At 13 years old, I was admitted to the hospital because of anaemia, a condition of low red blood cells that caused me to feel tired easily. My haemoglobin level was 5, when a normal level should have been 11-12, and I needed a transfusion of 3 packets of blood.

Managing my school work, being separated from my friends and family for weeks and being stuck in the hospital was emotionally difficult. Eating hospital food, taking medication, seeing doctors every day… I still hate the smell of hospitals now, although I’ve never really spoken about my experience back then and how frightened I was.

But having grown up and seen other people enter hospitals for more serious conditions has made me realise I did not have it as bad as I imagined. Both my grandfathers, grandmother, cousin, my own mother and even a childhood friend have all been diagnosed with one of man’s greatest fears: Cancer.

Colon cancer. Prostrate cancer. Stomach cancer. Breast cancer. Leukaemia. I watched my mother undergo surgery, chemotherapy and radio therapy week after week. It was torturous not being able to fully understand what she was going through and feeling like she could leave me at any moment.

Watching cancer take down my family members one at a time has raised an uncomfortable question in my heart: “Am I going to be next?” It hurt to watch my grandmother unable to eat because of her treatment. It hurt to feel helpless when my mother was in great pain. I tried to be positive, happy and loving, but I couldn’t even feel love at those points of my unending grief.

I went from hating God, to hating myself, and even hating Adam and Eve for what they did back in the Garden of Eden that brought about the fallenness of this world. Sickness. Broken relationships. Pain and suffering that is inevitable for life on earth. 

Why couldn’t I do anything to help my loved ones except pray for miracles to happen? Why did I even have to witness this happening to them?

It was only at a church service when I went up for prayer and ministry that I started hearing God speak into my heart. He reminded me that He was Jehovah Rapha, the God who heals, be it physically, spiritually or emotionally. He is the only one who can heal us.

He is also Jehovah Shalom, the God of peace, who brings comfort and strength to me. His presence was enough to see me through this life and its trials.

I repented then, telling God I was sorry for hating Him for my family’s suffering. If I chose to believe that His promises are true, that He will always be with us, protecting us, and that His heart towards us is always good – why would He harm His sons and daughters?

I was reminded that God made each of us in His own image and He had plans for us no matter what happened in the future. He endured the Cross to die for our sins, took up our infirmities and bore our diseases (Matthew 8:17). By His stripes, we are healed (Isaiah 53:5). We are not alone in our sicknesses.

By God’s grace, my childhood friend who was diagnosed with leukaemia recently received positive blood test results that show he is getting better. I still have uncertainties about my own health, with a pain on the left side of my body and heart palpitations. But I don’t want to live in fear, waiting for bad news, as a slave to my family’s medical history.

I want to trust that God is taking care of us always, in sickness and in health.