She was 50 when she passed away in 1979 due to advanced breast cancer. She was uneducated and the family struggled with finances.

So, she quietly did what she thought best.

She went with her neighbours to pray, turned to traditional Chinese medicine and applied herbs on herself.

By the time she sought professional help and surgery to remove her breasts, it was too late.

She died within three months of chemotherapy.

My father recalls her pain and suffering during her last days. He regrets finding out about her condition so late which delayed her treatment.

That was 31 years ago.

Today, advancement in medicine has yielded more ways to fight cancer.

"Even at a later stage, cancer can be controlled for years with the right drugs," says oncologist Tan Sing Huang, a consultant in National University Cancer Institute, Singapore's (NCIS) Department of Haematology-Oncology.

If detected early, lives can be saved.

I know I'm not alone when I say I take my health for granted.

For the past two months, I've been photographing Jenny Sito, 55, a breast cancer patient.

I think I'm like Jenny. She used to regard herself as invincible until she was diagnosed with stage 2, triple negative, breast cancer in February.

I skip meals, stay up late, drink too little water for my own good and think that Panadol is the solution to all my illnesses.

But no one is invincible.

Ms Sito is currently undergoing chemotherapy and will be having radiotherapy in November. Her treatment ends in January with a possibility of a 30 per cent relapse within 10 years based on her age and tumour characteristics.

Her live-in boyfriend of 15 years left her after he found out about her diagnosis. Estranged from her family and with no close friends in Singapore, she struggles with her treatment and side-effects while juggling her travel agency business all by herself.

Ms Sito appears energetic and jovial with people, and tries to busy herself with work and activities. But she reveals that the hardest moments are when she is back in her apartment alone. There, she often imagines the worst.

It is impossible to understand the battle that cancer patients have go through unless you have gone through the same fight. It's even worse if you have to front it alone.

You cannot imagine the pain of having needles being stuck into you because of chemotherapy, the nasty metallic taste in your mouth or the horror of seeing your hair falling out in chunks.

The advice from Ms Sito - go for regular health screenings, mammograms and take care of your health.

"The effects are not worth the excuses," she says.

I'll be going for my first health screening in almost three years since I started working.

Don't be like me.

To watch Neo Xiaobin's multimedia story on Jenny Sito, click here.

I WAS struck by Li Hong Yan's parents' plight after reading from newspaper reports how they had sold their land in Heilongjiang to raise funds to come to Singapore. Their distress at being in a big city was clear. As was their grief, helplessness and desperation.

I was also struck by pictures of their dead daughter. You couldn't help by notice her youth and beauty - a Zhang Ziyi look-alike, as the media had reported.

I somehow managed to persuade the family to let me be a part of their return journey, with the help of undertaker Roland Tay. At first, the deceased's elder sister Ms Li Hong Bo, was understandably apprehensive, but her mother-in-law Madam Fang Shu Hui, warmed up quickly. With their consent, I followed the beleaguered family first to Dalian, then Qiqihar via a 17-hour train ride and four-hour drive to Keshan County's Li Ming Village.

I told myself that I would be lucky if the family gave me any time at all. But over the course of the ten days with them in China, each of them gradually opened up and treated me like an extended family member. They coaxed me into eating more dumplings, volunteered constantly to help with my bags and ran to get medicine for me when I was seasick after the sea burial. Throughout the trip, I was overwhelmed by their care, concern and generosity, despite the fact that they were still coping with their own grief. Maybe they were trying to show their own appreciation for the kindness they had received in Singapore.

Hong Yan's brother, Li Ai Hui, 21, a lance corporal with the People's Liberation Army, shared stories about his army life. Hong Bo talked about how the siblings would climb the mountains near their home during autumn to pick mushrooms and strawberries. While it was difficult to get the grief-afflicted mother, who suffers from kidney disease, to share her thoughts and feelings about the incident, she showed her concern through subtle gestures, such as asking me to eat more during mealtimes.

In an unexpected heart-to-heart conversation with the father, he poured out his feelings about Hong Yan. As he shared his relationship with his daughter, his regret for allowing her to go a foreign land, his guilt for not being observant enough to realise she was lying about her life in Singapore, he wept openly, and I fought the urge to cry. But I finally succumbed to tears when he reminded me to call my parents as they must be worried sick. "It's a parent's nature to worry, you will understand that when you are older," he said.

Coming from someone who had just lost his daughter, the message hit home.

Despite the magnitude of what they had lost, I appreciated all they had. I watched in envy how their family's strong bonds had endured, despite the vast geographical distance between them. The son was stationed in camp at Dandong, a city in the Liaoning Province, approximately 750km - more than 24 hours of travel by car, bus and train - from the family home, and only obtained special permission to be with them because of the tragic circumstances. Every day of their unexpected reunion was bittersweet because they didn't know when they would meet again.

But what broke my heart was the sea burial on Apr 19. The world's most wrenching sound must be the cry of a parent who had lost a child. As the eldest sister cried silently with their relatives, the youngest brother tried in vain to console his parents. The father had fallen to his knees, howling at his dead daughter's portrait and the blackened ashes of the joss papers. The mother, too, wailed uncontrollably and loudly.

At precisely 8.06am, Li Kui You scattered his daughter's ashes together
with red rose petals into the murky sea off Dalian. Then, in great distress,
he threw over the wooden urn and suitcase.
ST Photo: Neo Xiaobin

It hardly mattered to them that Hong Yan had been a karaoke lounge hostess, or that she had lied to them about her job and life in Singapore. What mattered most was that whatever she did, even though it may not have been right, was because she wanted something better for her family. To her relatives, she was just a filial daughter, a kind and doting sister.

The raw emotions overwhelmed me. I reminded myself to be professional but cried along with them - as a friend.

On my sixth night in China, I started vomitting and suffered from diarrhoea. It seemed that I had contracted a mild form of a common local illness called Keshan disease. The family took me to Aunty Liu, a local Chinese practitioner and witch doctor. She took my pulse for two seconds, then performed fire cupping therapy on my chest and back and blood-letting (she placed suction cups on the skin and used a needle to prick my fingers before squeezing out a drop of blood from each finger). I had to drink from a plastic vial containing a herbal-tasting brown medicine. As she combed my hair back with her fingers, she blew air over my head and chanted prayers.

To my amazement, I recovered within the day.

Despite my reassurances that I was fine, the worried family refused to allow me to travel back alone from Keshan county back to Qiqihar city, where I was to catch a train back to Dalian to catch my return flight. Hong Bo sent her husband Zhang Qi He to accompany me. For him, it meant six hours on the bus and an overnighter in Qiqihar because he could not get a return ticket on the same day.

Subsequently, the family also made sure that when I arrived in Dalian, their relatives in Changxing Island - three hours away from Dalian - picked me up at the railway station. I had to make several calls to assure them I was safe. "You came to our country because of us, we have a duty to take care of you. If anything bad were to happen to you, we would feel extremely guilty," said Hong Bo. I was touched by their hospitality and kindness.

My ten days in China's northeast were an unforgetful surreal, precious experience. I remain most grateful to the family for allowing me to intrude on their moments of grief and document it. I hope that in the months to come, they will find the answers - and closure - that they seek. Despite losing their daughter under mysterious circumstances in Singapore, the family had nothing but nice things to say about the island, describing it as a "beautiful clean city filled with kind people with good hearts".

They repeatedly instructed me to convey their deepest gratitude and appreciation for the kindness they had experienced in Singapore. So, to the well-wishers, anonymous donors and Mr and Mrs Roland Tay, the Li family thanks you from the bottom of their hearts.

And to the Li family, thank you too for showing me the real meaning of family, the joys of sharing a meal together at the table without television. Most importantly, that the richest blessings in life, such as time spent with family, cannot be bought with mere money.

From right: Hong Yan's brother Ai Hui, sister Hong Bo,
Hong Bo's mom-in-law Fang Shu Hui, dad Li Kui You.
Mom Sun Jing Fang is in the middle of the back row.
ST Photo: Neo Xiaobin

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