When my surgeon first told me he would be removing my knee and femur, one of my thoughts was ‘I wonder how big the scar will be’. Not because I was worried about it looking bad, but because I was worried that it wouldn’t be noticeable. I felt like it needed to be big – big enough to show the enormity of what I experienced during my year of cancer treatment. So I’m happy to show off my 40cm scar, which runs down my thigh and ends inches below my knee, highlighted by small staple scars. I’m proud of what it means. It means I survived something that would have certainly killed me, if it weren’t for the wonders of modern medicine, determination, and a whole heap of love.

Despite being surrounded by so much love and kindness, my cancer year was the worst year of my life. But it has been followed by the best. Survivors aren’t lying when they tell you that things look better, taste better and feel better to them. Defying death is such an eye opener. The trick is to be able to keep your eyes open, and not get lost in the busyness of life; to really try and live each day as if it could be your last. Because it doesn’t matter your age, sex, race or religion, no one is invincible, although we may feel that we are. So fill each day with at least one happy memory and you will be able to look back over a life well lived.

Lucy, Ewings Sarcoma by April Kendall

I was diagnosed with brain cancer on the 24th of March 2004. Brain Cancer changed my life…it always felt like a bad change, and I have only recently discovered that it’s a change for the better. The brain cancer involved brain surgery, radiotherapy and chemotherapy. 2004 was a year in hospital for me. In essence, Cancer destroyed me; everything I made of myself, everything I wanted, everything I hoped, just...disintegrated…fell apart.

I had to find my feet all over again; establish myself. A new Mark with both physical and mental adjustments. Now in 2012, I do still struggle coping with the new Mark, the Mark that can no longer be the sporty, confident, bright, school captain individual. Last year I found my faith, I discovered that there is a greater being helping you out, protecting you, looking after you, and I’m so grateful for that.

I am proud to have had cancer and this is my Scar Story.

Mark, Brain Cancer by April Kendall

I was 19 when I was diagnosed with Ewings Sarcoma in my left thigh. It was a massive shock. I never would have thought I'd get cancer. In the last six years I have relapsed four times had four surgeries on my thigh, countless rounds of chemo, had a total of six months radiation, and a stem cell transplant. But I’ve always done everything with a smile. Don't get me wrong, there were a lot of tough times, but I never lost hope. Six years on and I couldn't be happier with my life; engaged to a wonderful man and getting married next year. I look forward to the future and hopefully one-day kids.

I have come to realise that my scar is a symbol of what I've been through and what I’ve accomplished. After battling for so many years I now wear my scar with pride. I hope Scar Stories opens your eyes to see that we're all the same; from every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story.

Jamie, Ewings Sarcoma

by Lisa Auger

As I wonder what to write, I reflect on the period of time I have spent with cancer. What scar do I pick to write about? I am never sure of which scar really put me here, but as I sit here I feel like my biggest scar is my new legs - my wheels. Because in the end I became paraplegic thanks to cancer.

Some days I hate it, which most people expect, but most of the time I am thankful for the lessons I have learnt because of it. Before cancer made me sick I was driven and had goals but they were not like they are now! I used to give up, get angry, find things too hard and get irritated over the small things.

Now I pick my goal to bring me success and make it happen. I am motivated to break down barriers, be myself, and be understanding! From the time I saw the first photo of me in my chair, I realised that I can be strong and successful if I work for it. From that day I took a new stride in life. I ride my bike, I do charity runs, I am going to get great at doing half marathons and I love going to the gym, I push myself and am supported to smash my goals.... Next year I'm off to become a personal trainer and to share my passion with others.

If I had to say what cancer gave me, it was a chance to face hell, question everything I believe in, and have another chance to make my life what I wanted it to be!

Kym, Acute Myeloid Leukaemia by Brihannah Rilstone

I was 21 years old when I started having troubles with the most simple of tasks.  I didn’t realize it at the time but my whole personality had changed. I was aggressive, had turned to drugs for fun, lied, cheated, was a slacker etc.  I started getting really sharp pains in my neck so I was sent to the doctors who sent me home twice with a diagnosis of a pinched nerve in my neck.  Third time lucky Mum took me to Noarlunga Hospital and refused to take me home until they figured out what was wrong with me.

I had a CT scan and they thought they saw something in my brain. I was sent to Flinders Medical Centre for an MRI and that’s when they found it… a 4.5cm tumour, the same size as a large chicken egg, growing in the back of my brain.  It was called a Medullablastoma. 

That day I was rushed into surgery where I spent 6 hours on the operating table. Now, after heavy doses of chemotherapy and radiotherapy over about 6 months, I am in remission.  I am unable to work due to irreversible brain damage (fatigue, nausea, deafness and memory problems)… but it’s been two and a half years and I’m still alive.

Craig, Brain Tumour

I was two years old when I had open-heart surgery so, for me, it seems perfectly normal that I have always had a scar on my chest. In 2010 however, I was diagnosed with a very aggressive strain of non-Hodgkins lymphoma.
Now I look at my chest and upper arm and see the new scars from the biopsies and the scars left by numerous Picc and Hickman's lines, which remind me of the chemo and the bone marrow transplants I needed. I see the hollows in my body where tumours used to be. My cane is a new addition during my long recovery process.
I see myself as having been forced to fight for my life on two separate occasions. My torso has been a primary battlefield each time and, along with each victory, I have my scars. These remind me where I have been and prove that, if I am determined enough, I will succeed.

John, Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma by Michelle Watters

I was only 17 years old when I was diagnosed with an Osteosarcoma in my left leg, just above my knee. I was told many possible outcomes, like losing my leg, the cancer spreading to my lungs, or that I wouldn't be here in five years time. At the time I was helping to support my family with my apprenticeship.

I had to have a full knee replacement to remove the tumour that was about 9cm by 3cm in size at the time of my diagnosis. I recovered well and am getting back almost full use of my left leg. However, it has left me with a 37cm scar. The scar doesn't bother me because I know how lucky I am to get through this and it’s nothing compared to losing my leg.

I did lose my apprenticeship though, as the knee replacement won’t allow me to carry on with daily duties as a heavy diesel mechanic. This was initially very hard to deal with. After my parents and I almost went broke during my treatment, things are finally looking up now that I have received a payout. With this I have purchased my own franchise that both my dad and myself are going to run together.

Andrew, Osteosarcoma (Bone tumour)

Scar: A mark left on the skin or within body tissue where a wound, burn, or sore has not healed quite completely.

For me my scar is not quite as obvious to those looking at me; but personally, my scar affects the way I look at myself and I am incredibly self-conscious. I was diagnosed with a Retinoblastoma in my right eye when I was six months old, so I don’t particularly remember the diagnosis or the surgery to remove the eye. But what I do remember is the constant check-ups, the never-ending eye drops and doctor’s appointments, to make sure that I don’t have any cancer in my left eye, or anywhere else. From what I’ve heard from my parents, it was so quick between the diagnosis and the eye removal surgery that they didn’t have time to process what they were being told.

This year I decided that I would stop being scared of what people would say, that I would just start being myself and if my ‘friends’ didn’t like it then that doesn’t matter. This year I realized that my best friends wouldn’t mind that I have an artificial eye. I decided not to let it dictate who I am, and who I will become. Since I’ve stopped hiding my scar, it has been easier to accept the fact that I had cancer. But while the scar I was left with may not be as obvious as some, it’s still there and it has affected my life, the people around me, and how I view myself. I am thankful for the strength it has given me to be myself. I am happy that I am able to call myself a SURVIVOR, and that I am finally able to let my guard down and be happy with how I look.

Hayley, Retinoblastoma by Fiona Vail

I was diagnosed four months after my 18th birthday. I woke up one morning and had a lump on the left side of my neck. I didn't think anything of it until the next day when it had doubled in size. A few days later I find out I had Cancer. It didn’t really click what it was until my mum explained it was what Delta Goodrem had. I went for a biopsy and booked in to see an Oncologist that specialized in Hodgkins Lymphoma so I could get the best treatment. Within a couple of weeks of finding out I started Chemotherapy, which I received every fortnight for six months. I had an Infusaport inserted into my chest and I was on steroids because the cancer had spread from my neck down the left side of chest and into my lung. I was working at the time of being diagnosed and had to leave due to the severe fatigue, nausea and losing all of my hair.

After those six months of Chemo I was finally in remission, had my Infusaport removed and kept having CT scans every three months. I am now 23 years old and still in remission. I find it hard to work because I still suffer from severe fatigue and other issues but I try my best to push past them and forget. To this day I still find it hard to believe I went through so much. I see my scars (battle wounds as I like to call them) everyday and they remind me of what I went through. I'm just happy to still be alive.

Erin, Hodgkins Lymphoma by Brihannah Rilstone

I was diagnosed at the ripe old age of thirteen with an extremely rare form of ovarian cancer that had developed over my left ovary. After months of misdiagnoses from the doctors, my tumour had grown into the large size of a watermelon inside my stomach and I, along with every doctor and specialist I saw, had no idea it was even there. It soon developed large cysts, which caused the tumour to rupture inside my stomach, giving me the most traumatic and gut-wrenching pain I have ever felt. Twelve days later, I was diagnosed with cancer. This soon became a word I knew everything about; more than a thirteen-year-old girl should ever know and it left me with a scar from hip to hip. My body, my emotions and my pride, went through one hell of a battle through chemotherapy.  I was lucky enough to have my beautiful mother and father by my side every step of the way. Due to the severity of the cancer and the chemotherapy, it has never been a given as to whether I am capable of having children; something that has always been a dream for me.

At first I looked at my scar as an ugly reminder of the pain I suffered and the traumatic experience I went through. I now look at it as a reminder of my strength and bravery, and ability to fight anything that comes my way. I also see it as a part of me – something that defines me as unique. My scar is me, my journey is me, and I am more proud than I could ever imagine to wear the word ‘survivor’ across my stomach.

Amy, Ovarian Cancer by Lynette Letic

Brandon, Osteosarcoma (Bone Tumour)

When I heard the 'C' word I wasn't angry, upset, or scared. I was relieved, in a way, that finally, after five years of wondering what was wrong with me, I had a diagnosis.

When it finally came time for the operation I was told that I would have one small incision near my ear and one above my collar bone. But afterwards I remember seeing my mum's heartbroken face, with tears streaming from her eyes, and I knew I didn't look like the same daughter she had hugged and kissed nine hours earlier. The nurses didn't want me to see myself and I didn't understand. After asking and asking one nurse finally handed me a mirror... I froze.

I had two tumours removed, my whole thyroid removed, 72 lymph nodes removed – 13 of which were riddled with cancer, and the surgeons had also dissected and removed bits of cancer from my oesophagus, voice box and vocal chords...the doctors were amazed that I was speaking the next day. The following year I was told that after all the treatment I would most likely not be able to have children. But in 2009 my partner and I welcomed our son into the world - Seth Cooper. And then our second in 2011 - Tyler Morgan.

Whenever I look at my scar I feel a sense of amazement and power. I feel proud at how strong I was through it all and what odds I beat. I can say to myself that I am a SURVIVOR!

Ashleigh, Papillary Thyroid Cancer

Photographer: Georgia Brizuela

I believe that a scar represents a journey, a story. Stories need to be told. My story began with a diagnosis. A life altering word: Cancer. As I approached the theatre, I heard the chatter of nurses, the beeps of machines and the silence of uncertainty. What will the next few days bring me, I wondered. Will things go back to normal? Or shall I evolve into a different person, a better person, more aware and responsive? These days came and went and I realised that life would never be the same. I have had my scar for a year and a half now. It doesn’t bother me; I like it. It represents who I am and tells my story. Yes, this scar changed my life, but it doesn't stop me from living it.

Cameron, Osteosarcoma (Bone Tumour) survivor

Photographer: Lisa Auger

Dave, Tongue Cancer

Photographer: Steve Tyssen

My scar was messy, purple, and prominent for a very long time. I covered it. I was afraid. I didn’t even want to look at it myself. I fought as hard, and for as long as I could to push it, everything, and everyone away. I didn’t want to have to deal with any of it. And after five years of holding on, just as I began to accept myself, my prosthesis broke. It began to disintegrate. The company had made faults in the production of a line in their stock. I had it replaced again. Suddenly I had all the past emotions approaching me at speeds incomprehensible. And once again, I began to cover my scars. I desperately tried to hide all that was wrong with my life, with my body, with myself. And I blamed it all on my scar…. but then I found Canteen, the most incredible organization that helps teenagers and young adults who have been affected by cancer. I have since come to understand that scars are beautiful. My scars are proof of my past, my pain and my struggle. But I won’t let them determine my future.

Hannah, Ewings Sarcoma (Bone Tumour) by Lisa Auger

To some a scar is a deformity, an affliction. To others a scar is a memory, a story, or a mystery. And to an increasing number of people, a scar is a symbol of loss, pain, and triumph. My scar has been all these things to me. It has been such a big part of my life that I even considered naming it. Ralph or Alfred, I couldn't decide. I have tried to ignore it, detach from it, own it, but finally, I am on my way to accepting it. Scar Stories, for me, is about accepting my scar as part of me.

It's not just about me though. It's about you and what you think when you see our scars. Are you confused, shocked, concerned? Do you want to figure me out, work out how I got it? Can you take your eyes off it and see the person behind it? I'm here, we're all here, walking among you so to speak. We have scars, they are part of us, but they don't define us.

Jasmine, Osteosarcoma (Bone Tumour) by Georgia Brizuela.

I was diagnosed two weeks after I turned 20. I have had four surgeries with varying successes as well as chemotherapy and radiation and now I am back on chemo. Before my diagnosis I thought life was open ended. Now I think differently. Right now all I want is just to make the most of life.

Nathan, Brain Tumour by Lisa Auger

Nathan lost his battle to cancer on the 29th February, just over a month after his portrait was featured in the Scar Stories exhibition.