Ellen Quach

VP: Hi there. My name is Vuma Phiri, coming to you from Centre for Stories in Boorloo/Perth 

Today we present to you Swanbourne Story Tracks: stories of personal connections to the areas between Freshwater Bay, Lake Claremont, and the Indian Ocean. Some storytellers have been residents of the Swanbourne, Claremont and Cottesloe areas; others have profound memories from passing through these streets at some point in their lives. 

In collaboration with Town Team Movement and Project Mooro, Centre for Stories captured these experiences of connection to community and place on Whadjuk Nyungar boodjar. We pay our respect to Whadjuk Elders, and all Aboriginal people from the beginning, who are the knowledge-keepers and custodians of this place. 

In this episode, you will hear Ellen Quach story. Ellen is a Perth-born storyteller of Vietnamese Chinese descent. Cavorting as a mother of two, and corporate team lead by day, and artist by night, her recent memoir work has been featured in several published anthologies. She finds mindfulness in poetry, painting and journalling, which has been fundamental in her recent healing journey. This story was recorded in March of 2025. This is Ellen. 

EQ: Cancer. One word, two syllables. A bomb when dropped. The C-bomb dropped on me last September on a sunny day, just like this one. “You need to come in today”, the receptionist said. “Your GP, she’s fully booked, but she’s handed over to the new doctor”. And so, I find myself waiting for somebody that I never met, deliver me news that deep inside I already knew. The new doctor – he was hot. Straight outta Grey’s Anatomy, striking green eyes. When he turned to me and he said, “I’m sorry to say that it’s cancer”. I could only help but think, “Do I have to show him my breasts?” 

I had already prepared for this moment. I had already spent a whole weekend crying, wrapped in a thick cloak of anxiety several weeks before. 300 journal articles later read, one can only hope for the best. The one-walk home felt like an eternity, and as the sun pelted down, it melted the armor. And as I walked into the driveway, my husband was waiting there, and he wrapped me in a thick hug and I melted into a puddle of snot and tears. And as I gathered my wits about me, I turned to him and I said, I have to go into office now. I need to find my team. And I waved a thick wad of clinical notes and referrals at him, and that’s what I did. I spent a few hours Googling names and credentials until a face popped out. 

“Dr. Farra works fast”. Her receptionist said, “We can have you in clinic as soon as Tuesday, and depending on the outcome, you could be in surgery as soon as Thursday”.  

And I thought, “Great. Dr. Farra sounds like my type of girl”.  

And a momentary, calm descends. Control – the eye of the storm before the mind starts to twirl and the body starts to speak all at the same time. You see, it’s an eerie feeling when the healthcare professional, the mother, the wellness coach, the team lead suddenly becomes the patient. It’s an equally eerie feeling when the decision to dismember yourself and to poison yourself becomes your own dilemma. Turmoil, chaos. 

“You can heal yourself”, the body says, and the mind replies, “Cut it out, pump it with medications, do whatever you can. You got this” 

And then the body replies, “but these cells are of you. They are made from you. This is you. Will you listen to your body and what it has to say before you declare war upon yourself”. 

And then a third voice bubbles up. Something deep inside and it says three words, “Solaris, Cancer Care”. And I pull on this thread, and I type it into Google, and up pops this beautiful federation house in Cottesloe, a charity for cancer patients and their carers. A place where volunteers come to offer complimentary therapy alongside conventional medicine – integrative therapy. And so, I pull on this thread and I hop into the car, and I drive down Stirling Highway and I’m dodging the traffic left lane, right lane, left lane, right lane. And my mind is ping ponging at the same time at all the information that I’ve read and how I do not fit into any of the risk factors of Western medicine. And yet, when I read about the Eastern methodologies, I read about the mind-body connection, of the suppression of trauma, and emotion, and of mothers not putting themselves first. And I think of the immunity, and the inflammation, and then the chronic disease. I seem to fit into every single one. 

And so, I rock up to this house, this beautiful house with this big staircase, a bit similar to this own. And on the right-hand side is North Cott Primary School. And all the kids are on their break, and it’s an absolute cacophony of shrieks and screams. And behind me is a railway and its metal upon metal of the train, rumbling past and just over the horizon, you can smell, but you can’t see the Indian Ocean. And I suddenly feel safe. I meet a lady named Linda with the beautiful, kind eyes, and she leads me into a library, and she explains to me the services. And she leaves me there. And I start to devour tome after tome of “The Power of Now” of the “Body Meeting the Score” of “Radical Remissions”, of nutritional health, of exercising, of lived experiences of other survivors. In hypnotherapy, the thread drags heavy like anchors through lack and scarcity. And I realize that it drives the over performer in me, and actually, it’s okay for me to take a rest during this time so I can recover and heal. 

In art therapy, my grief bleeds out in watercolor across paper and dries as calmness. In reiki, a light shines down and shakes through all of this anxiety that’s wrapped around my diaphragm, and then it leaves me suspended in this bubble of light and serenity, and I come home a better mother. I spit out my anger and resentment on the yoga mat. And in group therapy, my eyes are the soul mirrors of a stranger facing me because we are meeting each other in the same shared lived experience. And so as one day blends into the next and one surgery becomes another, and as weeks turn into months of waiting, of waiting for results of whether or not I need radiation of chemotherapy, I find myself back in this no man’s land. This place where mind, body, spirit are allies with science and medicine. And it’s held in this bubble of energy of the volunteers, and they support us without judgment. And I am so inspired, and I find myself on a bridge. A bridge that connects lost parts of myself back from east to west, from chaos to stillness, from doing, to being, and from a bomb to a gift. 

Every day has its ups and downs. I am still traversing this journey, but I have experienced peace. Peace is the letting go of the past and the surrendering into the future. Peace is the stillness of the in-between as life plants saucy kiss upon waiting lips. “I’ll wait for you”, the heart speaks. 

“Wait for who?” 

“Of life”, it says. “And its mysteries, a gift only to be slowly unwrapped in the present”. 

VP: Thank you for listening. This story collection was funded by Town Team Movement and Project Mooro and produced by Centre for Stories.  

Centre for Stories is a not-for-profit organization with charitable status. Our team is small and nimble, and we love what we do. To help us to continue to support diverse storytellers, consider a small donation. You can donate at centreforstories.com. 

This podcast was produced by Centre for Stories with story training from Colin Archibald, and sound engineering by Mason Vellios. Thank you.