Reconciling relationships and respecting choices: How hospice care revitalised family ties for this 53-year-old Singaporean

At its core, life is two dates separated by a hyphen, its length unknown to most.

Some among us will end up having an idea of when that second date might arrive. For Christina Wee, 53, she experienced that plight through the point-of-view of her tachi (a term which translates to “elder sister” from the Baba Malay creole dialect).

Always observant and aware of her physical well-being, Christina’s tachi felt something wasn’t quite right when she noticed that her stool became “hard and pebble-like”.

She headed to National University Hospital (NUH) for a full body check-up and it was there that a doctor informed her she was diagnosed with stage three ovarian cancer.

“It all happened in 2017. She got to know about it in June and told me sometime in July. She was admitted to a hospice in August and passed away in December,” recalls Christina, who joined Singapore Hospice Council (SHC) as their communications manager after her sister’s death. 

Her tachi passed on at the age of 61. She was the third member of the Wee family to have succumbed to cancer. 

“My father also died from cancer, my [oldest] sister, and then now her? I was like [sighs] I have to go through this? I didn't want her to go through that suffering.”

Having seen how her two loved ones suffered during cancer treatment, her tachi insisted that invasive curative treatment was off the table. The family fully respected that decision.

Instead, Christina’s tachi chose to stay with Christina and her brother, on alternate weeks. 

“I believe she wanted to spend time with us whom she doted [on] since young to make up for the ‘lost’ time. We were estranged for 14 years,” Christina said.

She added that earlier efforts to reconcile relationships were unsuccessful and 'through divine intervention' they got reunited a year before her tachi found out she was unwell.

“Tiring” 

Having her tachi stay over at her place came with its challenges too. With her commitments on top of work, Christina already had a full plate to deal with.

“I didn’t struggle but it was a challenge having to ensure that she’s comfortable as I had no prior caregiving experience,” the 53-year-old said.

When asked what it was like juggling multiple roles, Christina provided a simple one-word response: “Tiring.”

After staying with her brother and Christina for two weeks each, Christina’s tachi decided on inpatient care at a hospice.

“At that point in time, I felt very sad because, you know, there’s still hope,” Christina said as her voice trails off.

“There were moments when I was there [at the hospice], and I cried. I cried and cried because [at times] she can be so lively [but] next moment you see her, she lies in bed and cannot even talk,” Christina said.

To add to that, Christina admitted to not having a positive view of hospices back then. She could only link them to negative terms like suffering or hopelessness. As for palliative care, it was a term that was not even present in her vocabulary.

Quality of life and palliative care can exist in tandem

Over the period of time that her sister was at the hospice, Christina’s perspectives on the subject matter drastically changed.

She learnt that quality of life and palliative care can, in fact, exist in tandem, after seeing first-hand how the doctors, nurses and care team took care of her sister. 

Hospices aren’t the dark and gloomy homes they are often labelled out to be and Christina mentioned how lively and activity-driven they actually are.

Whether it be grooming or karaoke sessions, a hospice’s care team will do their best to abide by a patient’s requests.

The hospice would also try to move a patient to a single-bed ward when their time is almost due, as a way to provide the family more private time with their loved one. 

Christina’s tachi moved to a single-bed ward within her first week even though her condition was still stable and there was no request to be moved.

In her private room, the hospice allowed Christina’s family to hang ornaments during the Christmas season. They even got their music therapist to play her favourite festive tunes.

“My tachi actually requested the therapist (who’s from Taiwan) to play an English song, but she didn’t know the song. She (the music therapist) went home, learned it in a day, came back [the following day] and played it for my tachi,” shares Christina, adding that the hospice really took care of her sister.

“Blood is thicker than water”

Christina’s tachi being in hospice also allowed relationships within the family to be improved. Her siblings constantly visited her during the four-month stay in hospice and that brought all of them closer. 

She added that the quality time spent together made up for the 14 years being estranged.

On the topic of reconciliation, Christina said: “We got the opportunity to pray, to hug each other [and] to even kiss on the cheek.”

Words of affirmation such as “I love you” and “thank you” were uttered with a lot more ease from all members of the family, even her tachi.

Christina admitted that her family would not usually be this vocal or explicit in displaying their love and affection for one another.

How they channeled their love was often through actions, but given the severity of the situation they found themselves in, Christina noted how powerful it was that the family was able to turn actions into simple words of love.

From her experience, Christina is now encouraging families who are in similar situations to be more comfortable to show their vulnerability. 

More specifically, she’s urging us to say “I love you” and “forgive me” to our loved ones, before it’s too late and regret seeps in.

For herself, Christina was especially grateful that she had the chance to be by her tachi’s side as she took her final breath. Towards the end of her life, Christina’s tachi couldn’t open her eyes and could only breathe through her mouth.

During her final hospice visit, Christina felt a sudden urge to connect with her tachi so she whispered: “Whatever you’ve wanted to do, you’ve already fulfilled. The desires of your heart have been fulfilled. You can go.”

Even though her tachi couldn't respond with words, Christina sensed her tachi recognised her voice, and Christina witnessed her taking a deep breath, which also happened to be her last.

Christina’s tachi’s experience of inpatient care has parallels with SHC’s short film, Er Jie.

In this second installment of a three-part series from SHC, it aims to shed light on inpatient palliative care and how it can improve a dying patient’s quality of life. 

While living well is a well-understood concept, let’s keep in mind the importance of leaving well too.

The stigma attached to death means that conversations on palliative care are often swept under the rug. As society ages, letting that continue would be ill-advised. 

So, what would you tell your loved ones?

ALSO READ: Dying doesn't have to be sad: Local short film about boy with terminal cancer sheds light on end-of-life care

This article is in partnership with Singapore Hospice Council.

amierul@asiaone.com