My six months in hell and how I was pulled from the brink

By Washington Akumu | 5yrs ago | 3 min read

On a hot February afternoon, this year, I checked into Nairobi Hospital’s Cancer Centre. I was there to have a tumor, that had troubled me for a good part of last year, removed.

Nausea had become my shadow. No food could settle in my stomach. Tipping the scales at 48 kilograms, I had lost almost 20 kilograms.

And the pain, whenever it visited the upper parts of my stomach, which it did frequently, was excruciating. During those visits, I would cry. Alone.

Sometime in October, last year, I had been diagnosed with a rare form of renal cancer. I will never forget the undisguised anguish on the doctor’s face as he delivered what sounded like a death sentence.

“Your problems may be manifesting through the stomach, but they are higher up. You see this mass. It is what is slowly sapping away your life. This is not looking good, Mr Akumu. I have never seen anything like this. You should have come earlier,” he said, showing us the images from the latest scan he had ordered.

My wife’s face fell. She was looking at something on the floor, intently. I tried to crack a joke to mask the tumult within. It was like a raindrop on Lake Victoria. No one noticed.

A frail, plain-speaking, old school doctor who has trained many a practitioner in this country, Prof Bhatt, cut to the chase.

“Take some time off, but whatever you decide, surgery is inevitable. The sooner, the better. I wish you all the best. Next!” he was done.

I spent the next few days scouring for that Holy Grail called a “second opinion,” mentally nudging it to be different.

All the doctors I consulted (and they were legion), were unanimous. I bought time, weighing my options, determined to enjoy to the fullest, each day of life.

Life had just taken on a special meaning, its value appreciating exponentially in those few days! November came, then December and January. I was growing weaker and skeletal by the day. Most importantly, I was alive.

On February 10, 2018, I went in for surgery, under the scalpel of Prof Ngugi Mungai. Mentally, I had given myself at least one week for both surgery and recovery. Nothing had prepared me for what followed.

A number of complications attended the six-hour operation. For starters, I lost a lot of blood. Then I developed a clot on my right leg. From theatre, I was wheeled into the ICU, where I spent six days, slipping in and out of consciousness.

I saw death. Literally. Two other visits to the theatre followed, the first one to remove the clot and the other one to clean the surgical wound on my abdomen, that had picked an infection.

Back to the normal ward, I realized I could not walk. I would stay in hospital for over three months! By the time I was discharged on May 7, I could at least move with two crutches, thanks to a strict physiotherapy regimen.

I spent a further three months in the house, undergoing homecare from a nurse and a physiotherapist.

I am much better now. I can move, albeit with a single crutch as my right leg is still not operating optimally.

There were other significant victories, for which I will forever be grateful to God.

The tumour had integrated itself so much with my right kidney (they were actually sharing some vessels!) that the two had to be evacuated together.

There is a reason why we are born with two kidneys! With the eviction of the tumour went away a condition that has plagued me for over 12 years and subjected me to a daily dose of medicine: high blood pressure.

Then came the biggest news: tests on the tumour revealed that it was non-cancerous! My only residual concern is that I have gained a lot of weight, post-operation, but that is a “good problem” to have, considering where I have come from.

The author, Washington Akumu, is a former business editor with Nation. Currently, he is a strategic communication consultant.

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