People who win the battle with cancer are never the same as they were before the illness. And even one victory is an enormous success. To anyone who has ever faced this kind of fight, I offer my deepest respect. It’s a long, demanding journey that requires above all: patience and hope. The hope that if you do everything the doctors recommend, maybe at the end of it, there will be a chance for… life.

Now imagine not going through the process once. Not even twice. My mom fought cancer three times… and won. Three times she heard the diagnosis, and three times she clung to the hope of full recovery. Each battle left scars and wounds on her body. And yet, I’ve never known anyone else who endured so much suffering and still comforted others instead of seeking comfort herself.

Anyone who knew her will tell you… she never complained. She suffered in silence. And yet, she radiated joy and hope, doing her best to pass those feelings on to the people around her.

But… I didn’t see it that way…

That’s another thing (and there will be more) that’s hard to understand when you’re a teenager or even later, a young adult. Instead of appreciating the incredibly strong woman my mom was, I felt angry and frustrated. Angry that she was lying to herself, and to everyone else. I couldn’t understand why she refused to admit how hard it was, why she couldn’t just say “I’m not okay.” What I didn’t realize is that this was her way of protecting others, of protecting us. That it was how she fought back. That sometimes, attitude and willpower are the very things that carry you through. I know how harsh this sounds, but the truth is I felt completely lost. And seeing her face everything with such optimism made me question whether this illness was really as serious as it was. I know how absurd that seems from the outside, but when someone survives cancer three times, your brain starts to question everything.

It’s also hard at first to separate the person from the illness. You start to think, She doesn’t care about my life, when really… she just doesn’t have the energy. But still, she’s trying to be there. The disease becomes a lens through which you see everything and you start to forget what it was like when your mom was healthy, going to work, going on dates with your dad or simply go for a walk outside the house. All you see is her lying on the couch. And you get irritated when she tries to make herself a cup of tea because you think, Why didn’t she just ask? Why is she pushing herself so hard?

I said my mom beat cancer three times, and I want to be clear about what that means.

First, she was diagnosed with breast cancer already with lymph node involvement when it was discovered. After rounds of chemotherapy, radiation, and a mastectomy, the cancer went into remission. She was declared cancer-free.

It felt amazing to talk about it in the past tense.

We were relieved. We were proud.

We believed the worst was behind us.

But that feeling didn’t last long.

Less than two years later, she started experiencing intense headaches.

The diagnosis: brain cancer.

We jumped back into the routine… hospital visits, consultations, treatment plans. The difference this time was… we knew the drill. The emotions were different. We weren’t less afraid, but we were more prepared.

And once again I shut down emotionally. Hospital visits became routine. Consultations became part of everyday life. My dad, who was lucky enough to work as a firefighter in the national fire service, was already on early retirement after her first diagnosis, so he could dedicate himself fully to her care. That meant she could always make appointments, no matter the timing.

As for us all we could do was trust the process again. And pray that this time, we could beat brain cancer too…