By Ngozi Uche
I cried and cried. I had held out hope that somehow the battery of tests would prove the oncologist’s initial diagnosis wrong. Friends and family were praying for that. But now it was just me, the oncologist and his nursing practitioner in my hospital room. The oncologist said the cancer was in my bone marrow and the name for the disease was Multiple Myeloma. Never heard that before.
Ngozi Uche
I thought people were supposed to receive such devastating news surrounded by loved ones. I wiped my eyes. I asked the doctor a version of the why me question. “Your genes,” he said. “But nobody in my family has had this,” I said. I added, “My father told me I have perfect genes.” “Well, he was wrong,” said the oncologist. I resisted the urge to assert: I still have perfect genes. My earthly father and my heavenly father say the same – both are in agreement on this. Am I not fearfully and wonderfully made?
Before I could ask my next question Dr. S said, “No, there’s no diet or foods that can beat this. You have a good chance of beating this with chemotherapy.” He had come to know that I prefer the natural approach to health and healing but he did not appreciate that.
I felt I had lost control of my health. That’s one of the reasons I had resisted going to a hospital. It was my aunty and two closest friends in the area (Flo and Mel) who finally dragged me into a hospital. I thought I had gout and the symptoms were just beginning to disappear- in response to the gout diet I was following.
I used to think that if I were ever diagnosed with cancer I would check into a center that offered an integrative medical approach – a combination of the conventional and alternative/natural therapies. But here I was in a hospital – a very good one that had done its best to quickly diagnose my ailment and they were offering me the best of what they had.
Dr. S wanted to start me on chemo right away. I refused. Having completed their battery of tests, received the results and spent 18 days in the hospital, I wanted to go home with a mind that was not addled by chemo. I wanted to confer with relatives, friends and my church family.
I was praying hard I could escape from the hospital without succumbing to pressure to start chemo. I wasn’t sure I would come back for chemo. The nursing practitioner, Jay, suspected that and asked for my contact information.
I had successfully weaned myself off Coumadin (a blood thinner) and had had no blood problems for about 10 years but now they had put me back on it and I was in no position to go on the kind of diet that had helped me pull that off. I felt utterly defeated. Everything I had done to preserve my health seemed to have failed me and everything I thought I would do if diagnosed with cancer seemed out of reach.
In 1997 I fell and broke my knee and was smitten with Pulmonary Embolism (blood clot in the lung area) after knee surgery. My quest for good health led me to adopt a healthy lifestyle. My diet consisted mostly of vegetables and in the last two years I started to eat more organic and raw foods. I shed excess pounds and successfully and effortlessly kept them off for about 10 years.
Cancer did not cross my mind when I went into the hospital’s Emergency room. First I was treated in the Cardiovascular ward because my heart rate and blood pressure needed to be stabilised. Then later Dr. S appeared and told me he suspected cancer somewhere in my body. I think he said they were looking into my fibroids and there was possibly something else lurking around the mass. Then they said I was going to be transferred to another floor. I overheard someone say the “oncology floor is on the second floor” but they didn’t seem to want to tell me directly. Later I was wheeled into the second floor and I saw the Cancer Registry sign on the first room. Oh Lord don’t let me go on that registry, I prayed. A hospital staff would later say to me, “You are already on the registry whether you accept the diagnosis or not.”
I soon found out that indeed I was on that registry. The American Cancer Society called and offered me support and lots of useful information.
I finally returned home. One good thing – the hospital stay had protected me from the snow storms. I had come out with a dreadful report from the doctor but I was glad my aunty and friends had forced me to go to a hospital. I came out with all my ideas about healthcare shaken to their roots. I also came out a little shorter. The cancer had caused two of my vertebra to collapse and they had to be stabilised by Kyphoplasty (cement-like putty inserted in my vertebrae).
I broke into a dance when I arrived home. I could have died if the hospital had insisted I pay upfront for my diagnosis and care. Nigerians in many Nigerian hospitals are not so lucky. I had resisted going to a hospital wishing to avoid hospital treatment I knew I could not afford. I initially tried to deal with my symptoms by attending a private clinic which didn’t do too much for me besides running tests that didn’t spot the cancer. I had nevertheless received the hospital care I needed. I knew I has cancer and had to make a decision about chemotherapy.
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