I just heard from my mother that my primary school maths teacher @ tuition teacher was diagnosised of endometrial cancer last December.
I was shocked and sad to hear that. She was my favourite teacher and mentor back then. She guided me and helped me through out my primary years. She taught me to open myself to opportunities and allowed me to discover my strength in maths. She trained me for various maths competitions.
I still remembered the times when I was taking tuition classes from her. Her method was strict but fun at the same time. Whenever we had our break time, the first thing we did was to go to the kitchen and checked out her fridge. She was generous enough to allow us to eat her snacks. And sometime she made us desserts during special celebrations or weekends. We used to bring snacks, cookies or food to tuition and shared among ourselves with our teacher. It was so fun. There, we learned things in a fun way.
She was good. And still is.
My mother told me that when she first found out that she has cancer, she couldn’t accept it and rejected visitors, not answering calls nor replying any smses. She kept herself from the outside world. It is understandable because two years ago, another teacher of mine whom taught me BM had cancer as well and she passed away. This BM teacher was another favourite teacher of mine. She was my mentor as well. She trained me for speech and writing competitions.
My Maths teacher must be petrified as the same thing happens to her now.
Last time was my BM teacher, and now my Maths teacher. Why? You can see how shocked I was when I first knew that my another favourite teacher has cancer.
I can’t imagine it. If it is so hard for me to accept the bad news, how would it be for her and her husband? And her kids? Her kids are still so young. This must beyond difficult and painful for her, and as a mother. She must be thinking what is going to happen to her kids if she really can’t make it?
She is doing better now. As in facing the outside world part. She accepts visits now. She is given one year leave to focus on her treatments. My mother said her hair must be fallen off already as she was injected with something-which-I-forget to kill the cancerous cells.
I will visit her when I’m back in my hometown this coming June. I will.
