Another day, another cancer faker exposed. In July, in the Adelaide District Court, Kelly Val Smith pleaded guilty to four counts of deception and one of dishonestly dealing with documents.
During sentencing submissions two days ago, victim impact statements revealed the 40-year-old Port Adelaide woman had left a trail of devastated family members and friends, financially bereft, their trust shattered.
As I wrote last year, this is essentially a woman’s crime. It may or may not be associated with a psychiatric disorder more commonly diagnosed in women, known as Histrionic Personality Disorder or HPD, an ugly form of attention seeking and a close relative of psychopathy.
That’s not an excuse by the way. Although it may in some instances provide an explanation to the seemingly inexplicable.
Kelly Val Smith had deceived her family and friends for almost a decade. The charges go back to offences in 2007 and through to 2015.
Ultimately, the attention seeker got what she wanted. She made news around the world, albeit for all the wrong reasons.
Many readers will know I have cancer. My situation is good. I had surgery to remove my cancerous bladder and prostate gland five months ago.
I now have what is called a neo-bladder, a bladder fashioned from a piece of the ileum or third section of the small intestine. The surgeons whipped this out and stitched it up like baseball before connecting it to the ureter and the urethra.
It is a transplant of sorts, I suppose, but as it was something of mine which performed a function that has merely been reconstructed to now do something else, there was little or no chance of rejection.
It has come with some surprises. I don’t want to gross anybody out, but my new bladder continues to behave in a manner any self-respecting ileum would, namely creating mucous. So, when I go to the toilet, I need not only urinate, I need a handkerchief as well. Boom-tish.
My drinking days may not be totally behind me, but I have learned the days of wretched excess are over. The new bladder does not appreciate the rapid introduction of eight schooners of barely digested draught beer and will let me know its displeasure in no uncertain means. Put it this way, I don’t wear light coloured trousers anymore.
In fact, after a good, old fashioned bender you could stand me up on the front lawn and call me the sprinkler. Sadly, I am known as Pope for this reason and not for any claim to infallibility.
Post-surgery I am in as good a spot as I could possibly be but I could be re-diagnosed at any time.
I haven’t learnt to live with it. I just live with it. It’s a bit like having to carry around an old suitcase. It’s no great burden but still I always lug it around with me.
Others are less fortunate. Enduring painful treatment, surgery, radiation and/or chemo, they then learn the terrible deceit of false hope. A friend had a double mastectomy, believing as I did that if you remove the tissue where the cancer is found, it will be gone forever.
She recovered from what was traumatic and painful surgery and thought the worst was behind her, only to be hit several months later with the dreadful ‘m’ word — metastasis.
Metastatic cancer is a secondary cancerous growth which pops up in other parts of the body. It is a killer or more properly anyone suffering from it can expect to be in treatment for what remains of their lives.
I can’t imagine how devastating this must be. There is simply no way to prepare for it.
Today I will meet with my surgeon, an associate professor of urology. It’s been six months since the surgery and I will see him armed with half a dozen gigantic envelopes containing CT scans of my abdomen and spine.
I’m not expecting any nasty surprises. The scans show no sign of metastatic growth. I know this because I have already discussed the results with my GP.
Still, when I walk through the door into the consulting room all bets are off. After two years, I have learned cancer has a way of kicking you when you least expect it.
Imagine trying to fake that kind of anxiety.
Amazingly, Kelly Val Smith had been doing it pretty much every day for eight years. Telling her family and friends she was for the off, extorting them emotionally for money and using Facebook as a form of confirming medical appointments that she never made let alone kept. She chose her fake cancer well. Cervical cancer. I mean, who is going to ask questions about that? Who would have the temerity to pick away at that web of lies?
Smith prepared a statement which was read to the court. Predictably it contained a series of references to herself rather than the victims she conned.
“Why did I do it? I wanted to feel accepted and loved, and wanted to please people,” she wrote.
“I was feeling depressed and worthless, and wanted to feel liked and appreciated by all … I loved all my family and friends and hated myself.”
People with cancer appreciate the value of family and friends. A cancer diagnosis may lead to some financial hardship, but I don’t know of any cancer sufferer who has had the audacity to demand large sums of money from relatives or relatives.
My friend with the double mastectomy is facing a long march into the unknown. She has the scars to prove her cancer. I, too, have an eight-inch scar down the length of my belly. The bloody thing only healed up a month ago.
We both know what cancer is about and I reckon we could pick a faker from a mile away.
Smith, who was remanded in custody in June, will be sentenced next month.
This column was published in The Australian on 20 September 2017.
Glad you’re recovering well Jack. Very good to hear. I don’t want to crow but my recovery is nothing short of miraculous. I feel much better than I did before surgery. jackHK was right; slow, steady progress. I’m back to where I was, full of vim and vigour. My circular journey around Queensland has emboldened me to seek wider adventures, and a trip to China to follow the Silk Road is being planned, (nothing to do with following QC’s you understand), perhaps after the Tests this summer.
I think if something’s gonna get you it will. Ma never smoked, she hated it, and wouldn’t allow it in the house, but died of lung cancer. Dad smoked like a train, pipe tobacco rolled in newspaper; he drowned in 6″ of water, in very arid country, when he fell from his horse and got knocked out. When your number comes up…
I can think of one contributor who have a smile on their dial. An impressive and convincing win for the pies and a shock exit for the tigers. I now realise that Eddie McGuire is equally as unpleasant and annoying regardless of whether his team is winning or losing. I’ve a feeling it will be the latter next week, as Buckley doesn’t inspire confidence, and he will excel himself.
Anywho, it will be interesting to see what happens to Billy Slater and Go Bunnies.
You’re a better man than I Jack, tough on you and the family so why someone would do this just to gain attention/whatever is beyond me.
Hopefully the worst is behind you and being a Carlton supporter is the worst thing in life you’ll have to deal with.
EPL tips.
On it.
There’s nothing stranger than people. Glad to see the recovery is going well mate.
My father succumbed to bowel cancer after three years of fighting it.
The initial shock of the diagnosis led to endless treatments and seemed under control for a long time however I watched that relentless disease take everything from him during his final two months in palliative care.
How anybody could fake what it actually does to a sufferer is mind numbing and pathetic beyond words.
So pleased you have recovered JTI. 💙
I say Jack, that new comments section over the wall is hopeless.
No chance of sorting Oldest, Newest or Top comments.
I used to sort by Top comments.
Now one has to read through all the drivel to maybe find a pearl of wisdom. Well not this baby thanks!
And if you’re looking for the oldest posts you have to scroll down forever.
Maybe that was the aim – to reduce comments. Well it will.
If not, who was the turkey who suggested change?
I don’t much about it but I’m told there are a few teething problems. It’ll come good, I’m sure.
What a nasty piece of work that lady is. Essentially she is guilty of extortion using emotional blackmail. Just terrible.
Go well with the new baseball, Jack. I hope the grassy knoll comes up on here soon as it’s a goodun and more palatable (although a perverse tale of paranoia and conspiracy) than this one.
Tomorrow. In full.
That will trigger a few.
Top read Jack. Well done. Life is a vehicle, drive it like you stole it.
Great read, Mr Insider and written from a first hand account of having Cancer too, bravo you. How absolutely shameful was that woman, what a disgrace to herself she is.
I have a friend going through Cancer right now and its in her bowel. Chemo has failed so her Doctors say an Operation is next. Yesterday she learnt it had spread further sadly so we are all praying for her.
Do pray your Cancer does not recur, surely you have been through enough already and by what you write have the guts to cope with the inconvience it still causes you. Cheers