Jenny Ross is a proud Invercargill local, the youngest of five, and a lifelong sports lover with a sharp sense of humour. From hockey fields to golf greens, she’s lived life with energy and heart. In recent years, Jenny has faced a series of major health battles, including eye cancer, breast cancer and a rare form of tissue cancer, but she’s met every challenge with grit, faith, and determination. This is her story.
I’m Jenny Ross. Youngest of five (three sisters and a brother). I lost one of my sisters a year ago, and that still sits heavy with me. Mum had four kids under five when I came along, so she still had four under five! She deserved a medal, honestly.
I went to North Primary, then Rosedale. I wasn’t the best at school. I was more interested in lunchtime and sport than I was in books. Sport was my thing! Hockey, volleyball, and later on, golf. I absolutely loved golf. That is, until I lost my eye and couldn’t see properly anymore. My depth perception was gone, so playing got tough. But sport was a huge part of my life, and I don’t regret a single minute of it.
I’ve never married, but I’ve been blessed with nieces, nephews, and now even a great-great-niece. The kids are everything to me.
I did a bit of moving around in my time, but Invercargill always pulled me back. It’s home. You just can’t beat it. I worked at Tiwai over 20 years ago, and later spent quite a while at Craigs Design and Print.
My sport continued on through the years. I played softball for Star and hockey for a good chunk of my life. Then came golf. I played at Oreti Sands for years. We travelled heaps, and even won a national comp once. That was a proud moment.
Health-wise, I never had a broken bone or anything major. But in 2016 everything changed.
One of my eyes went blurry, so I went to the doctor. The doctor sent me to the optician, but by the time I could get in, I’d already lost sight in that eye. The optician referred me down to Southland Hospital, and it was discovered I had a melanoma behind my eye.
I had always worn sunscreen and hats but never thought about sunglasses!
They gave me two options: chemotherapy, which wasn’t guaranteed to help, or remove the eye. I said take it out, it was a ticking time bomb. No further treatment was needed after that. I’ve got part of a donor eye in there now, which lets it move. If I cry, it cries too.
Losing my eye was hard. I did counselling and took antidepressants. The counsellor told me I was grieving, and she was right. It was a loss. On top of this, the other eye got a cataract so I had to have that fixed too!
I gave up driving after losing my eye. It didn’t feel safe for others on the road, but I got myself a mobility scooter. I call it my Harley. It’s got three wheels, shock absorbers and keeps me independent! That matters to me. I’m not one to ask for help usually.
A funny thing happened once. I was playing the pokies, and took my spare eye out of my handbag in its container and set it on top of the machine while I went to the toilet. I came back and noticed a guy was staring at it. I told him, “Just keeping an eye on my machine.” He nearly wet himself laughing. You’ve got to have a sense of humour, right?
Then, about three and a half years ago, I had a mammogram and a tiny lump was found. I had a lumpectomy. It was cancer, but they caught it early. A week of radiation and that was it - or so I thought.
Two years later, I noticed what looked like bruises on my breast. Turns out, the cancer was back, and worse. A rare kind called angiosarcoma, caused by the radiation itself. They removed the breast, used a flap from my back to cover it, and a skin graft from my leg.
The care I got from the district nurses and home help was amazing. But now, it’s come back again. This time in my back. They found it just a few weeks ago. There’s also a little spot on my liver but too small to biopsy.
I had a dip this time, I’ll admit that. But I told them: I’m gonna fight it. I’m not ready to lie down and give up. They offered palliative care or treatment. I chose treatment.
ACC got involved. I remember the day after surgery, a guy called to ask if I’d been told whether the cancer was terminal. Even the doctor hadn’t told me yet. That hit me hard. This type of cancer is so rare that no one really knows.
But I’m a stubborn old bitch. It’s not going to get me without a fight.
After my tissue cancer diagnosis, I was referred to the Cancer Kaiarahi Service. That’s been a blessing. The kaimahi calls or visits every week. It’s easier to talk to her than to my sisters sometimes. I even joined the support group recently and that was a big step for me. I might seem outgoing, but I can be shy too. I’m also lucky to have the support of my sisters, who won’t let me go to appointments alone. They’re amazing and have been with me right throughout.
The support from my family, and people like Jo and Barb has meant the world. On a down day, I can call the kaimahi and they lift me up. It helps knowing I’ve got people in my corner.
I’ve recently had more surgery to remove what they can from my back. That could also mean more radiation and chemotherapy. That scares me, especially after last time. But if it gives me another few years, I’ll take it.
I know this cancer will get me one day. I’ve accepted that. But I’m still here, still fighting, and I’m not done yet.
