Personal Fundraiser

Hi! If you've decided to donate to this page, my name's Aliyah Fong, and I'm glad you're here.

This fundraiser is intended for my mother, who ended up getting breast cancer in the summer of 2015. I remember that day in the hospital like it was just yesterday - me, and everyone else in her life. We all tried to convince ourselves it was bengin, but we all knew stress and her health couldn't have possibly left no toll on her throughout her years. So she was told she had breast cancer, and the next day was never the same.

It started with the slow cutting of her hair, the acceptance that it was never going to be the same. I remember going through countless boxes of tissues and through the nights where she couldn't eat anything but jello and crackers because of chemotherapy. It was awful. It was hell. She'd stare into nothingness even though we'd asked her if anything was wrong.

Everything was wrong.

She met others who had gone through the treatment, too. I remember that winter around Christmas that she visited a friend of hers that had gotten cancer as well. Then she wore a wig, and only took it off to reveal her bald head in secret; a shame to her. The tears did not end at this point.

My mother still felt insecure and a burden to others, a common thing that patients feel. No amount of research could console her.

She wouldn't tell many people about it at first: but she eventually began telling her friends about it. Most demanded why she didn't tell them sooner, and came as soon as they heard. Others weren't so kind - a friend with a condition like that wasn't exactly sacrosanct to them, I suppose.

One brought her food every day, the other met her for every appointment almost every other week. I began to cook for myself and her, me and my father worked nonstop as her nurses whenever she was having a particularly bad day.

Some even came from states like Texas and countries like Malaysia and came rushing into the door. They all demanded nothing in return - just the simple act of knowing she would be alright would be enough. Unconditional love. Mentors, too, there for her 24/7.

And then came The Surgery.

I was in tears (every fourteen year old would be, nevertheless!) and me and my father spent what seemed like eternites in the hospital cafeteria trying to distract ourselves: him on his phone, my on my workbooks because it was exam season then in the spring of eighth grade.

She survived, mercifully. It was almost comical. Once we could come up to the room, she was drowsy and had been plugged with multiple doses of anthesia. Once she awoke it was like she was drunk, and failed to notice the small bouquet of flowers we'd got her. I'd probably laugh at that were it not for the thought that raced through my head like adrenaline: she's alive she's alive she's alive.

Recovery was not quick. Radiation began just weeks after she'd healed. Her chest was a mess of scarred tissue and burnt flesh; it was like a hot poker had taken to coals and grazed her skin. She was still in pain; rubbing on Aquaphor daily.

Her hair grew back, and is still growing today. The medicine still slows it down, of course, but she regained her strength over the course of months. Herceptin, Tamoxifen. Her world is a world of labels and prescriptions I hope she escapes one day.

Last year a cancer run in Chicago occured for the survivors and their families, and me and seven of her friends went with. We walked nearly the whole way through Lakeshore Drive and back to the starting point - 5k if I recall? We were too lazy to do the run - and I was her recorder as she walked.

She cried at the beginning and at the end - but they were happy tears. She had people who supported her and loved her; she finally realized that. We were all overjoyed. 

Today she still battles her low energy and depression daily. Sometimes she feels sluggish the moment she wakes up, sometimes she's fine and turns off by 2 pm. It's still a constant fight, but she is brave enough to battle it every day.

I tell this tale in hope of future support: once this fundraiser is done, I hope to set up a correlating website that will donate the funds to Fred Hutch. It will be a sort of secondhand purse website - all pink, correlating to its future working title, Pink Ribbons and Purses, in honor of my mother's interests with fashion.

So if you're interested, please! It doesn't matter the amount, all funds will help in the end. And if you do, thank you - it means a lot.