#MumStory: Her Child Had Cancer Before He Was 2 Years Old
After her son was diagnosed with leukaemia, Rebecca turned down a job offer to become a stay-at-home mum and full-time caregiver
By Terri Kue -
#MumStory is a series by The Singapore Women’s Weekly to uncover the underrated and underreported moments in motherhood and parenting — because we believe every mum has a story worth telling. Got a story to share? Email us at sww@sph.com.sg or slide into our DMs on Instagram.
When Rebecca Sit took her son Damien to KK Women's and Children's Hospital (KKH), she was searching for an answer as to why his legs weren't healing after a stumble. She didn't expect the answer to be leukaemia. Leukaemia is cancer of the blood cells, and is the most common form of cancer in young children.
Rebecca's life took a drastic turn as she adapted to being Damien's main caregiver. Due to his compromised immune system from chemotherapy, Rebecca and her husband had to cut off most physical contact with friends and family. During that time, Rebecca watched her son suffer from the effects of the medication and treatment. Thankfully, Damien, now seven, is in his third year of remission.
Rebecca, currently senior communications executive at Hegen, shares with us the struggles she faced whilst looking after Damien, and how she coped during the trying times.
Read on for her #MumStory.
I didn't have a big reason for becoming a mum. I just wanted to have a mini-me that I could love, cuddle, and care for.
What would you say is the hardest thing about being a mum?
It is keeping your cool when your child tests your patience. I believe most of us try our best to keep calm, but we won't get it right every time.
Finding that balance to help our children learn and grow within safe boundaries while also taking care of ourselves is hard. We just have to keep trying and embrace that sometimes we will fail. But we have to remember that it's okay and acknowledge that we tried.
It all started with recurring low-grade fevers shortly after he entered playgroup at 18 months in February 2018. He had them frequently without other symptoms. I thought it was just because of the germs and viruses that kids catch in childcare (which was very common), and I didn’t think it was anything serious.
One day in April 2018, he tripped over the leg of a dining chair and his leg swelled, followed by a fever. The bone doctors at KKH said it was likely just a metatarsal fracture, so they put a cast on him for two weeks. During these two weeks, he continued having recurring fever and poor appetite, and he seemed lethargic. What concerned me was that he started saying his elbows hurt too. The moment he woke up while still in the cot, he would point at his elbow and tell us that he felt pain.
When we carried him, we noticed he wouldn’t move that arm where the elbow hurt. We brought him back to KKH A&E to check on multiple occasions. With each visit, we received different diagnoses, such as an ear infection or something that would pass.
When his leg cast was removed, the bone doctor said he should be able to walk again after two weeks. But nearly three weeks later, I noticed Damien couldn't walk. He kept limping and said his legs hurt. I brought him to see a physiotherapist and it didn’t help. There were also tiny red spots on his back that would come and go. I remember searching on Google and what seemed most plausible was childhood arthritis.
At the end of May 2018, he woke up one morning with an oral thrush. I brought him to the PD and took the chance to request for a blood test. That same afternoon, our PD said that the blood test results showed Damien is anaemic. He suggested quickly getting an appointment with a specialist to check on Damien.
It was almost as if God heard my prayer because I actually managed to get an appointment the next day at such short notice. When I brought Damien in, I explained all that had been happening the past two months and insisted they do an X-ray of Damien’s legs again.
After a few hours, I was called into the room for the X-ray results. When I stepped into the room, I saw a few doctors huddling around the computer screen. I started feeling nervous. Why were there so many doctors?
They then told me Damien’s bones on his legs seemed to have deteriorated, and that they looked worse than when he was first cast up. He had to be warded immediately for further tests.
Up to that point, there was no mention of cancer at all. To be honest, while I was worried, I was also glad to have specialists looking into his condition. I really wanted to know what was wrong so we could get Damien treated quickly.
Upon being warded, various specialists and doctors came to talk to us. A rheumatologist came to see Damien and after a number of little exercises he did with Damien, he said he didn’t think he had arthritis. But he said that in order to rule out other things like cancer, we would have to do a bone marrow aspiration.
I agreed to it and prayed it was nothing too serious. But two days later, the doctors told me he had leukaemia. My heart sank and I couldn’t hear anything else.
My heart broke. It was like glass dropping onto the floor and shattering into pieces. I couldn't understand how my child, who was not even two years old, had cancer.
To me, cancer happened to adults, not kids! I cried a lot. It felt like I was crumbling apart. I wondered: Why is this happening to my child? Why did it have to be cancer? People die from cancer; would Damien die as well?
Does Damien know he had cancer?
When Damien was first diagnosed with cancer, he was just shy of turning two years old, and his limited vocabulary made it difficult for him to understand what was happening. But we talked openly and honestly to him about it. We did not sugar-coat our words nor lie about the fact that he was not well. We also laid out the procedures he would have to go through.
Of course, we explained things to him in simple words that he could understand, though we made sure it was as accurate as possible. We also engaged him in play therapy with the social worker when in the hospital and at home. He would pretend-play with administering medication and giving injections to stuffed animals. I could see he really enjoyed it and found it a good way to help him process what he was going through. As he went through treatment and spent a lot of time in the hospital, he gradually became more aware of what was happening to him.
I remember that during his treatment years, whenever he watched cartoons with doctors or nurses helping unwell animals or children, he would cover his eyes and at times run off to hide. Now at the age of seven, he knows the word "cancer" and understands that it's what made him sick.
Sometimes, he even brings up memories of his cancer journey, asking us if we remember certain things. However, I've noticed that he still associates certain things, like the music we used to play to calm him down during treatment, with those difficult times and can get upset as it reminds him of his hospital stays.
Overall, I'm thankful that Damien has not been greatly impacted in terms of his mental and emotional development. I believe that our open and honest conversations have allowed him to grow up in a safe space despite his cancer experience.
During Damien's intensive chemotherapy, my husband and I made the difficult decision to limit our social interactions and visits from loved ones. It was a tough choice, but we knew it was necessary for his health and safety. While we felt isolated and lonely, we knew we had to prioritise Damien's well-being above all else.
With his diagnosis, I also turned down a job offer (I was exploring a career move then) and became a full-time caregiver for my son.
Every time my husband went out to get essentials, I felt anxious and worried about him bringing any germs back home. We had to be extra careful and vigilant in our hygiene practices; constantly wearing masks, sanitising our hands, and wiping everything down with alcohol wipes. It was emotionally exhausting.
Despite the challenges, we found comfort in our daily routine of cooking together as a family. Making home-cooked meals allowed us to control the ingredients and minimise the risk of food poisoning. It also gave us a chance to bond and create memories with Damien. Seeing the joy on his face as he tasted new dishes and flavours made it all worth it.
Through it all, we relied on video calls to stay connected with our families. It was hard not being able to physically see them, but we knew they were only a call away. Our friends and colleagues showed us incredible kindness and support by sending care packs and gifts to our home. It meant the world to us to receive these thoughtful gestures of love and encouragement.
Sometimes, it was a box of healthy snacks, a new book, or toys to keep Damien occupied during his treatments. Other times, it was a simple note or card with words of encouragement and prayers. Each gift was a reminder that we were not alone and that we had a community of people who cared about us deeply.
Even though we couldn't physically be with our loved ones, receiving these care packs and gifts made us feel closer to them. It was a beautiful way for them to show their support and love from afar, and we felt grateful beyond words.
What helped you cope during that time?
Before Damien’s cancer diagnosis, I was not an active social media user. However, during our difficult journey, social media became my unexpected creative outlet. I started posting regular updates about our experiences and how Damien was doing. Surprisingly, sharing our story and journey online became a therapeutic way for me to process what I was going through while keeping our loved ones informed about our progress.
I received numerous messages of support and encouragement from friends and family in Singapore and overseas, who appreciated the photos and updates of Damien that I shared on my social media pages. I also found solace and inspiration through the various quotes and songs I came across on the platforms. Sharing our journey, both the good and the bad days, and the little joys we experienced along the way, not only helped me cope with our situation, but also allowed others to understand our story.
Most importantly, I wanted to make a statement about how childhood cancer didn’t define our family life. By sharing our story and experience, I hoped to inspire and encourage other families with children battling cancer to also find ways to create positive experiences and moments within the family.
Everything happened so quickly, leaving us no time to catch our breath or process the overwhelming emotions that came with it. It threw us into a frenzy of paperwork, insurance settlements, and medical procedures, all while trying to understand the treatment protocols that Damien would need to undergo.
The most immediate thing we had to do was to get both sides of our families down to the hospital to visit Damien. We had to start treatment quickly; once treatment started, his immunity would weaken. This meant he would be vulnerable to the slightest hint of germs or bacteria.
Therefore, there would be minimal interaction with people to avoid him falling sick, which would mean a delay in his treatment or even additional complications. I couldn’t break the news to my family, so my husband informed our families and close friends. As I got teary-eyed easily, I avoided eye contact when the family came to visit Damien. I really wanted space and didn’t want to see or talk to anyone except the doctors and nurses, but I also knew it was probably the last time in a long while before our families could see Damien again.
We knew that we had to do everything in our power to get Damien started on treatment as soon as possible. He began with steroids, lumbar punctures (where chemotherapy was injected into his spine), and regular blood tests. I watched helplessly as he underwent surgery to have a portacath inserted in his chest for chemotherapy purposes. We spent 12 days in the hospital from the day of his diagnosis before they finally discharged him. We left the hospital with a thick file and loads of medication.
I had to record every intake of food and beverages, as well as his temperature, the frequency of excretion, when he ate his medication, and any signs of side effects.
The next six months were a rollercoaster ride of hospital stays, unplanned hospitalisations, and frequent chemotherapy sessions. There were some months when we were in the hospital more often than we were at home.
Every fever, cough, runny nose, and tummy pain, no matter how small, meant another four to seven days of hospitalisation to prevent any infections. Our luggage became a hospital bag, which was always packed and ready. We wore masks both at home and in the hospital, regularly sanitised our hands and wiped down everything before we allowed Damien to touch or even sit on them.
I watched as Damien's little body endured the side effects of the chemotherapy: skin tears, hair loss, vomiting, diarrhoea, constipation, headaches, tummy pains, loss of appetite, insomnia, mood swings, and shaky hands. The steroids made his cheeks and body bloated, and the chemotherapy made him look pale and frail.
As his main caregiver, I learnt how to feed him through a nasogastric feeding tube, how to clean the skin tears on his bum, and how to read his cues whenever he didn’t feel good. Administering medication was another challenge. Not only did we have to adhere to specific medication timings, but having a two-year-old take unpleasant oral medication can be very difficult. Coaxing Damien to take his oral medication sometimes took a whole hour. It was heart-wrenching to see him suffer, but we knew that it was necessary to save his life.
Even after the intensive chemotherapy phase, we had to continue with maintenance therapy for another year and a half. We made regular visits to the hospital to monitor his blood counts. Every milestone was celebrated with cautious optimism. It was a challenging and emotional journey, but we never lost hope and remained determined to see our little warrior through to the end.
How did you get Damien accustomed to his new life?
We showed Damien that the hospital was not a scary place to be and that the doctors and nurses were there to help him get better. We made it a point to know everyone in the ward, including the housekeeper and food service staff.
Our interactions and light-hearted conversations with everyone put Damien at ease. We also had simple celebrations in the hospital. For example, during National Day, we brought flags and played NDP songs for Damien. On our wedding anniversary, we brought in a foldable table covered with a tablecloth and Damien ate his hospital food at the table together with us. Over time, we noticed Damien became very comfortable with everyone in the ward.
During hospital stays, Damien wasn’t allowed to leave the room because of his fevers. Despite being confined to the room and being homebound for six months during his treatment phase, we didn’t overindulge him with toys or screen time. Instead, we offered as much playtime as possible, read lots of books, coloured, painted, pretend-played, and created positive experiences for him.
Damien couldn’t eat store-bought cakes either, so we made pancakes and stuck candles in them for birthday celebrations. We took every chance to celebrate and decorate our house for various festivals. Damien seemed to enjoy cleaning, so we would give him a small pail of water, sponges, and some cloth so he could clean his toys on the balcony. We involved him in simple household chores and he thoroughly enjoyed it.
I remember during Christmas when his blood counts were good, we would take him on car drives so that he could enjoy the Christmas lights from inside the car. Despite cancer, we found as many opportunities as possible for him to feel normal and happy.
Our common goal was to get Damien the treatment he needed and give him a happy life despite cancer. Because there were so many different areas to take care of and so much to do, we divided and conquered according to our strengths.
My main role was to cook the meals and be the main caregiver during hospital stays. My husband took care of all the paperwork and insurance matters, ran errands and did grocery runs. Other household chores were also split between us.
What was the experience like for you and your husband?
At the beginning, when Damien was first diagnosed, my husband and I felt isolated, but it was not unbearable. As someone who is usually quite sociable and extroverted, I had to adjust to suddenly not having social interactions with family and friends. I missed the energy that came with being around people.
However, we knew that we had a common goal to get Damien treated and healthy again. We focused on that goal and knew this isolation was temporary. We informed our family and friends that we would need to minimise social interactions for a while and asked to be given the space to focus on Damien.
As time went on, we also found a supportive community of other caregivers of children with cancer. We attended support groups and connected with other families. We formed relationships with the nurses, doctors, and various therapists. This helped us feel less isolated and reminded us that we weren't alone on this journey.
Overall, while the experience was initially isolating, we found ways to cope and stay in touch with others through technology.
How did you cope with your feelings during this period?
There was not a day I didn’t feel exhausted and stressed during Damien’s cancer treatment. Being a stay-at-home mum caring for a child is exhausting, but to care for a child with critical illness added more stress than ever. It was not just physically exhausting, but mentally and emotionally too.
I was always on high alert, especially at night. The worst periods were when Damien was on steroids. Steroids caused Damien to have insomnia, mood swings, and body itches. Night times were very difficult. He was unable to sleep, and that resulted in me spending the night patting him to sleep while gently scratching his skin to ease the itch. In the early stages of his treatment, they also made Damien’s behaviours animal-like. He would cry and wail, and just prance around in the cot in the hospital. I was so shocked by his behaviour.
There was one night when he just wouldn’t stop crying. I felt like I was going crazy and I yelled at him: “Can you stop it?!” I was shaking with frustration yet crying because I felt so helpless. One of the senior nurses came in and told me to step out to take a breather while she tried to calm Damien down.
I stepped out and I cried. It was so hard. The nurse reminded me that whatever was happening to Damien, just know that it was not him, it was the medication.
Sleep became very disrupted every night, and because of the frequent disruption, I developed insomnia. It was hard because I was tired due to insufficient sleep. Yet, I had so much to do every day and was running on adrenaline to fight this battle alongside Damien.
My role as a full-time caregiver to a critically sick child meant I had to be familiar with the medical procedures and stay strong and positive amidst everything. It wasn't easy. Damien’s health, emotional well-being, and development were under my care. I would get emotional and cry at night.
Sometimes when I saw a healthy-looking two-year-old, it reminded me of my child spending his time in cancer treatment. The pain would spill over and I would get angry. Seeing working mums being successful in balancing both work and family, celebrating milestones, and enjoying family holiday trips also triggered negative emotions.
During Damien’s treatment, I hardly cried in front of him. But there was one incident that I will never forget. During one of the treatment cycles, he was not feeding well, as the chemotherapy affected his appetite. This meant the nasogastric feeding tube would have to be inserted to assist with the feeding of milk into his stomach.
Usually, we will request for the insertion of the tube to be done when he is under sedation for his lumbar punctures. This time, because there was no lumbar puncture scheduled, we had to insert the tube while he was awake. There were so many nurses holding him down and as they began to insert the tube, Damien was gagging and crying due to the discomfort. It was a difficult moment to watch, and after two attempts, I told the nurses to stop as I could not bear to see him going through it further. I broke down and cried.
When he saw me crying, he said: “Mummy, I want to try again.” I cried even more and told him it was okay and that we won’t continue with the tube for that moment. He was only two years old.
Over time, I came to accept that childhood cancer was a part of our lives. It took conscious effort to remind myself of the little blessings throughout Damien’s treatment journey.
Now when I look back, the one thing I failed to do was self-care. I realised being a stay-at-home mum and caregiver with no help meant I was responsible for so many things that I ended up not taking care of myself. I also felt bad if I took some time off on weekends and felt the need to be by Damien’s side always.
I knew I was depleting inside, and I started asking myself how I could derive joy and create positive experiences for myself as a caregiver. When Damien was in the maintenance phase, I started offering caregiver support to other newly diagnosed families. I also became involved in activities with the hospital and various foundations and organisations to support childhood cancer. Sharing and supporting other caregivers was my way of giving back to this childhood cancer community that supported me so much during my own journey. I also started scheduling meet-ups once or twice a month with friends on weekends. This helped me greatly to build up my social interactions.
The day we were told Damien had entered remission in August 2020 was one of the most emotional days of my life. I felt a mix of gratitude, relief and fear all at once. Grateful that he had responded well to the treatment and relieved that the nightmare of cancer treatment was over.
However, the fear of relapse always lingered in the back of my mind. The fact that we were no longer going to the hospital meant that my safety net of doctors and nurses was slowly disappearing.
Despite the constant worry, I tried my best to live in the present and cherish every moment. I learnt to appreciate even the smallest and simplest joys, like watching Damien’s hair grow, him being able to gradually eat outside food, play in the playground, and have more social interactions. He is now in his third year of remission. Each day that Damien remains cancer-free is a precious gift that I don’t take for granted.
As a parent, seeing my child go through cancer treatment was one of the most painful experiences I ever had to endure. I would never wish this upon any family. The day we found out Damien was in remission, I felt that all those difficult moments and emotions were worth it.
When did you return to work?
I returned to work in 2021, one year after he entered remission. I wanted to ease him into mainstream childcare, and when I saw that he was settled in, I started my search for a full-time job.
What advice would you give to parents of children who are battling cancer?
Here are some pieces of advice that I hope can be helpful:
Firstly, try to focus on the progress and small wins along the way. Celebrate every milestone, no matter how small it may seem. This can give you and your child a sense of accomplishment and keep you motivated to keep going.
Next, try your best to push out negative thoughts and focus on the present moment. This can be incredibly challenging, but it's important to try to stay positive for your child's sake. One way to do this is by practising mindfulness and gratitude, even during tough times.
On top of that, do not blame yourself or feel guilty about what caused your child's cancer. Cancer is a complex disease with no single cause, and it's important to focus on the present rather than dwelling on the past.
Also, try not to compare your family's situation to others. It's easy to feel envious of other families who have healthy children, but it's important to remember that every family's journey is unique. Instead, find inspiration from the other children in the hospital who are bravely fighting their own battles.
Lastly, channel your energy towards being present for your child. Spend quality time with them, engage in activities they enjoy, and create happy memories together. While we can't take away cancer, we can give them opportunities to experience joy and happiness.
Remember, you are not alone. Reach out to support groups, family, and friends for help and don't be afraid to ask for assistance when you need it.
I actually conceived Damien via IVF, so I was thankful to finally be able to have one child.
After he was diagnosed, although the doctors shared that the cancer was not genetic and that the chances of a second child also having cancer are low, I was hesitant. More than anything, I was afraid Damien would relapse.
After careful consideration, my husband and I mutually agreed that we will not have a second child. We wanted to make sure that we reserved finances for future unforeseen circumstances for Damien.
We are thankful for Damien and agree to devote our love, time and finances to support just one. Perhaps I have too little faith. But I want to be content with just one healthy child and give him the best life possible.
There are times when I imagine what it would be like to have another child in the family. However, I remind myself that I could have been a mother of none. So I’ll be content with what I have been blessed with: one.
Self-care now for me is going for a cycle around the bay area on my own, a walk in the park, or a swim. I also make sure to meet up with friends at least once a month. My weakness is chocolate, so I give myself the occasional treat of a chocolate lava cake or chocolate tart.
Binge-watching Netflix is something I'd love to do, but I haven't been brave enough to get started.
When it comes to motherhood/parenting, what kind of support would you like more of?
It'll be nice to see more platforms for sharing experiences, resources and tips to support mums returning to the workforce, especially for mums who have been on an employment gap after being a SAHM for a number of years.