Some will be hard.

Both are normal.

Please don’t believe that because you chose your surgery, you have to feel grateful every minute of every day.

You don’t.

You’re allowed to grieve.

You’re allowed to feel frightened.

You’re allowed to feel frustrated.

And you’re also allowed to discover joy again.

Because you will.

One small step at a time.

From My Heart to Yours… 🌹

People often tell me that I inspire them.

The truth is, I’m simply honest.

I share the good, the bad and the ugly because someone once needed to tell me these things—and nobody did.

So I’ll tell you instead.

Your bag is part of your life.

It is not your whole life.

You are still you.

You are still worthy of love.

You are still capable of making memories.

You are still allowed to dream.

And one day, when you’re driving somewhere without thinking about the nearest toilet, laughing so hard you instinctively put your hand over your bag, you’ll realise something.

You aren’t just surviving anymore.

You’re living.

And that’s what this journey has always been about.

🌹 You’ve got this.

With love,

Helinka