Moving on with life gives me hope
In 2014, a 60-year-old Dr Cheah Yin Mee received a stage 2 breast cancer diagnosis. The former teacher educator accepted the news unflinchingly and underwent a mastectomy, chemotherapy and targeted treatments. Along the way, she successfully completed a course in mindfulness therapy and gained clarity into the third stage of her life. “Life has to go on,” she says matter-of-factly. This is her story of resilience, told in her own words.
“For most of my life, I worked as a teacher educator and an English language consultant. At 60, I began my training in mindfulness.
This involved a yearlong online course with a US-based organisation, Mindful Schools. It culminated in a trip to California for my second and final physical retreat. During my time there, everyone thought I was rocking my headscarves.
They had no idea that I was ill. Oh, and that I was bald, of course.
My Cancer Journey
Few people knew I had breast cancer mainly because I didn’t look sick. Despite occasional struggles, I managed to keep up my food intake, ultimately losing between 3 to 4kg only.
The journey began in 2014. Up until then, I had been regular with my health check-ups but in that year, I did my mammogram later than usual because I was busy with work.
Even before the delayed check-up, I had a premonition that something wasn’t well. I can’t explain it but I had constant visions of myself driving into a wall.
When I eventually found out about my diagnosis, I did have a moment of guilt. Did I fail somewhere? But I dismissed it. I have always been a disciplined person and do not indulge in excesses. I knew I had to focus on getting well instead of asking questions like, “Why me?”
Right before my surgery, I attended a mindfulness talk where I learnt that anticipation can cause more pain than the actual event. I realised then that I should stop thinking about the ‘what-ifs’ of the surgery and just be in the present. That way, I avoided too much overthinking and anxiety.
Of course, my treatment wrought physical changes. I lost my hair, left breast and 19 lymph nodes. However, hair can grow back. And though it’s inconvenient to lose body parts, I’m grateful I survived. I kept busy with work that I enjoyed and my mindfulness training helped in emotional regulation.
That doesn’t mean I was never sad or upset. But being helpless and negative wasn’t something I dwelt on.
Life Goes On
After surgery, I lived my life as normal. I got up each day and if I didn’t feel too bad, I went for a walk. I did yoga, I meditated and cleaned my house. Then I did my writing work. I read. Books always give me hope especially when I read about other people’s struggles and see that mine is a drop in the ocean.
In short, unless I was really indisposed, I did not let cancer change my schedule.
In between my surgery and chemo, I even managed a bus trip to Perak in Malaysia with my family. And immediately after my targeted treatment ended in 2017, I flew to San Francisco by myself for my week-long retreat.
Life has to go on. Moving on with life gives me hope.
Slowing Down to Admire the View
I’m 70 this year and retired although I teach mindfulness classes as and when I can. I also volunteer and actively maintain my writing, art, yoga, and meditation practices.
I know folks talk about how cancer gives them a second chance at life or an opportunity to live their life again. I won’t say this applies to me completely because I would live my life the same way again!
But I would say that the illness made me slow down. I was already slowing down through my mindfulness practice but cancer pulled the handbrakes on me. It allowed me to look deeper into the next decade of my life. In a way too, it helped me prepare for retirement at 65. That had always been a challenge because running your own business, as I did, means you never have to retire.
So I would say my cancer journey took me on a detour but the views were sometimes inspiring and educational, so I decided to linger a little longer on the side roads. I always have the main road in mind – but now, I drive a lot slower. And with plenty of stops.
On Finding Hope
I vividly recall an incident at the clinic while waiting for my chemotherapy session. A terrified woman entered the room and saw me.
She asked if I was there for chemo and remarked that I did not look like a cancer patient. I assured her I was a regular at the clinic. It turned out that she was afraid of the chemo process. I took time to reassure her and, since I didn’t look sick, she felt a bit consoled.
Cancer is always a shocking experience when we first encounter it. We hear people whispering about the “Big C” like a death sentence.
I don’t want to deny the negative impact it can have on our life, but I also want to say that like any bad life encounter, a cancer diagnosis allows one to make a choice about how to deal with it. We can let it overwhelm us or we can do our best with our resources. So, I would say, don’t lament the whys and wherefores but actively focus on how you want to take up this challenge.
Sometimes folks diagnosed with cancer also choose to withdraw from the world. I respect wanting some space, but I also want to say that there is no shame in cancer.
We are more than our body parts, and we don’t always have control over our body. Getting support and talking to others can do more good for our emotional health than mere medical treatment.
Never blame yourself for getting cancer.