I Was Diagnosed With Stage 4 Breast Cancer When My Baby Was 7 Months Old
I didn’t think much of the lumps in my breast, since I was breastfeeding and had mastitis.
By Ng Su Lin as told to Ng Mei Yan -
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At 41, I never thought I’d hear the word “cancer”. My son was barely seven months at the time. I had just returned to work at a company I love. Life should be great – only, it wasn’t.
The signs were there before, but no one, including me, picked up on them. As a new mother, I struggled to breastfeed and suffered from mastitis. The breast consultant at the hospital didn’t think much of the lumps in my breast, a common issue with lactating mothers. I decided to switch to formula soon after.
But things still didn’t sit right after my maternity leave. Juggling work and caring for a newborn exhausted me physically, mentally and emotionally. I pushed myself tirelessly, ignoring the extreme discomfort in my body. Perhaps too, my pain tolerance had become that much higher after going through natural birth.
In my distress, I comforted myself by thinking I had a job and all the material resources that my mother’s generation did not enjoy. But at some point, I decided enough was enough. It was time to get my body checked out.
An unexpected diagnosis
Not only did I have Depleted Mother Syndrome (also called maternal burnout syndrome), but a mammogram at a public hospital in January 2024 revealed a mass in my right breast. It was likely stage 1 breast cancer, said the consultant, though a biopsy was needed to confirm it.
I was still pretty upbeat and positive, knowing that with modern medicine, I could be cancer-free in five years.
Still, waiting three weeks for the biopsy results was agonising. My sister urged me to get a second opinion with a private specialist. Her insistence possibly saved my life.
Within 12 hours of making the call, I was able to get a full-body MRI and PET-CT scan. A day later, the surgeon told me the unimaginable: my cancer had already spread to my neck, ribs, lower part of the spine and hip bones. It was stage 4.
I was in both grief and shock, and my mind spiraled. I thought about my baby who had yet to utter his first “mama”, my sister and my aged parents. There was no way I was leaving them behind so soon.
My sister was with me during the diagnosis. Then, I told my husband and two brothers. But with my parents, I hesitated. They are already in their 70s; the news could break them.
My mother, who sometimes visited me, soon suspected something fishy. I often left home for long stretches – I had to go for further scans at the hospital – and appeared preoccupied. When she probed, there was no choice but to come clean.
She burst into tears and even fell into depression for a while after. There was nothing I could do except calmly assure her that I was getting treatment and doing everything possible to stay well.
Reality of stage 4 breast cancer
My oncologist was direct: my cancer was incurable. I would live with tumours in my body. The goals of treatment were to reduce pain, prolong life and improve the quality of life.
I am grateful for advanced medical science. I am on a targeted endocrine hormonal therapy, administered orally. Every two months, I also receive an injection to protect and strengthen my bones. These are lifelong medications.
The side effects are gentle compared to radiation or chemotherapy. I have lower white blood cell count (this affects my immunity against infections) and eczema-like rashes, which can feel quite uncomfortable. But for as long as I have support from these medications, I get to stay alive.
Another blow hit just when I was coming to terms with my diagnosis. In June this year, a bad cough led to a severe mid-neck fracture. The cancer had hollowed out my bones. I was hospitalised for a few days, and healing has been slow.
That was also the time my colleagues found out I had cancer. I had kept things under wraps and didn’t stop working until that point. I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, but the way my family and friends rallied around me was nothing short of amazing.
My colleagues adjusted my workload and arranged for covers at times when I was unavailable. While I was previously reticent to ask for help, I learned how to speak up and lean on my workmates.
To nourish my health, my mother brought me homecooked food. My sister would come over and be an extra pair of hands with whatever I needed. And my husband provided hands-on support at home; we grew together as life partners, sharing responsibilities like we’d never done before.
I used to put myself last
Strangely enough, though I am ill, I feel very much alive. In the past, I had shoved my needs aside, preferring to put everyone else first. I haven’t been kind to myself in the very least. But my diagnosis has given me a different outlook.
While I still try to help the people around me to the best that I can, I know now when to honour my limits. When I feel tired or in pain, I take a breath and look into the sensation – no more pushing through discomfort.
Every day is a gift, so I try to live it with gratitude and fullness. I never realised before that just being able to wake up and breathe was such a wonderful thing.
Though I can no longer carry my son who’s now two, I can still hear him call out for mama. I was there on his first day at childcare this year. And I can sit and watch him at the playground even if I can’t run or climb alongside him.
At his age, being sick means catching a cold, something you will recover from, so he hasn’t quite grasped the severity of my condition yet. But he is a sweet and sensible boy and would sometimes bring me a leaf or flower from the ground, as if to thank me for being there with him.
“Dear Time, Restart”
Now with my refreshed outlook on life, I wish more people would understand the importance of prioritising their own health and mental well-being. That’s why when the Singapore Cancer Society was looking for volunteers to share their cancer journey with jewellery maker Mondays Made, I put my hand up.
I chose the campaign message “Dear Time, Restart” to mark my commitment to changing the way I treat myself. Being kind to myself is my pathway to better health, and more time with the ones I love.
My personal hope for the future is simple. I want to see my son grow up, and to age healthily with the rest of my family. And to my colleagues-turned-friends, I thank them for being there for me every step of the way.
Yes, the medication has made my joints stiffer. I can’t run, jump or even do deep stretches due to my brittle bones. But if I can walk, I’ll walk. If I can laugh, I’ll laugh. And most importantly, I’ll be kind to myself – this is how I will carry on.
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Su Lin was recently featured in a breast cancer awareness campaign “With Love, Me” by homegrown jewellery brand Mondays Made, in partnership with the Singapore Cancer Society (SCS). Half of proceeds from the capsule collection will be donated to the SCS for programmes and services that support breast cancer patients and their families.