What does a cancer diagnosis mean for a daughter?
Nov 08, 2025The scene: a doctor’s office. Present are the specialist, my mother, and me. The doctor starts with, “The report shows…” in medical jargon. All I catch is colorectal cancer. I wasn’t disturbed; my mother, being a patient and a doctor, would be in charge. My reaction was my part.
As a caregiver, I told myself to be at my best, make her comfortable, put out my best. Here was a chance to impress her with my efficiency and get validation. Help her accept the diagnosis from my perspective. And so two years went by, with me putting on an award winning performance.
It was her death that threw me off balance. My self obsession took a beating. I was shaken to the core, felt like an orphan. The world collapsed around me, and regret hit hard. The loss was unbearable, and I wished with all my heart for another chance to behave differently in those last moments.
It wasn’t efficiency she needed; it was love. Respect her choices. Acknowledge her contribution to my life, what her presence meant to me, the moments she taught life lessons through stories. Her courage in big challenges. She sowed in me the seeds of spirituality: to believe in a higher power, be proud of our culture, be aware of the life we’ve been given and make it worthwhile. Her life was courageous, and that courage rubbed off on me. Of course, I’m a fraidy cat, but my courage shows up when needed.
I never gave enough attention to her emotions, particularly as a committed doctor. What was she experiencing with her body going rogue? I didn’t see her as my mother in the throes of fear and heartbreak for the dreams that were shattering. Her fear, anger, confusion, and helplessness, I could have helped her feel supported and find her hope.
She died after two years. I still feel she might have lived longer if she hadn’t hastened to get rid of the colostomy bag. Did she regret that? Life wasn’t normal for her after the second surgery. Although the doctors said she was free from cancer, she became even more ill, and I can imagine how distressed she felt when she needed her diaper changed. These are the moments I wish I had been more supportive.
All this and more I’ve imbibed. All this I wish I had told her during those hospital nights. I wish I had been more a friend than a “caregiver.” Asked her what she was thinking. Any regrets?
On reviewing, I tell myself I was in shock, and denial was my coping mechanism. My lack of sensitivity showed me the necessity of a support group to hold people through emotional upheaval. Connect to Heal was conceptualized by three counsellors, two of whom were patients themselves.
We help both patients and families in their moments of loss.
