Helen is a young professional working in data analysis. Beyond crunching numbers, she enjoys writing and spending time outside running, biking and connecting with others. She began taking an active approach to learning about and managing cancer after her aunt and mom were diagnosed with lung cancer, and provides a multicultural perspective on living with cancer. She lives in San Francisco, CA.

Helen C

The woman who raised me and I did not always see eye to eye. In fact, as two stubborn, opinionated characters we frequently bickered, challenged and exchanged choice words with one another. 

As I reflect on 25 years strong with Mom, here are some of my favorite words that we exchanged. We gave each other many cards over the past few years, one of which she had told me she looked for a long time searching for the right message to express her feelings. It reads:

"When you have a daughter who makes you proud, makes you laugh and, very often, makes your day ... you know what joy is. When you have a daughter who is a good person with a gracious heart and generous spirit ... you know what peace is. When you have a daughter whose beauty (inside and out) is matched only by her compassion for others ... you know what love is. Because I have you for my daughter, I know what it is to be truly blessed."

When I first read those words — as I read them now — I feel so close to my mom. Recently, I found a card with the words that expressed how I feel about her. I read this aloud to her on Christmas Day.

"Dear Mom, I'm so grateful for the way I was raised. You were never afraid to be my mother — to put your foot down, to teach me right from wrong, to make sure I did my best. You always let me know I had a mama who cared about me, who believed in me, who was there for me no matter what. Growing up with that kind of love and support made such a difference in my life; it made me who I am today."

My mother was never afraid to voice her opinion or be one to mince words, to put it lightly; but she was always pure in her intentions and true in her actions, and I feel so clearly, so humbly loved. As I go forward, I remember her strength and purity, her fierce sense of pride, her generous heart and sensitivity, her sense of humor (she once packed me a peanut-butter-jelly-and-ham sandwich because I refused to pick one of the two). 

Throughout her life and especially in her fight against lung cancer, Mom set us an example in unconditional devotion, taught our family valuable life lessons and never lost her indomitable spirit.

I know Mom is with us now and always. Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes, because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation. I love you Mom, Happy New Year. Rest in peace and God bless.

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A Tribute to Mom

It’s so painful and heartbreaking. I feel so sad, scared and hurt for my mom. I don’t want to see her suffer, and I can’t imagine how painful the varying forms of aggressive treatment must be. I can’t fathom how brave, how strong, how full of the best things in life she is. She’s been increasingly coughing and short of breath over the past few months. Her waning ability to communicate with us seems even more cruel. Yet she continues to teach us, even as she goes through this unbearable experience. I think back to the first time she received chemo. My brother, father and I were all in the hospital room, and we spent that afternoon laughing and chatting, while my mom was tearing up at times.

For the first 20-odd years of my life, my mom emphasized success, achievement and being able to make something of yourself. That day in the hospital, my mom told me to do whatever it took to be happy and take care of myself. I didn’t realize this at the time, but she had given me her blessing to be whatever I wanted in life, and helped accelerate my own process of resetting my trajectory. In the past, it had been so hard to honor old-world values and balance them against my own dreams. Now I was free-wheeling, careening, trying to figure out how to finally, suddenly align my life according to my own values and against constraints that had been lifted. I had my work carved out for me, and I wanted nothing more than to course-correct in one fell swoop.

More than crying, more than talking, more than writing, I find taking action as the thing that makes me feel most alive and helpful. There is nothing that anyone can say or do that would change my feelings. There is nothing that I can say or write that would change the reality of our situation. All I can do is focus on making the changes I need and live according to my values. I need to share the experiences that have brought me so much pain and growth. These experiences helped to bridge so many gaps that a younger version of myself didn’t know how to cope with. I previously turned away from these experiences and feelings, but then I grew up. Cancer has shown me how I let my life be shaped by forces outside of my control: cancer, mental illness, generational and cultural gaps, language barriers. I have hidden and run from them in the past and felt so isolated in their shadow.

But I don’t feel the need to do that anymore. I don’t need to be scared. I don’t need to run. I don’t need to hide. I don’t need to be alone. Instead of giving into fear, anxiety and external pressures, I can choose to make decisions where I stand up for myself and my interests, protect my time and energy, and contribute to causes that I care about. I can see now that these experiences are human and universal, bigger than you or me. These things are a part of life, and all of them lessons to learn. Isn’t it worth my discomfort and vulnerability to be open and honest about them?

Even during her hardest days, my mom is still giving to me, teaching me, STILL giving to ME. That thought kills me, and I feel so lucky, so full, to have a mom like her. This weekend, I’m going to go home, and I’m going to spend time with my mom and keep her company. I’m going to share laughs with her, and likely shed some tears, for how flawed and beautiful life is. 

Snapshots of emotions experienced and lessons learned from a mid-20s, Chinese-American daughter of a patient.

A Young Adult Learns from Lung Cancer Caregiving

My parents immigrated to the Silicon Valley in the early 90s, a long distance from the rest of our family in Nanjing, China. My parents were the pillars holding up our immediate family of four, and I remember seeing our extended family once every few years. Six months ago, my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. Her specific type is non-small cell lung cancer caused by EGFR gene mutation. This type of lung cancer is common in Asian, non-smoking females, especially under the age of sixty. My mom, the third of four sisters, lost her second oldest sister to the same cancer a few years prior. Shortly after the diagnosis, my parents shared the news with my brother and me, and slowly began telling the rest of our family and close friends.

A new cancer diagnosis can have a wide range of impact on a family, especially when the members are as far flung and widespread in physical and cultural proximity as we are. Over the past few months, I have witnessed truly astounding and inspirational initiative from family, both near and far, to care for my mother. My father, who lost his job a month before my mom’s diagnosis, paid immediate attention to the reality of illness and prioritized securing complete health insurance for my mom and himself. While balancing his own job search, my father accompanied my mother to various specialists in the Bay area and, eventually, to Stanford Hospital, for numerous visits. He outfitted the back of our family van with pillows and blankets and turned it into a space my mom could sleep during drives to the hospital. Before my mother’s diagnosis, my father had planned for and purchased a home for their retirement, further away from Silicon Valley — a move he was very much looking forward to. However, he promptly sold the property to ensure access to high quality health care when it became clear the level of treatment my mom needed. With unbelievable dignity and grace, I saw him transform from software engineer to round-the-clock caregiver. This was a huge transition as he took on the daily tasks of cooking, cleaning, planning, driving and providing emotional support.

Outside of my immediate family, my mother’s youngest sister (my aunt Lilian), moved to the same city a few years after we settled in Pleasanton, California. Aunt Lilian has similarly assumed a caregiving role with resilience and consistency. She cooks meals for our family on countless occasions and regularly comes by to pray with and for my mom. As an active church member, she and my uncle encouraged my mom to reach out to other church members, many of whom are also Chinese immigrants, for support and company. This has connected my mom with a source of stability and solace throughout treatment, and I often see her praying in difficult moments. My mother’s eldest sister lives in Nanjing, China, but upon receiving news of my mother’s condition, she boarded a one-way flight and came to stay with us to help with caregiving and bring much-needed company. This incredible woman, who speaks not a word of English and had never traveled outside of her country before, journeyed alone to accompany my mother to doctor’s appointments and cook for her! My brother, an undergraduate in college, and I, a recent graduate, took turns visiting and taking extended time off to be with our family.

The level of dedication and love I witnessed during this time and continue to witness is incredibly humbling. Previous cultural and generational gaps, exacerbated by language barriers, melted away in the face of my family’s actions. I saw there had only ever been, was only ever, and would forever be love between my family, and it is a blessing to experience our coming together every day.

Helen C

A Tribute to Mom

A Young Adult Learns from Lung Cancer Caregiving

Coming Together in the Face of Lung Cancer

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