y name is Juniah Kagwiria. I was born in Meru, Kenya
to ambitious parents. When I was in elementary
school, I took it upon myself to obtain a “feminine”
name and I opted for Sandra. The name “Juniah” molded me
in to an extrovert by default as it never failed to spark conversations or inquiries as to how I got my name.
The first 4 years of my childhood were spent with my adorable
grandparents; they raised me while my parents attended
college. The earliest fondest memory was of my grandma and I
walking down the Meru hills to the river and I had my little red
bucket (or maybe it was a “Kasuku” container)...I loved that
red bucket. My parents were very ambitious and they both
excelled in their careers. Few may say that growing up, we
lead a privileged life but my late parents made sure I was
grounded.
Coming to America was my father's dream and it later became
my reality. Most Kenyan children are brought up to obey
their parents and seldom question their authority. I
loved my father and I knew he always wanted what
was best for his children. So I left my home and
came to the land of the “Free” and the “Brave”
Coming to America, alone was in deed not easy.
The first year was the worst; I spent a lot of
nights on the phone with my father. I wanted to
come back home. I can still hear my father’s voice
as he encouraged me to fight on and attend my
classes. To fight on and make friends, to fight on and
live life! My father never gave up on me.
Everyone that has migrated to a foreign land has a
story. We all know what it means to be “home
Sick” we all know the hurdles we have to jump
so we can blend in with the indigenous
people. We all learn to cope! So my
transition story is not unique, because
everyone has a story to tell about their life
in America.
But not everyone gets to survive cancer-Twice!
It all started with my dreaded monthly visits from Aunt Flo.
Dreaded is an understatement. I do recall long days of pain and
agony when I was in high School. My monthly cramps were so
bad that my Kenyan family doctor prescribed “Hormone
Therapy” or birth control when I was 17 years old in order to
control them.
In the fall of 2007, my surfing of the crimson wave became
excruciating. In addition to the pain, I had excessive bloating,
back pains and constant constipation. To most women, these
are “normal” period symptoms but I felt they were a little
excessive.
IDEA DIAPORA 6
I voiced my agony to my doctor during my yearly OBGYN
visit. He had been my OBGYN doctor since my arrival to
America so he was aware of my condition. My doctor ordered
more tests and I do recall him saying, “It’s okay Sandra, it
could be fibroids or something minor-but we’ll have them take
a look” An ultrasound later revealed a mass on my left Ovary.
Naturally, I was alarmed but my doctor stated it would be best
to first get the mass biopsied then we would address the matter
once the results came in.
Memory retention is an amazing human trait. We can each
recall our whereabouts when something tragic or eventful
happens. I recall the day I was informed of my mum’s passing
and years later, when I read of my dad’s departure to join her
in heaven. We retain details and they become a permanent
memory. It was on a Thursday. I had just left my Class. I was
rushing to get ready so I could head to my 2nd job when I got a
call from my Doctor’s office. Normally that would never alarm
me, but before then, my doctor had never personally called
me. I always got a call from a nurse or the perky
receptionist-never my doctor. He proceeded to ask
about my day and what not but my heart was rising
because deep down I knew he did not call me to
talk about my grades. He then calmly asked me to
come into his office so we could discuss my
results. Naturally I wanted him to spill the beans
and just get it over with, but he insisted it’s best
for us to review all details in person. The drive to
his office had to be one of the longest drives I have
ever made! I prayed.
On arrival to my doctor’s office, I was met by my
doctor, a nurse and a couple from my church.
Growing up, I was not really exposed to profound
display of affection. I recall my parents sending
us to bed early so we could not watch any
kissing scenes from the “Bold and Beautiful.” in fact, many Kenyan kids seldom
saw
their parents express any affection! God
Forbid
if a father was seen hugging his teenage
daughter. So it was uncanny to be in an office
surrounded by 4 people that wanted to express their
love for me by holding my hand and shoulder. The word
“Cancer” hit me like a tidal wave. My doctor stated the biopsy
came back positive with Cancer cells and my CA-125 was
elevated. They had to perform more tests to confirm the
nature/classification of the cancer and treatment and would be
partnered with a Gynecological Oncologist.
I had stage IIA epithelial ovarian cancer. I was 24 years old.
There are 5 stages of grief:
DENIAL: – I spent the first few days in disbelief. I had my
doctors redo the tests. I had another doctor review the new
results. I mean, I was only 24 years old with no family history
of cancer. I was happy and healthy. Why did I have cancer?
But cancer does not discriminate