Cancer Council NSW commissioned Stephen Dupont to capture this poignant and emotive body of work for ‘Every Cancer Story Should Be Heard’, a campaign aimed at generating conversation and uniting the voices of those who live with cancer. Dupont had the privilege of meeting and photographing 10 individuals whose lives have been impacted by the disease. His brief was to capture the raw human emotion – be it a story of grief and loss or for some, the joy of overcoming cancer.  The honest, dignified and respectful portraits, accompanied by their stories capture the pain, but also the hope, the love of life and the beauty of the person with the illness. 

Tracey Beasley is living with cancer.  This is her story, as told to journalist Alex Carlton:

"The moment I came out of brain surgery was one of the best moments of my life. I opened my eyes and thought, my goodness! I made it! I looked up at the medical team around me and one of them said to another, “There you go. She came through. That’s quite the birthday present for you, isn’t it?” My face lit up. “Oh, is it your birthday?” I asked. The anaesthetist nodded. “Happy birthday!” I said smiling. The doctors couldn’t believe their ears. “How’s that!” they said to each other. “A brain surgery patient wakes up and wishes you happy birthday. Doesn’t get more special than that.” And with that I got an almighty pain in my head and had a seizure. This all happened a full 20 years after I had my first brush with melanoma.

In 1994 I was only 19 and I went away for a girls’ trip to Bali. My other friends went to Sydney. I probably should’ve gone with them in hindsight. I just wanted to be like the others so I tried to get a tan. I think I even put reef oil on my legs. I burnt myself so badly that I lost three layers of skin. That was where it all started. They found the first malignant melanoma in 1996 and another in 1997. In 2005 they found another. Each time I’ve had one I didn’t take it seriously. Even having three didn’t seem like a big deal to me. You’d tell someone that you had a melanoma and they’d go “Oh I’ve had one of those removed.” No, you’d think that’s a skin cancer. Not to take anything away from skin cancer but there’s a big difference with malignant melanoma. I ticked all the boxes for risk - red hair, pale skin, blue eyes. And I also tested positive for the familial gene mutation that makes me more susceptible to the cancer. But I still wanted to hide that I had these melanomas because I was embarrassed - to get one of those says you’ve got bad skin doesn’t it? Or so I thought.

It wasn’t til 2014 that I realised that my skin was the least of my worries. Out of the blue I started getting these terrible headaches and my brain went foggy - I made mistakes at work and even forgot to pick my kids up from school. That bothered me. Thought I was going a bit mad to be honest. My GP told me it was probably stress - I had three kids, worked full time and was on every committee you could poke a stick at. So I figured he was right. But things got worse. Much worse. The pain was unbearable. I threw up one night til three in the morning. I finally got in for a CT scan. They did their thing and the doctor came out and said “I’m so sorry. We’ve got a problem. You’ve got a large tumour with significant swelling. And I think you’ve also had a bleed on the brain.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank goodness for that!” I said. “I thought I was going crazy!” He smiled kindly, with a sad look in his eyes. No, he said. I wasn’t imagining things. I had Stage IV Metatastic Melanoma - a secondary tumour on the brain as well as two tumours on the lungs. Of course then the shock set in.

I wasn’t worried for myself because with medical things I’ve always thought, you just get through it, do what you’ve got to do. But I thought about my three kids. As I’ve had to have more and more interventions the kids have become more frightened. My cousin died from breast cancer when she was 42 and she had three little kids who mine are close to. So they know the reality of what could happen. I don’t want to promise them anything that can’t come true and then have them feel like I’ve betrayed them and I’m not here to explain to them that I just wanted them to stay positive. That part is really difficult. Trying to reassure them when you don’t have any reassurance.

I’m just trying to stay alive as long as I possibly can for them. I don’t know if I’m going to survive days, weeks or months. I don’t know what the future holds. The tumours on my lungs have reduced thanks to drug therapy but my brain tumour returned after the first surgery and I’m booked in for my second surgery next week. But I’m determined that it’s not going to get me. My biggest wish up til now was to open my eyes on the other side of brain surgery. And now my wish is that I’ll do it a second time. I’m mindful of staying as positive as I can because I don’t want to impact on everyone else. I don’t want to be this ongoing drag! Going through it the first time was something a bit different - but going through a second time is getting a bit boring now! If I could say something to young kids out there it’s be kind to one another. Redheads get such a hard time because they look different and kids need to be educated that there are differences in all of us. Don’t try to be something you’re not. Accept and love the skin that you have."