IDEA MAGAZINE September-November 2015 | Page 7

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