“Stage 3A breast cancer,” the oncologist declared.
I was devastated. At just 53 years old, I felt like I had been violently and abruptly ripped out of my comfortable surroundings.
That was in 2011. I had gone to see a doctor after discovering a lump in my left breast, and was told the horrifying news of my cancer.
Over the many months that followed, the hospital became my second home as I underwent two mastectomy operations (a lump was also found in my right breast), 16 chemotherapy sessions, and 20 radiation therapy sessions. The ordeal left me feeling emotionally drained and physically depleted. But it was not over.
Living in Torment
One of the most unbearable side-effects of the chemotherapy treatment was sleeplessness. I rarely got more than two hours of sleep a night, and was not able to get any rest in the day. I begged the doctor for sleeping pills. Alas, they were of no help.
I became frantic. The constant sleep deprivation turned me into a bundle of nerves, and I became fearful of the slightest sounds. Ordinary noises and sights triggered paranoia and fear. Once, I screamed uncontrollably and cowered as the noise from a garbage truck below my block amplified in my ears and wreaked havoc on my senses.
After my lymph nodes were removed in an operation, I also experienced excruciating pain whenever I moved my arms. My fingers became numb, so I was not able to perform any household chores. I could not even lift an iron or a small pail of water. I was always lethargic, weak, and fearful.
Unable to serve the needs of my family, I felt increasingly disappointed by my inability to fulfil my role as a mother and wife. This was the only role which had defined me for more than a decade.
What am I, I wondered, if I cannot fulfil my only role as mother and wife?
My self-identity and sense of purpose were shattered. The feeling of being completely useless filled me with frustration and guilt, and I began to drown in self-blame.
As a result, my faith in God plummeted. I stopped praying. I stopped meeting people. I also stopped going to church. Friends encouraged me to be optimistic, but I could not summon the courage to do so. My low immunity also caused me to feel isolated as I became housebound.
After more than 60 weary days of sleep deprivation, I began to lose hope.
The exhaustion and weakness, the feelings of uselessness and hopelessness, and the paranoia and fear all took their toll on me, and I found myself sinking into depression. Slowly but surely, I started to entertain thoughts of suicide.
Making the Attempt
On 8 August 2012, I decided to end my suffering.
I could not trust God to save me from my suffering. I knew that it would be wrong to take my own life, and that it would grieve God. But I was desperate to end the pain and suffering that had overwhelmed me. Death, I believed, was the only escape.
I was convinced that it would release me from the torment I was going through.
I closed my eyes . . . and jumped.
Feeling the Shame
When I opened my eyes, I found myself on a hospital bed.
As it turned out, I had failed in my attempt to commit suicide. But my back and legs were severely damaged: I was told that I was unlikely to walk again. I felt ashamed and petrified to have survived. I still wanted to die. During my two months’ stay in hospital, I refused to pray to God or even pick up the Bible.
Many times, I wanted to break down and cry—but no tears came. Instead, I was filled with disgust with myself. Why was I so useless that I could not even take my own life? I asked myself. I would have to live with the reminder that I could not even end my life successfully.
I also could not forgive myself for bringing more pain to my loved ones. I had not considered their feelings or the consequences of my decision, and now, I had become an even bigger burden to them. I saw my wheelchair as a constant source of embarrassment to my husband, children, and anyone who knew me—and, especially, to myself.
Returning to Church
After I returned home, my pastor visited me every month. I was touched to find out that many of my friends from church had been praying for me.
On Christmas Eve, five months after my attempted suicide, I finally picked up the Bible and also started to pray to God. As I quietened my heart to listen to him, he filled me with
his assuring words, promises, and presence.
It took me another nine agonising months before I was able to go back to church. I was fearful that someone would ask me why I was in a wheelchair, as I could not bring myself to explain. I wished I did not have to be wheeled in, as it reminded me of my foolish act, my guilt, and my humiliation.
But I had to ask myself this question:
Should I go on living in isolation, or should I trust in God’s love and return to his house?
In the end, God gave me the feeling of peace that it was time to return to my spiritual family. I decided that I would go back to church despite being in a wheelchair. I surrendered to God all my anxieties about having to answer embarrassing questions and seeing people’s inquiring gazes.
To my surprise, when I was finally wheeled into church, I received a warm welcome. My church friends showed nothing but graciousness. Nobody asked me why I was in a wheelchair; instead, I was received with love and gladness. It made my heart overflow with joy!
Finding Forgiveness
While I was slowly recovering, I was still plagued by guilt and self-reproach for attempting to commit suicide, and felt that I had to ask God for forgiveness. I also prayed for his assurance that I was indeed forgiven.
When I did so, God showed me his graciousness and love by leading me to a verse in the Bible, Micah 7:18:
Who is a God like you, who pardons sin and forgives the transgression of the remnant of his inheritance?
You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy. These words comforted me greatly. What a relief it was to know that God would not stay angry with me, but delighted to show me mercy!
This assurance of God’s forgiveness and mercy freed me from my shame and disgrace. The guilt and self-reproach which had burdened me for so long melted away, and was replaced with indescribable joy in my spirit.
Receiving Renewal
God not only preserved me, but also renewed my life. Because my head and hands were not injured by my suicide attempt, I could continue to crochet and knit. For a season, I found great fulfilment and satisfaction making scarves and beanies for children in orphanages in Thailand and Vietnam.
I was also able to attend my daughter’s wedding in March 2019. I was thankful that God allowed me to be part of this significant and special milestone for my family.
Not only that, I even felt extremely proud that I could be of help to my daughter and her husband. Zipping around in my motorised wheelchair, I could run errands for her— including shopping for a tea set for the customary wedding tea ceremony.
Taking the Long Journey
There were still bumps and potholes in my road to recovery. For seven years after my suicide attempt, I felt taunted by the question, “Why are you in a wheelchair?”
No matter how innocently the question was posed, I would always find it nerve-racking and
hurtful. I felt as though I was being strangled by the invisible hands of disgrace and humiliation.
As I spent more time with God, however, he helped me to surrender all my fears and worries to him. Over the years, he turned my sorrow into gratitude and hope, so that I was able to give thanks to him for preserving me. Instead of focusing solely on my own problems and shutting him out of my life, I learnt to allow his abundant love, grace, and mercy to fill and strengthen me.
Sharing the Hope
Today, I no longer brush off questions about my condition with the evasive answer, “I had a bad fall.” Instead, my heart leaps with gratitude, for I know that I have the unusual privilege of telling others about the chance that God has given me to live again. Besides the gift of salvation, I believe that God has given me
this precious gift—a new lease of life—so that I can talk to you about the redemption, renewal, and restoration that God offers us by sending his Son Jesus to die on the cross for us.
I can have hope because I know Jesus is greater than all my adversities in life. I know I can keep trusting in God’s plan and will for me and my family. I pray that you will find this hope, too.
FIND OUT MORE
If you would like to find out more about Jesus, talk to a Christian friend. Or take a look at A Story of Hope (see right), which will tell you a bit more.
If you’re struggling with suicidal thoughts, please talk to a loved one or professional, or call your local suicide prevention hotline.
Adapted with permission from The Chance to Live Again by Wendy Phuah & Madeline Chu-Ang, published in 2019.
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