Tiger mom and her cub contemplate cancer

By Beth and Deb Liu

Tiger Cub

One Friday night, after a long school week, you and Dad took my little sister and me out for dinner. I was confused because you rarely took us out to eat, yet this was your second time in recent memory. During the first dinner just a couple of weeks ago, you shared you were leaving your job after 4 years. This dinner I was understandably wary. What else could there be? You’d already dropped one bombshell. 

We went to a restaurant Danielle had discovered with her friends. While I was regretting my menu choice and contemplating stealing some of Danielle’s food, you shared the news that you had breast cancer. You quickly assured us not to worry, explaining it was highly treatable and that you would undergo surgery and radiation therapy. 

Danielle immediately had many questions. I, on the other hand, was just shocked. At first, I thought this was another one of your pranks, but then the reality sank in. You actually had breast cancer. 

Tiger Mom 

Your life has seen so much change recently. Last year, you lost your Popo (my mother), and just months before that, your other grandparents, Yeye and Nainai, passed away in quick succession. Only a few weeks ago, we moved into the new house we had built for them. Your brother went off to college. And now this. 

I know it’s overwhelming to process all at once, especially since both my parents passed from cancer. I struggled with how to tell you, which is why I waited. I didn’t want to worry you, but we’ll need to make some adjustments at home while I undergo and recover from surgery.

Tiger cub 

I was upset when you told us you had breast cancer. I had come out of a hard week at school and was exhausted by the time we went to the restaurant. Then you told me you had cancer, I felt scared for you and for what was to come. 

What also upset me was that you and Dad had kept this from Danielle and me for so long. I remembered you mentioning a mammogram weeks before our conversation, and it wasn’t hard to connect the dots. You had clearly known for a while before deciding to tell us. 

I understand why you waited – it was a challenging time with school, and you probably needed time to process everything and figure out how to tell us. Still, I felt hurt, as if you didn’t trust Danielle and me enough. The thought that you could have passed away from cancer without us even knowing about it was terrifying. 

When we were younger, you loved giving us brain teasers. You would give us letters that stood for something related, and you let us ask 20 questions to guess how they were connected. This fostered my love for knowledge and understanding. 

Whenever we did these puzzles, I felt frustrated not knowing the answer, but then once I got to the solution, I felt a sense of relief as I processed the answer. Having knowledge helps me cope. As difficult as it is to say, knowing about your potential cancer diagnosis before any worst-case scenario would have given me time to mentally prepare. 

Tiger Mom 

I struggled with how to tell you. What started as a routine mammogram changed suddenly when the technician left the room and returned saying, “You need to see the doctor immediately.” Everything after that became a blur. I had a consultation, followed by a biopsy. They said I would know in a few days whether it was cancer.

Based on their reactions, I suspected it was, but I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. 

When I received the confirmation it was early stage the following week, I wanted to wait to know if it was aggressive and estrogen positive. So I waited again. Yes, it is more aggressive but it is estrogen receptor positive which means there is a drug that can block it from returning. Then I thought I would wait until after the genetic testing. If I carried the breast cancer marker, it would have serious implications for both you and Danielle, potentially requiring more aggressive treatment. Each day brought new information – some good, some bad. Above all, I needed to make sure you and your sister weren’t at risk before sharing this news. Thankfully, I didn’t test positive for any of the known breast cancer genes. 

Tiger Cub 

While you claimed it was “highly treatable”, those words really don’t mean much when they’re put in front of a disease like cancer. Cancer is a bit of a personal boogeyman for me. Both your parents, Popo and Gonggong died from cancer. 

Popo passed away less than a year ago. She moved in with us in 2012 after Gonggong passed from Stage 4 lung cancer (and no, he didn’t smoke). She had cancer for over 8 years and fought it bravely. 

Popo has always been a fixture in my life. When I close my eyes, I can clearly imagine Popo’s room in my mind’s eye. But my mental image of that room is permanently associated with that of the final months of her life and after. I see the endless amounts of mail covering the bed, the way she could only slowly reach for things. I see the black wheelchair next to her bed, the canes resting against the wall. I see the hospital bed you and Dad bought for her comfort. I see the empty room now, the wooden floor covered with a thin layer of dust.

Cancer took everything away from Popo. It took away her vitality, and left her trapped in a body increasingly unable to perform simple tasks. Popo was diagnosed with uterine cancer in 2016 which spread to her lungs. She did multiple rounds of chemo and radiation while living with us. I remember hearing about all her visits with the doctors, and how her caretakers slowly became established parts of all of our lives. 

It was hard seeing her fade away in those years. It had seemed so normal when she began wearing hats. It had seemed so normal until she stopped going to church. Stopped talking to me as much when I sat across from her at the dinner table. Until she stopped being able to get out of bed. Until you and Dad told me that she was in at-home hospice care for the final months of her life. 

Tiger mom 

That’s why I didn’t want to tell you about cancer. I know you watched Popo decline while in our house. She passed away in the room next door to you. After she was gone, neither you nor your sister ever walked into that room again. 

I’ve seen what cancer has done to your life. And I worried that you will worry. You already have a lot of anxiety and worrying about me was not something I wanted to add to that pile. 

As the days ticked down towards my surgery, we had to tell you. I wasn’t sure how you were going to react. But perhaps telling you at a freezing cold restaurant that didn’t have heat was not our best move. 

Tiger Cub 

You’re getting the surgery next week. I’m worried. I hate the idea of surgery and the risks involved, but they seem so much greater if you don’t get it. But it’s still going to be scary to see you have to recover from the surgery.

Every night we walk the dog together. I’m sometimes grumpy when we walk because it’s cold and wet right now. I worry that we will lose out on that time together where we can talk about anything. 

I’m scared that this will happen to you, Mom. I’m scared that your breast cancer will get worse and you’ll slowly lose everything that makes you you. Every night I pray that the Lord keeps my family safe, happy, and healthy, cancer is the opposite of all three. I remember praying every night that God would heal Popo. I pray every night that He heals you, that he protects our family. 

You know I am going to worry. I hope you are going to be okay.