February 18, 2020, is a day I will never forget.
It was the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, when borders were not yet completely closed.
My beloved wife Helen, who had just turned 55, was scheduled to fly to Ethiopia, Africa, for meetings with an international mission organisation on which she served as a member of the Board of Governors.
Instead, she ended up in the operating theatre. (Read Helen’s story here.)
Accompanying Helen to Bolivia in 2017, where she had meetings for the international mission organisation which she was serving in. The long journey there involved four flights from Singapore – almost 48 hours one way.
Just 10 days earlier, we had discovered a suspicious lymph node in Helen’s groin. My colleague, Associate Professor Tay Eng Hseon, a gynaecological-surgical oncologist, had planned an urgent surgery to determine what it was.
If malignant cells were seen, Dr Tay would proceed with a radical surgery. If not, it would simply be a removal of the lymph node. End of story.
One and a half hours after Helen was wheeled into surgery, I received a call from Dr Tay. In a somber tone, he said: “Soo Meng, it is not an infection, it is not tuberculous, it is not lymphoma. It has high-grade malignant cells. I will need to proceed with the major surgery.”
My world collapsed.
I sobbed uncontrollably as I broke the news to my children.
Moses, a doctor, put his arm around me and tried to comfort me. My youngest, Matthias, who was only 15 then, cried uncontrollably.
When Judith, then a junior college student, returned home, she hugged me and cried: “Is Mummy going to die?”
Noel, my second son, was living on campus at university. I wanted to break the news to him in person. When driving him home, I was again reduced to tears.
“We will fight this cancer with Mummy!” I declared to them all.
Soo Meng and Helen were married in 1991.
That night, I returned to the hospital to see my beloved. As I looked at her lying on the hospital bed, tears welled up in my eyes. I felt lost – lost for words and lost for what to do.
When I retired to bed that night, fear gripped me. Helen had been away on multiple mission and work trips, and I was familiar with her absence as I knew she would be home again.
But, this time, the fear of losing her, the fear of being separated for life, became very, very real.
Through the fire
Just before Helen’s diagnosis, I had sent messages of meditation from the book of Isaiah to Moses and his girlfriend Andrea (also a doctor), as they faced the mysterious new virus as frontline healthcare workers:
Do not fear, for I am with you… I will strengthen you, surely I will help you. (Isaiah 41:10)
“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched.” (Isaiah 43:2)
Little did I know these verses were really God’s word of preparation and comfort for me.
Yes, life will always come with storms. For this storm, I would have to pass through (not over) the waters, and walk through (not around) the fire.
The miracle of His sustaining love is best experienced in the water and through the fire.
Questions in the storm
For the next couple of months, I woke up every day at 4am, pondering over Helen’s condition and our eventual separation. It seemed to be much nearer than I had thought, and I wished and prayed that we would have more time before the inevitable.
The initial period was the toughest. Besides the fear of losing the cancer battle, there were also questions.
Why did God allow this to happen when Helen has been a faithful follower, and serving actively in missions?
Did we detect this too late, even though Helen underwent regular health screenings and had always maintained a balanced, healthy lifestyle through regular exercise and a nutritious diet?
Could we have done something else to prevent this?
Many of these remain unanswered. But I would rather have God and no answers, than to have answers and no God and to walk alone in the storm.
Was I angry? Yes, somewhat with myself. I kept wondering if I could have detected it earlier.
Was I angry with God? No, and I never will be! Our holy and loving God has no ill intentions for us. In the end, God’s plan and purposes are always good.
If it is not good, it is not the end yet.
Déjà vu
Helen enjoyed nine months of stability, before having a relapse in May 2021, requiring another surgery and further chemotherapy.
When she needed this second surgery, it was like déjà vu – that same feeling of fear, though less intense as I had already experienced God’s goodness in the earlier storm.
Yet, as a physician, I knew that a relapse of Stage 4 High Grade cancer is never a good sign. My days with Helen were even more limited now.
I began to prioritise my time, planning our remaining journey together and protecting it from other distractions.
Helen went on to endure seven recurrent infections (with five needing hospitalisation) within four months, two courses of chemotherapy spanning 18 weeks each, followed by maintenance chemotherapy sessions for another two years. Throughout it all, the love of God was our anchor.
Helen discontinued maintenance therapy in November 2023. The cancer subsequently recurred, and she resumed chemotherapy treatment in February 2026.
My faith gave me this assurance – that death has been conquered. “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15:55). I will not be separated from my wife in eternity.
7 ways I have been coping
1. I confess my distress
I acknowledged and did not deny my distress. Initially, I broke down often – at meals, while driving, jogging, praying and even in the shower.
In prayer, I poured out to God my fear of losing her, and my worries about how our family would cope without her.
But, when I put my worries into words, I began to disarm them. I announced my fears in prayers and I began to denounce them by faith.
Yes, fear continues to visit me, but I do not allow it to linger in my heart and become a permanent resident in my life.
2. I control my thoughts
As a mental health professional, I know that what consumes my mind will ultimately control my life. What is in my head will dictate the emotions of my heart and direct the actions of my hands.
The antidote to fear begins with experiencing the love of God. I start each day with devotions – reading the Bible and praying. I am convinced that the Bible is not just the written Word of God, but the living and loving Word of God, active and life-giving.
The “do not fear” command appears more than 360 times in Scripture. It is as if God is reminding me daily not to fear.
Meditating on Ephesians 3:17–19, I am reminded of four dimensions of God’s love: Long enough to last forever, wide enough to reach everyone, deep enough to heal every hurt, and high enough to cover every sin and fault.
Even when we cannot see His hands some of the time, we can trust His heart all of the time.
3. I count my blessings
We thank God that we have excellent medical care. We thank God for sufficient financial resources for Helen’s treatment. And we thank God that we could travel as a family when borders reopened.
“We were truly grateful to God that despite my first diagnosis of cancer in early 2020 and recurrence in mid-2021, we could have a family vacation in December 2022,” Helen told Salt&Light.
During the early pandemic when travel was restricted, my family explored parks across Singapore. Helen often says: “I can never have enough of the parks!”
During those walks, we saw that every stalk of flower, every blade of grass and every ripple of water was unique — the handiwork of our Creator (Psalm 19:1).
I don’t need to know why bad things happen to good people. I choose instead to focus on the goodness and greatness of God, so that I can become better, not bitter, through challenges. After all, all sunshine and no rain only make a desert.
In December 2022, we had a wonderful family vacation in New Zealand, experiencing the wonders of creation which helped us put things in perspective. Helen and I also travelled to the remote parts of Scotland, witnessing the Northern Lights and having our own personal reflections at the Isle of Skye.
4. I continue to do what I can
I have to continue to do what I can do, instead of being paralysed by what I cannot do.
I scaled back my work commitments to focus on what matters most. But I still see patients in the clinic, teach at the University and look after my elderly mother, who suffers from dementia. I believe He who called me will enable me to continue His work by His grace.
Meanwhile, I have had to accept what Helen now cannot do. She is slower and lower in energy. We have adjusted accordingly – where we once jogged together, we now walk at a gentler pace, and sometimes separately, so we can each have our private moments of reflection.
Psalm 23:4 says: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no ill: for thou art with me.”
Notice it says walk through the valley – not walk into it, or stop in it. A valley is a passage, not a pit or dead end.
Every mountain has its valleys. Everyone likes mountain-top experiences, but the valley is where life is, and I will come through it under the guidance of my Lord, my good Shepherd.
5. I care for myself and my body, soul and spirit
If my health is compromised, so will my care for Helen. Besides the daily morning devotion to nurture my spirit, I maintain my daily walks and nightly swims whenever I can. We also have regular meetings and fellowship with our small group from church – our spiritual family.
Our walks in the parks are particularly valuable. I can refresh my body physically, restore my soul with mindfulness, and rejuvenate my spirit in communion with God in prayer. Many of the thoughts in this article were borne during those quiet moments alone.
Though circumstances may not change, my response to them can – leading to strengthened resilience and a deepened faith. If I face setbacks with fear, I will be broken down. But when I face them with faith, I will be built up.
6. I surround myself with community
I am most thankful for a wonderful community of people who have been walking and journeying with me and Helen.
Our extended families – in particular Helen’s sisters, Bishop Emeritus Rev (Dr) Robert Solomon, former Senior Pastors of Bartley Christian Church, William Lee and Alvin Tan, church elders, Bible study group members, colleagues and friends – covered us constantly in prayers and showered us with practical help.
“Joy is not the absence of suffering, but the presence of God.”
As the old African proverb says: “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go with others.”
We are always stronger together than alone. When we walk alone, we often have blind spots and are vulnerable. When we walk alone, life can become dominated by the fear of dangers, darkness and difficulties. That fear makes life miserable, and fear is a “communicable disease”.
On the other hand, with strong social support, we need not be fearless, but we can fear less.
During the initial period of her illness when Helen was undergoing chemotherapy and when she was hospitalised, my late sister (also afflicted with cancer) was a great inspiration to us.
As Yun Chin often said: “Joy is not the absence of suffering, but the presence of God.” Despite her own illness, she continued to provide practical help to bless us. Helen and Yun Chin spent time together in the parks, and those moments are deeply treasured to this day.
7. I remain committed to my Shepherd
Finally, I continue to focus my hope in Christ, the Author, Perfecter and Finisher of my faith and journey on earth.
While on a three-week vacation in Scotland, I was able to ponder more deeply on Psalm 23, which describes us as sheep and God as our loving Shepherd. The faithful hand of God in our past as a couple has led and sustained us in our current situation. He will continue to lead us into the future. But this is founded on one condition: The sheep must follow the Shepherd.
I am to follow where the Shepherd leads, having nothing to do with the making of my road, but only going wherever He leads me.
The sheep cannot lead, but must patiently follow. When the Shepherd stops, the sheep will stop. When the Shepherd moves, the sheep will follow. The sheep cannot remain in their comfort zone when the Shepherd moves them on, nor can they seek out more movement when the Shepherd has stopped.
There is far more of God’s hand in our lives than our own making, if we follow the Shepherd. The sheep do not need to worry about the road ahead if only they would fully trust the Shepherd to do His job. That job is beyond me, a frail human, so let God be God.
It is often easy to say the Lord has been our Shepherd in the past, but much harder to say He is our Shepherd in the present and will still be our Shepherd in the future.
Yet, we can do nothing about the future except stay on the path of humble trust in the Lord and live in obedience to His Word. I am not my own shepherd and cannot guide myself any more than sheep can guide themselves.
Instead, I am to look to the great Shepherd. I am to follow where the Shepherd leads, having nothing to do with the making of my road, but only going wherever He leads me.
A sheep walking in front of the Shepherd is out of place – the order of nature and of grace is staying behind Him, quietly, patiently and humbly following after Him.
This article was adapted from Hope for Tomorrow: Navigating Illness and Ageing by Dr Helen Ko.
The book is published by Armour Publishing and can be purchased here.
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