I cried like a baby. When no one could see me or hear me. Not because I feared what cancer would do, but because I didn't want the disease. I wanted my life to be normal, which it could no longer be.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
My father's death, my move, and my frightening and difficult delivery created a tremendous amount of stress, pain, and sadness for me. I was practically devastated beyond recovery.
When I was diagnosed with cancer, like so many other people, my life changed forever.
When my mum first told me she got sick, I didn't cry. I probably cried over my mum's illness twice.
When I was 14, my dad came home one day and told us he had cancer. It was looking pretty bad. And I remember him saying how afraid he was that he hadn't gotten to do the things he wanted to do during his life. He had surgery and survived. And he's still alive today, thank God. But it made a big impact on me.
When my son was born, and after a day of lying-in I was told that I could leave the hospital and take him home, I burst into tears. It wasn't the emotion of the moment: it was shock and horror.
The assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. made me very, very sad, and I mourned and I cried like many of our citizens did.
Having cancer empowered me to take more risks. I knew beating cancer was going to shape me, but it wasn't going to be all of me.
When my twin grandchildren, Linda and Lyeke, were born two years ago, it changed me. I felt it was the essence of what life is about, and I cried all day. When my son Pierre, their father, was born I didn't cry like that.
When I first found out that I was an Idol finalist, I cried tears of happiness. I was just so happy, and my family was there and the fact that got to see that moment and share that moment with me was just everything to me.
The happiest moment in my life? When my doctor told me I was completely cured of leukemia.