Battling the Darkness of Treatment and Embracing the Experience

I run my hands through my Kinky African hair. For the first time, the curls gripping my hair aren’t annoying. I enjoy it. My face stares back at me and I can see the sadness, the grief, the hopelessness. I try to capture every curve and edge of my frame. Taking in the chubbiness of my cheek, the curve of my hips, the glow on my skin. A record of my distant self. I replay the video a couple more times, every time noticing the undeniable difference between who I was and who I have become. The selfie video captured a few months ago, has become a poignant reminder of what this disease has taken from me.

It is a Tuesday morning and the start of the 2nd week of my hospital admission. I sit scribbled at the edge of the bed cradling my half-empty cup of tea. “Today you have tried,” I tell myself and place the cup on the bedside table. The day before, it was barely a quarter empty. My hospital gown fits loosely and not even the straps can hold it in place. I asked for a smaller size but they said this is the smallest they have. My bald head is covered in a pink bonnet, a piece of home that I cling to throughout the day. The hospital room is small; two beds, a small screen, and a bunch of monitors. Nothing extravagant, just adequate for my stay.

I have been in and out of hospital for 14 months and 6 days. Before 6 months ago, I hopped from one clinic to the next hoping to get answers. “You have stage III cervical cancer. We are…” the doctor said and I instantly knew from that moment henceforth my life would be different. I started my treatment a few days later and after a few sessions, my pockets ran dry. Nobody prepares you for the cost of treating cancer. My family’s pockets were thining with the minute, I could see it every time they talked in hushed tones before a chemo appointment. My body gave in to the aggressiveness of the chemotreatment. I lost weight, I lost my hair, I lost my glow and with time the hope, once a flicker, was slowly dimming.

Every chemo appointment was ambivalent; a battlefield of emotions. On one end I was optimistic that I would finally eliminate the cancerous cells in my body. On the other end, the chemo drugs sucked the life out of me and I was left a bare shadow of my former self. Before this admission, I had skipped my last 2 chemo sessions. There was simply no money. My accounts were dry. The little coins I had left were barely enough to keep me afloat. My parents and friends had organised an online fund drive and the money collected is what had afforded me this admission. Due to my noncompliance with treatment, I developed vagina bleeding and blood levels were critically low. The doctors advised me to be transfused with blood before restarting chemo.

This morning I was to receive my second pint of blood. Three days prior I had developed a severe blood infection that had been controlled with IV antibiotics and gratefully I was feeling a little better. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the nurse fixed the blood infusion. I waited to feel a new energy coursing through my veins. Nothing. I could hear my heart pounding, feeling its struggle with every pump. My breathing was strenuous almost like I begged the air to go in just a little deeper.

I closed my eyes and darkness descended. Quiet and calm. And then there were lights; beautiful shimmering lights surrounded by twinkling stars. I could vaguely see my parents and brothers in the distance. Surrounding them was a group of people I could hardly make out. Chaos and beeping monitors echoed. And then, there was silence.

Heeey guys,

Thank you for reading through to the end. In celebration of World Cancer Day, I want to appreciate the men and women who have fought and continue to fight cancer together with their families. It is a tough fight, and you are a hero for the far you’ve come.
I would love to read your thoughts in the comment section below.
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See you in the next blog.
Adios
Faith Daktari .