Karen Murray: Vicky Phelan was a relatable warrior for those on a cancer journey

Vicky Phelan chatting to Ryan Tubridy on The Late Late Show. Picture: Andres Poveda

I never met Vicky Phelan, but she was a kindred spirit; focused, never afraid to speak her mind, and — by her own admission — a bit of a control freak. 

A few years younger, with a daughter and son of similar ages to my two. We both had cancer, but I had the luxury of wallowing in my — thankfully curable — illness back in 2011, and, unlike Vicky, didn’t face the Hobson’s choice of (a) sloping away from a courthouse to die quietly; or (b) taking on the establishment so that others would not face a similar fate.

Our only encounter was on Twitter towards the end of 2020. I had commented on an article about her, saying that it had been quite a decade for me — starting in cancer, ending in a pandemic, and with a divorce thrown in midway — but that women of Vicky’s strength and calibre made me think twice about whinging.

She responded, saying: “Sounds like you have had your own share of hardship, Karen.” 

It was only a few kind words — and I’ve no doubt she said similar to thousands of others who tagged her with messages of support — but it meant a lot.

'Whatever she was going through, she took the time to acknowledge the experiences of others. And that made her particularly special to survivors.'

It seemed to be Vicky’s way. Whatever she was going through, she took the time to acknowledge the experiences of others. And that made her particularly special to survivors.

People who have — or who have had — cancer could relate to Vicky because in spite of her extraordinary resilience and courage in the face of adversity she exuded an air of normality. A warrior but a relatable one.

In 2014, she was like any other working mother thrown into a world of cancer and all the chaos that ensues from that diagnosis. 

Her story could have been like many others — unknown and unheeded, important only to immediate friends and family — but she went public about a system that had failed her and many others.

But it wasn’t just her misdiagnosis or indeed her grim prognosis that endeared her to survivors. 

Vicky talked about having cancer in an open and honest way, often painstakingly and — for some — uncomfortably so. Nothing was off the table and nor should it have been.

There are many side-effects that come with the Big C. Being catapulted into premature menopause is one that countless women endure, often silently and painfully.

Hair loss is a known side-effect of chemo — but weight gain, loss of libido, joint pain, constipation, and sore bones are not always so transparently obvious.

Many women feel unwilling or unable to discuss personal, intimate issues with their doctors, partners, or friends who have not been through similar experiences. 

The flag at Limerick City Hall flying at half-mast in honour of Vicky Phelan. Picture: Brendan Gleeson

Vicky went on The Late Late Show and made a point of talking about her bowels with Ryan Tubridy as if she was chatting about the weather. She made light of it so that we wouldn’t hide behind our cushions, or maybe she hoped we’d cringe a little less.

On other occasions, she spoke about the fact that radiation left her unable to have sex and why the lack of intimacy post-treatment should not be a taboo subject because it affected so many women who felt they had to suffer in silence.

She made us laugh, and cry, while reassuring us that ‘women’s issues' should be part of the conversation. There’s nothing distasteful or embarrassing about it, it could save a life, mend a marriage, or just make someone’s journey a little bit easier.

Death is another taboo that she ripped apart, speaking about it on her last appearance on The Late Late Show with a searing honesty. 

Some may have found it difficult to listen to her funeral plans; I found it endearing. Why shouldn’t she have control of her final day on the Earth, ask for friends to wear bright colours and book her favourite band to perform on the day?

I never met Vicky, but that doesn’t matter. I feel as if I knew her, as did countless other survivors. 

She made a difference to cancer, to women, to Ireland. She stood up and fought where many others would have — quite understandably — faded into the background. And she was fearless, fiery, and pragmatic right up to the end.

Mná na hÉireann salute a woman and a true warrior, the likes of which we may never see again.