learning · Russian — bilingual opening

I Survived

After cancer, medical errors, and life with a colostomy, Olga Selina turned survival into a practice of dignity, beauty, and resistance to a system that nearly let her die.

Хожу с калоприемником и выгляжу моднее всех
Holod · By Yulia Mikhailova · 1 June 2026 · read the original in Russian →

В 19 лет у Ольги Селиной из Новокузнецка нашли опухоль в кишечнике. Она пережила, как сама говорит, «два года ада». Ей отказывались проводить химиотерапию, назначили неправильное лечение, а потом и вовсе отправили умирать в хоспис. Но Ольга не сдалась: она добилась правильного лечения в столице и смогла справиться с болезнью. Годы борьбы за выживание, по словам Ольги, радикально изменили ее характер. Она научилась ценить жизнь, как никогда раньше, несмотря на то, что теперь вынуждена ходить с калоприемником. Сейчас она шьет красивые чехлы для колостомы — и обрела цель в жизни. Ольга рассказала «Холоду» о своем опыте и о том, как стильный чехол для калоприемника может изменить жизнь человека.

At nineteen, Olga Selina from Novokuznetsk was found to have a tumor in her intestine. She lived through, as she puts it, “two years of hell.” Doctors refused to give her chemotherapy, prescribed the wrong treatment, and then simply sent her to a hospice to die. But Olga did not give up: she secured proper treatment in the capital and managed to overcome the disease. The years she spent fighting for survival, Olga says, radically changed her character. She learned to value life as never before, even though she now has to live with a colostomy bag. Today she sews beautiful covers for ostomy pouches, and has found a purpose in life. Olga told Holod about her experience, and about how a stylish cover for a colostomy bag can change a person’s life.

Материал создан на основе интервью, взятого редакцией у героя. Речь героя отредактирована и сокращена для ясности с согласия героя, проведены фактчек и корректура. Мнение героя может не совпадать с позицией редакции.

This piece is based on an interview conducted by the editors with the subject. The subject’s speech has been edited and condensed for clarity with her consent; fact-checking and copyediting have been carried out. The subject’s opinion may not coincide with the position of the editors.

I survivedЯ выжила

In the autumn of 2022, doctors found a tumor in my intestine. I had surgery at the Novokuznetsk City Hospital: they removed the tumor and part of my bowel, and brought out a colostomy. But that was only the beginning of my troubles. Because I was put on the wrong diet, I developed an intestinal obstruction; the doctors mistook the accumulated fecal matter on an MRI scan for metastases and gave me another cancer diagnosis. They said I had only a month left to live and sent me to a hospice to die.

But even that was not the end of my misfortunes. The diagnosis, as later became clear, was wrong, and the treatment made everything much worse. I have already told the full story in detail: all these twists and turns, and how my mother and I fought for my life and for proper treatment. If you are interested, you can read that story here.

Now, in 2026, I feel wonderful and live a full life without limitations. I exercise and go dancing. I only travel every six months to the Blokhin Cancer Center in Moscow to have my health checked: I do tumor-marker tests, MRI scans, and CT scans. Since September 2025 I have been living in Novosibirsk: I feel better here than in Moscow because I am closer to home, to my friends, and to my family.

When I broke out of the hospice and began receiving proper treatment in Moscow, of course I had side effects, and chemotherapy left me feeling exhausted. But none of that mattered to me.

My mother supported me enormously. She would say that in order to heal, I myself had to become the energy I wanted to attract. I had to feel healthy even when I felt unwell. Following her advice, I returned to everything I had given up because of the illness.

I got my driver’s license and went back to my studies. Covered in injection marks and skinny as a rail, I would put on a wig and go to classes during the two weeks of each month when I was not undergoing chemotherapy (the schedule was two weeks of injections, two weeks of rest). I made up all my overdue coursework and passed my exams, and last month I became a qualified specialist in computer design. Of course I listened to my body, and when I truly could not go on, I rested. But I understood that I needed to keep moving and keep doing what I loved, to let my body know: we are not giving up, we are staying afloat.

Those affirmations carried me forward. I painted pictures (I have loved drawing since childhood), and joined the creative collective DELLARTE, where the group stages dance performances. I helped them with makeup and filming. “If you told anyone on our team that back then you were wearing a wig and undergoing treatment, they wouldn’t believe you,” my dance coach, who knew my story, later told me. And I really did try to make it look that way. I did not want to associate myself only with cancer, an ostomy bag, and the side effects of chemotherapy.

“Olya, thank you, now I won’t be embarrassed to go to school”

My new work helped me remind myself that I am strong, beautiful, and capable of coping with hardship. Back in 2022, I had a colostomy formed: in other words, they removed part of my bowel, brought another section of it outside, and stitched it to my abdomen. Since then I have lived with a colostomy bag, and I often found myself wondering:

One day, when I was living in Moscow and undergoing treatment, the idea came to me to sew something beautiful out of fabric for the colostomy bag, something like a cover. I went to a wholesale store and bought a lot of different materials. At that moment I was not thinking at all about practicality or how comfortable the fabrics would be to wear; I simply chose the colors and textures I liked. That evening I took out my tiny sewing machine from Wildberries, which had cost 500 rubles, and made my first cover. I tried it on and realized: it looked like an interesting little bag. Strangers would never suspect there was a colostomy pouch inside.

I posted a reel of my work on Instagram, and overnight it got 100,000 views. People living with colostomies wrote to tell me what a great idea it was, while those who did not know my story mistook the cover for a belt bag and asked for the item number.

That was how I began making custom covers. At first I was afraid. I worried about whether they would hold properly and not slip down, but once the first reviews came in, I breathed out. I asked customers to be honest with me and give truthful feedback, but every single one said everything was excellent.

Now I understand that I am making something more than just covers. People thank me not for the product itself, but for the way it changes a person’s relationship to themselves and to their particular condition. Often people receive transparent ostomy bags through state benefits. And they see their own fecal matter. It is uncomfortable to look at even for the person themselves, and they also have to hide the bag under their clothes from others. Many are ashamed of it, and beautiful covers allow them to forget about that shame and about the need to hide their colostomy. On the contrary, it becomes a way to emphasize their uniqueness.

Often it is not people with colostomies themselves who contact me, but their relatives. Recently the mother of an eleven-year-old boy wrote to me and told me that her son loves dinosaurs and is passionate about football. I sewed him a cover with footballs on it, and he recorded a touching video for me, saying: “Olya, thank you, now I won’t be embarrassed to go to school.”

Another girl told me that her mother had recently had a colostomy formed, and that she loved everything connected with Africa. I sewed her an African-style cover, and later watched an unboxing video: the woman receives my little cover as a gift from her family and laughs at the sticker I had put into the parcel.

A young woman with scars very similar to mine ordered a white cover with flowers for herself, and she too wrote me touching words. She told me that she no longer wanted to hide; on the contrary, she was ready to experiment with style and wear a swimsuit. In moments like that, I understand that I am doing something good.

“What hole? What bowel?”

In the future, I want to scale this project of mine. I want to keep working on individual orders, produce basic-colored covers for everyday wear, but also turn them into a creative and socially meaningful statement. I have come up with two beautiful cover designs that emphasize how strength and beauty can be born from illness. In the first design, an eye is depicted on the cover; in the second, it looks as though flowers are growing out of the colostomy. I would like to show them, along with several other themed installations, at exhibitions. More than 100,000 people in Russia live with a stoma. And yet many feel invisible and alone.

I myself had to learn how to change the bags from videos on the internet. After the surgery at the Novokuznetsk hospital, no one explained clearly or showed me how it was done.

For me, as for all the other patients in the ward, barely recovered from surgery and anesthesia, all of it sounded incomprehensible. What hole? What bowel? But no further instructions followed, and I had to figure everything out myself. When I took the bag off for the first time, everything was still fresh scars and turned inside out. It was a frightening sight, but I suppose my survival instinct kicked in: my feelings of disgust and self-pity switched off, and I taught myself to change the bags.

More than that, I changed them not only for myself but for the elderly women who shared my ward. I remember one of them especially well; her name was Galina Vasilyevna. She was too frightened not only to change the bags herself, but even to “look down there,” and no one helped her. Because fecal matter had built up, she developed severe skin irritation around the colostomy; she was in pain and crying: “Daughter, help me.” And I helped: I changed her bags in the cold hospital toilet and applied zinc anti-inflammatory ointment to the irritated skin.

I no longer change bags for old women, but in essence I am continuing the same mission: I tell people that it is possible to live with a colostomy, and I remind them that each of us is more than our stoma, or any other condition or illness.

I am not “shit” at all

At nineteen I had to come very close to death, but illness became an important trial for me, and through that experience I learned a great deal about myself. Before that I had been an insecure girl. I was constantly picking myself apart and did not know where to turn. I had no inner support, and I did not receive it from outside either: my parents divorced, and as a teenager I was left to my own devices. I took on many things, began studying for two qualifications at once, one in web design and one in artificial intelligence, and got a job as a waitress, but I never felt that any of these pursuits was “mine,” and I abandoned everything halfway.

The only thing I liked was making art: drawing and dancing. But financially, I could not afford it. I remember one day, in despair, I burst into tears and mentally appealed to God: “Lord, if you can hear me, help me. I don’t know where to go next. I don’t know who I am, what I am. All my peers are already doing something, studying, enjoying it all. And I just can’t find myself. Help me, show me the way, and I will endure any trial.”

I do not know who pulled my tongue, but the trial I was given was not an easy one. Yet because of what I lived through, I finally stopped doubting myself and my strength, and began taking responsibility for myself. I understood that if I did not fight with everything I had, I would simply die. Because the situation was this: either I gave up, stayed in the hospice, and perished, or I clung to life.

I chose the second, and I believe that my love of life and positive thinking are what ultimately saved me. Of course, the decisive role in my recovery was played by the Moscow doctors who found the right treatment for me, and by the support of my mother, who climbed over fences for my sake and did every imaginable thing (I have already told all of that story).

Over these four years I have understood that I am not “shit” at all: not weak and not worthless, as I used to think. I am a strong person who knows how to laugh where others would give up and cry. Maybe that is not the trait of an entirely mentally healthy person, but I would not trade it for anything.

People who have lived through something terrible tend to search for meaning in what happened to them. And I found it. My path of fighting cancer and medical arbitrariness revealed to me the boundless resource of light and love for life and for people that, as it turns out, had always been inside me.

I want to influence the systemХочу повлиять на систему

Now I want to be of use to people by sharing my experience. I believe there is nothing shameful or disgraceful in that; more than that, my example may help many people. Someone who is ill may learn my story and wonder whether they are being treated properly. Someone, I hope, may decide not to give up. Maybe someone will order my colostomy cover and feel stronger. And someone who is not ill may look at my work, be inspired, and decide that they too have nothing to be ashamed of, and begin expressing their creativity.

I will be glad if someone comes to my page and thinks: “Oh, this girl survived cancer, she has some kind of bag on her side and scars, and all I have are financial difficulties.” If my experience helps a person exhale and realize that their problems are not actually a matter of life and death, and that they will cope with everything, I will feel that I am not doing all this in vain.

Some people have written to me saying I should try to restore justice and sue over the poor treatment and the way I was treated. For now, I am not ready to travel around hospitals and courts, gather documents, pay lawyers, and return to the hell I escaped from. I want to direct the life resources I have been given toward creation, creativity, and direct help for people. But I do not rule out the possibility that my position may change with time. Perhaps I will return to this question after I have reconstructive surgery to close the stoma, that is, to restore the continuity of the bowel, and recover.

I imagine that if you spoke with every medical worker, there would be explanations for why they treat patients this way and why they make mistakes. So I would not want to punish everyone who harmed me in one way or another. I believe punishment is deserved only by those who showed me cruelty and whose wrong decisions nearly caused me to die. I want not only to punish individual specialists, but also to influence the system that allows such things to happen in our hospitals. Who knows, perhaps I will manage it. After all, I have already done the impossible once.

Y done · S save · G great · B bad · N not for me