“My name is Mary Wanja Njenga. I am aged 51, am a mother of two, and, most importantly, a breast cancer survivor. This is a story of hope, faith, and acceptance. Above all, it is a story of human triumph against adversity.
I tell it now because the time is opportune. Usually, I don’t like dwelling on the past, not because I find it painful, but because I have learned that living in the present is more joyful.
I revisit the past in the hope that it will inspire you to take charge of your health, and also to show you that the body can repair itself from just about anything, if given what it needs.
I was born in 1966 in Kitale in Cherengany, Trans-Nzoia District, to a family of nine siblings. I was the seventh, but my father, Godfrey Njenga, died when I was a young child, and so I was brought up by my mother, Edith Wangari.
I attended Makutano Primary School in Kitale up to Standard Four and then, in 1978, we moved to Kahawa West, Nairobi, where we settled at a small, dusty place called Kamae.
I enrolled at Mahiga Primary School where I sat my national examination in Standard Seven and joined Gathungururu Girls’ School in Nyeri.
Due to financial difficulties, I was transferred to Kamiti Secondary School while in Form Three, but dropped out altogether shortly afterwards as Mum could not afford to keep me in class.
One thing led to another, and in 1986 I gave birth to my firstborn, a baby girl, got married later, in 1989, and landed a temporary job at Kahawa Sukari, where I worked until 1993.
After marriage, I miscarried twice before I was eventually blessed with a baby boy in 1996. I miscarried twice again after my son was born. And then, as fate would have it, my husband and I separated in 2001 and I went back home.
Mum could shelter me, but I had to do casual jobs to support my two children. When my husband and I separated, my firstborn was in Form One at St George’s School in the city. She went on to join the University of Nairobi and graduated in 2009. My son joined Njumbi High School and sat his exams in 2015.
But two years before he sat his exams, I had noticed something was not well with me. I had, for some time, been suffering from chest problems and coughing, but a small lump in my breast ushered in new worries. At the time I did not know anything about cancer, so I did not take the swelling seriously.
Unknown to me, that small, seemingly harmless lump would change my life forever.
Nudged by friends and a desire to know what was growing inside my breast, one day I made my way to Kenyatta National Hospital, but for six months I could not get a doctor to conduct a biopsy because of a long waiting list.
When my day eventually came, they said the lump was not cancerous, so I should just ignore it and go on with my life. But one day in December 2014, I felt a sharp pain in my breast and every time I tried to bend the pain recurred. My daughter, alarmed, insisted that I seek medical attention without any further delay.
Though she did not want me to worry, she told me she had read the story of a woman with similar symptoms whose lump had turned out to be cancerous. And so, in January 2015, I went to Kijabe Mission Hospital. The biopsy, again, did not turn positive for cancer.
I sought a second opinion at another hospital in Nairobi and a mammogram was inconclusive. In February, I went to back Kijabe Mission Hospital for another biopsy, and this time it revealed the presence of cancer cells in my breast.
The good news was that detection had come early, so treatment was easy, but there was one more hurdle to jump; the operation would cost Sh60,000, and I had no means of raising such a huge amount within a week.
I was introduced to a woman at the hospital who asked me to raise Sh20,000, and when I eventually reported for surgery, I learnt that the full surgical bill of Sh60,000 had been paid in advance by Dr Peter Bird, Chief of Surgery at the hospital.
I cried in disbelief. Since it was too late for admission, we spent the night outside the hospital and my operation was carried out the next day. It was a mastectomy, meaning removal of the entire breast. The operation was successful and, seven days later, I was discharged.
After the wound healed, I visited several medical facilities in search of affordable chemotherapy, a cancer treatment that uses chemical substances, and which is usually very expensive.
After an extensive search in both public and public hospitals, I ended
up at St Mary’s Hospital in Lang’ata, Nairobi. The rates were affordable and with the help of my cousins, friends and my children, we managed to raise the money required for six sessions as recommended before commencing radiotherapy.
Financially exhausted and with no other option, I went back to Kijabe to share the predicament with Dr Bird. He gave me a letter addressed to Aga Khan Hospital in Nairobi, where I was offered treatment at subsidised rates. My daughter took out a bank loan of more Sh100,000 to finance the treatment. My family, at this point, was at its lowest, but we kept our hopes high.
But, just when all seemed well, I suffered another setback during radiotherapy after I developed a wound on the affected breast.
Since the wound was very painful, doctors decided to suspend therapy to allow it to heal.
I was helpless and in despair, and for the first time since my diagnosis, I thought I was not going to make it.
My son was my caregiver at the time, diligently cleaning the wound every day. Eventually, I resumed radiotherapy and finished the sessions.
Weakened by my physical and medical condition, out of work for prolonged periods of time and with limited finances, life became almost unbearable.
My daughter was servicing the loan she had taken to finance my treatment and my son was in school. Life was hard and I lost many friends during this period because most assumed I was going to die.
Help was scarce, but I am deeply indebted to my children Caroline Wangari and Ian Gachui for the help they gave me, my cousins, especially Njoroge Njihia and Ngige Kang’ethe, and members of St Peters & Paul Catholic Church Kiwanja, Marengeta.
My bosses at Kenyatta University, where I work as a casual labourer, were also very supportive and followed my health progress with keen interest. My employer allowed me to resume work after recovery, and now I work in the university kitchen, mainly cooking chapatis and doing other light duties.
And I am cancer-free!
What have I learnt from all this? That without God and support from those close to you, it is difficult to fight the disease. Accepting that you have it is the first step to healing, and then seek professional medical advice. Follow up on your physician’s appointments and instructions, and be careful with advice that may derail you from this.
Do not hide your condition from people as those with information that may be helpful cannot share it if they do not know you need it.
And do not worry about those who distance themselves from you. Instead, open up to those who care to listen to, and walk with, you.”
Ⓒ 2014 Nairobi Wire
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