Sally Shipard's Journey: Navigating Cancer, Grief, and Unconventional Family Building

When Sally Davis was diagnosed with a rare form of ovarian cancer, her surgeon presented two options.

She could risk her life to keep her uterus to proceed with IVF plans, or have life-saving surgery and never carry the baby she so desperately wanted.

"April [my partner] and I are sensitive to the word 'choice'," says the 38-year-old from Candelo, who is better known as former Matildas star Sally Shipard.

"It's just always been in my vision for myself to carry a baby and create a family … but I was very clear in that room with the surgeon, who was amazing, that I wanted the latter option."

Sally's surgery was in 2023. The grief of losing the chance to have baby is something she expects to carry forever, but she says she is becoming more comfortable with the unconventional life she is building with April.

These are her words.

I always knew I wanted to carry a child

I've always had this image of myself pregnant.

I didn't have a particular timeline. It was a matter of meeting someone like April and having more serious discussions about pursuing having a family.

April has always been really firm on the belief that they don't want to carry a child, so it's always been a super clear pathway for me, and we had begun entertaining the idea of IVF.

In 2020, I was having a physical examination early in the process, and they found an unusual growth on my right ovary. That was considered a borderline cancer.

I was a bit spooked about the high chance of it occurring in the other ovary, and having a baby was a little bit in the background while we were settling into our new home in Candelo (in south-eastern NSW).

I was having regular check-ups. Nothing seemed to raise any alarm bells for doctors.

But a GP I saw for a mental health plan picked up that I had really high tumour markers and from there, things started happening super fast.

Learning what I was going to lose

A biopsy revealed I had mucinous adenocarcinoma (a distinct type of cancerous tumour that arises in the body's glandular tissues) that had spread to the peritoneum, which is the film of tissue that covers every organ in the abdomen.

It was devastating and scary and super up-ending.

It felt like a relief, too, as we'd been thrust around for months to figure out what was going on.

I thought, "Well f***, we've finally got an answer, now what? This might be it; you might not have a chance to carry a child now".

You have to start wrapping your head around that grief, as well as whatever your body will have to lose or go through.

If I chose to leave my uterus, the risk of the cancer coming back was exponentially high, and I might die.

So I chose to have it removed, and went into surgical menopause at 36.

Sundays are the hardest

Recovery felt like some weird physical challenge. And being an athlete of many years, that felt doable. I felt capable of that.

But what I wasn't ready for was the waves of grief and how it can just fully catch me off guard even now.

I can easily be triggered. Sundays are really hard days.

During the week I'm distracted by work and immersed in weekly activities, then comes the weekend and everyone else is hanging out with their kiddos.

There is an openness to explore other ways to parent, but I don't want to rush through the grief. I'm still adjusting to the reality of not carrying my own child.

Sometimes I think when my biological clock gets past a certain age, I might feel better with my sense of grief.

When I retired from sport at 26 because of a chronic injury, what helped grieving that career was turning a certain age when I didn't think I'd be playing anymore anyway.

I'm just going to trust as the years go by, I'll still hold some level of grief, but that April and I are continuing to create a life that is right for us.

Leaning into an unconventional life

Time has been helpful. My siblings have been really respectful and aware. I can tell when I hang out with their kids, they make me feel special through their kids' eyes.

And April has of course been there to hug me through every stage of grief.

They played one of the most important roles in my cancer experience; advocacy throughout the hospital process. They were with me at every appointment.

Other things that have genuinely helped me navigate the grief are therapy — I've prioritised it. It's been a huge part of how I've learnt to sit with grief rather than resist it.

The ocean, too. April and I started surfing at 37. Being scared of both board and sharks, being beginners, going on adventures together, starting something completely new as adults has been quietly transformative.

And leaning into the life we actually have. We don't live a conventional life, and without kids that's even more pronounced.

I am getting more comfy with that and want to continue owning it rather than feel like society would expect something different.