If you were to ask the average breast cancer patient what brings them much-needed joy amid their health struggles, they probably wouldn’t say, “making breast prostheses”.
For me, this initiative wasn’t just about surviving cancer – it was about using that experience to knit together a community of hope and healing.
In 2012, I woke up two weeks after my first chemotherapy session to find chunks of hair on my pillow and bald patches on my scalp.
To tell the truth, despite all the preparation I’d undergone with my breast care nurse, it was still a traumatic shock.
Fortunately, I already had hats that I knitted to wear. I’d been knitting since I was 12 years old, thanks to my grandmother who used to knit scarves and taught me how to hold my first pair of knitting needles.
However, I knew many others weren’t as prepared. Cancer diagnoses often come suddenly, with surgery and chemotherapy following quickly.
In the middle of serious illnesses such as cancer, finding time or energy to shop for things like head coverings can feel overwhelming or simply not a priority.
During my visits to the National Cancer Centre Singapore (NCCS), patients would often ask about my knitted hats.
These conversations revealed a shared need for both comfort and dignity during treatment. We often ended up talking about what treatments we were undergoing, our side effects, and how we managed them – things we as cancer patients often felt like we could only talk about with other cancer patients.
I quickly got to work knitting. While undergoing chemotherapy treatment, I created about 100 more hats within three months for fellow patients who wanted them at NCCS.
In 2014, I started teaching knitting classes at NCCS called Knit For Hope. One stitch at a time, our community kept on growing, comprising patients, their caregivers, staff members and even external volunteers.
To date, I’ve taught more than 200 volunteers to transform balls of yarn into comfort for others through Knit For Hope.
BEYOND HATS: A NEW MISSION
Losing my hair was just one part of my cancer journey.
I got a mastectomy in 2012. When I first looked at myself in the mirror after the bandages were removed, the reality was overwhelming. The scars, the dark marks from stitches, the disfigurement − it almost brought tears to my eyes.
My hair would grow back. This loss was different. It felt permanent.
