05/06/2026
This is Liz-Marie's Story ✍🏽
My big sister was always the strong one. When she got sick, I thought the hospital would fix her. I did not know then that I would be the one who had to learn how to fix things in my own small way.
In 2024, I spent four months at her bedside. Four months of watching monitors beep. Four months of holding her hand when she could not hold mine back.
There were nights I slept in a plastic chair with my head on the edge of her bed. There were mornings I woke up with a stiff neck and the smell of antiseptic in my clothes. I stopped wearing perfume because she said it made her nauseous. Sometimes I lost my appetite. Other times I felt a sting of guilt because my sister was not hungry. She would still look at me and tell me to go eat something. But I could not bring myself to leave her side.
People asked me how I did it. I never knew what to say. You just stay. You do not think about it. You stay because she is your sister. You stay because if you leave, who will be there when she cries at three in the morning and pretends she is not crying? You stay because someone has to remind her that she is still a person, not just a patient.
I learned things that no one teaches you. I learned that silence is sometimes better than words. I learned that a glass of water held to dry lips can feel like a prayer. I learned that cancer takes the body first, but it eats away at the mind and the spirit long before the body gives up.
Then I met Carole Cholai. She looked at me, and I looked at her, and we both knew. She understood the world I had just come from. She knew the weight of those four months.
We bonded over small things. How to smile when your heart is breaking. How to pray when you have run out of words. Carole never made me feel like my experience was smaller than her fight. She just held my heart.
And here is the beautiful part. Carole survived. There is no jealousy between us. Only love. Only gratitude. Because Carole reminds me that some people do make it through.
Being a carer is not about being strong all the time. It is about being present. It is about knowing when to speak and when to keep quiet. It is about learning that a patient might yell at you not because they are angry at you, but because they are angry at the disease. You learn not to take it personally. You learn to stay anyway.
Some patients talk openly about their pain. My sister did not. She kept it all inside. She would lie still and stare at the ceiling. I learned to sit with her in that silence. I learned that my presence was enough. I did not need to fix anything. I just needed to be there.
Cancer Survivors Month is for the people who lived. I am glad for Carole and for every person who gets to walk out of the hospital. But I also think the month should be for the ones who sat in the plastic chairs. The ones who gave up their sleep, and chose with every fibre of their being to be a part of a special journey against the odds.
Selflessness, love, sacrifice. All become superficial afterthoughts, probably when the dust settles. We remain present. And we too have changed - for richer, I'd like to believe.
So to you, the selfless, often unseen ... I see you, and I honour you too.
The ones who stayed.
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