When faced with an incurable disease, Justine made these important changes to her life

A stage-four diagnosis can bring life to a standstill, stirring fear, grief and anger for a future once imagined. “It’s completely normal to mourn the loss of your health, identity and plans,” says Lilanie Dagg, a social worker at Lung Foundation Australia.

But facing one’s mortality can also lead to something unexpected – joy, deeper meaning, and the chance to begin again, living more “fully” than ever.

While the emotional reckoning is deeply personal, the medical reality is equally complex. A stage-four diagnosis often comes with a relatively low five-year survival rate, though actual life expectancy varies due to many factors, including overall health, treatment response, cancer type and individual biology.

Justine Martin: “I began to live with intention, urgency and clarity.”Credit: Golden Frame Productions

“Instead of retreating into fear, you may use this moment as motivation to make meaningful changes, from how you live day-to-day to how you connect with others,” says Dagg. “This could mean redefining your values, making clear end-of-life plans, or discovering a renewed sense of purpose.”

Support groups offer connection, understanding and practical advice, helping people living with incurable illness feel less alone and more empowered. Embracing the present moment, rather than fearing the future, can bring peace, whether through hobbies, memories or simple joys.

“Recognising what’s within your control allows you to focus your energy on your wellbeing,” says Dagg. “Even in the face of uncertainty, there is space for purpose, connection and a different kind of strength.”

“I stopped saying yes when I meant no”: Justine Martin, 54

“Being diagnosed in 2016 with stage-four small lymphocytic lymphoma, followed by chronic lymphocytic leukemia and melanoma, all within two years, turned my world completely inside out. This was on top of living with multiple sclerosis since 2011. In an instant, the illusion of having plenty of time vanished. The future I once counted on dissolved into the present, and everything I thought could wait either became urgent or lost all meaning.

Living with incurable diseases forced me to confront my mortality in a way I never had before. Early on, I wrote a line that became my compass: ‘Time is our most precious commodity; we can’t buy it, sell it, reuse it, borrow it, or steal it, so be careful with whom or what you spend it on.’

I used to delay dreams, goals, even self-care, believing there would always be time. But facing the reality of death lit a fire within me. Suddenly, every decision, interaction and breath took on new weight. I began to live with intention, urgency and clarity.

Since my diagnoses, I’ve jumped from a plane, faced chemotherapy, and built an art studio in my garage. I began teaching art, especially to people with disabilities, and went on to co-author eight books that champion resilience and inclusion. I’ve launched businesses and spoken on global stages, sharing my story to inspire others to live fully, right now. Every time someone says, ‘That’s me. I needed to hear that,’ it reminds me that everything I’ve been through has meaning.

Through it all, I’ve learned that health isn’t just physical. Ironically, I’m probably the fittest I’ve ever been, training with weights three times a week, doing neuro Pilates twice a week, and walking whenever I can. But real resilience also comes from knowing when to ask for help. I have someone who cleans my house and tends my garden, which frees me to focus on spending time with family, nurturing friendships and making space for stillness.

I used to be medicated for depression. Now, I see a counsellor every few weeks. I protect my boundaries fiercely. I stopped trying to be everything to everyone; I stopped saying yes when I meant no.

Yes, I lost people. When I was diagnosed with MS, and again with cancer, friends drifted away. My partner left. But in their place, I found something greater: the freedom to live, to travel, to turn dreams into goals, and goals into reality, not because I’m extraordinary, but because I now understand how precious time really is.”

“There’s no time for pretending any more”: Meredith Cowley, 46

“I was 38 when I was diagnosed with stage-four breast cancer. At the time, I was still nursing my first child, an 11-month-old baby boy. At first, I assumed the lump was just a blocked milk duct. But a check-up turned my world upside down.

Before motherhood, I spent 12 years in frontline child protection, a career I loved. But after finishing chemotherapy, I struggled to return. At a job interview, I couldn’t recall key theories due to ‘chemo brain’, which was both humbling and heartbreaking. That moment made it clear I needed to reinvent myself.

With no job or set plan, I leaned into a longstanding interest in property and launched a short-term rental management business. It gave me the flexibility, purpose and growth I needed to rebuild my life. My partner and I also relocated to the Sunshine Coast, as living somewhere beautiful became non-negotiable.

After a few years of ongoing clean scans, we decided to try for a second child to complete our family, despite the risks of me not being around. I had carried our first child but now was in menopause from the treatment, so my female partner carried our son.

Meredith Cowley: “I’ve stopped apologising for who I am.”

Since my diagnosis, I’ve felt a deep sense of urgency – not panic, but purpose. A drive to create lasting memories with my children and partner, and to live without regret. Grief remains an undercurrent, but I’ve learned to move with it, not fight it. I’ve always aimed to be emotionally present with my kids, but now I live that intention fully, knowing how quickly life can change. Career pressures no longer consume me.

Equally, this diagnosis also stripped away a lot of the petty stuff. Old dynamics, past hurts – they lost their power. I’ve made peace where I needed to. I’ve had open conversations about sexuality and mental health with my siblings. I’ve organised family reunions, and we celebrate birthdays and milestones with intention. There’s just no time for pretending any more.

I’ve now built a life rooted in presence, beauty and meaning, not despite the illness, but because of it. I learned how fleeting time is, and that we shouldn’t wait to say the things or do the things we want to. I train, I read, I’m gentler with myself. I’ve stopped apologising for who I am.

I make medium-term plans now, something I never thought I’d get to do. I’ve outlived my prognosis of five years – I’m going on to seven now – and I’m learning to hope again.”

“I’ve had to learn to prioritise my own health”: Beverley Omsky, 62

“In June 2022, I became unusually breathless. As an early childhood music specialist, singing had always been central to my work and, suddenly, that was becoming difficult. I assumed it was a chest infection, but after scans and further procedures, I was diagnosed with stage-four ovarian cancer.

I received the news alone at The Alfred hospital [in Melbourne], during strict COVID restrictions when no visitors were allowed. Telling my husband and children over the phone was surreal and devastating. Suddenly, nothing was the same.

Not long after my diagnosis, another heartbreak struck our family. In 2024, my beloved husband Martin, who had always been our family’s rock, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Within six weeks, he passed away. He was my partner, a devoted father and grandfather, my best friend and our family’s heart. His passing left a void that can never be filled.

Beverley Omsky: “Aligning my work with my values has filled me with peace and gratitude.”Credit: Beverley Omsky

Slowing down hasn’t been a choice, but a necessary lesson in ensuring I leave a meaningful legacy. After years of focusing on others and pushing through exhaustion, I’ve had to learn to prioritise my own health. With my energy drained, I was forced to rethink what achievement and purpose truly meant.

Now, achievement means simply being present, filling others with love, and encouraging my two daughters and five grandchildren to prioritise their relationships through daily contributions to family life and nurturing one another. My grandchildren inspire me every moment I’m with them.

My work also gained deeper meaning. What started in 2020 with Adventures at Humminghive, a children’s audiobook to bring musical education to rural communities, has transformed into a mission to connect with children through music and storytelling. I’m working on my third audiobook. Aligning my work with my values has filled me with peace and gratitude.

Despite challenges like sleeplessness, I use my time constructively, finding fulfilment in unexpected ways. I also volunteer for causes I care about. This journey has revealed a quiet strength within me, an enduring courage to face dark days and keep moving forward. Though I face a formidable challenge, I’ve found peace. I will leave behind my music and stories, encouraging children to live harmoniously, with love in their hearts, always.

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