Tackling cancer with courage and laughter works well for Millie

Tackling cancer with courage and laughter works well for Millie (Photo: Mildred Ngesa) In one of her many visits to the hospital for radiotherapy sessions, Mildred Ngesa met and befriended many other patients who came for similar treatment. Her circle of close friends consisted of fellow travellers who, despite the cancer afflictions, preferred to see the sunnier side of life. They would chat endlessly, laugh uproariously, high-five and back-slap each other while waiting their turn. Since radiotherapy is a daily affair, Millie, as she is known by friends, and her 'gang' would synchronise their sessions so that they arrive at the same time. Their arrival would, at once, light up the entire reception and waiting area. So much such that the nurses manning the reception area would greet their arrival with the good-natured quip: haya, chama ya wamama imefika... Among the many patients who turned up for the much-needed radiotherapy sessions was an elderly woman, who was wheeled in by a younger woman, probably her daughter. This duo always wore heavy faces, which is understandable considering the nature of the disease she was carrying. One day, the older woman plucked the courage and approached Millie's chama ya wamama. "Are you people really sick?" she asked. When they affirmed their cancer status, the woman had a follow-up question: "And why are you laughing; why are you so happy?" "We had a long chat with the woman about looking at her situation positively and being grateful that God had given her a chance to fight," writes Millie. "By the time we parted, she was happy and said we had encouraged her and given her a new perspective. With the cancer diagnosis, she had felt as if her life was over." On subsequent visits, Millie noted that the woman became more lively and cheerful; she even dumped the wheelchair in favour of a crutch. All this thanks to the chama. Anyone who has interacted with Millie knows that the above represents who she truly is: lively, vivacious, an ungovernable chatterbox with a million watts gap-toothed smile. I had the privilege of serving alongside Millie across two different newsrooms (The Standard and Nation) and I can testify that the chama cha wamama moniker aptly describes who she is. Victorious In the newsroom, one instinctively knew where Millie was; follow the noise and laughter. If by chance, the writer's block hit you and you needed someone to chat with, Millie was always game; she would put whatever she was doing aside and engage you in a 'story beating' session. And her stories... Millie's made stories sing over the pages, to the delight and joy of editors. During our time at Likoni Road, Millie was the head of an informal group of feature writers that used to refer to itself as slum reporters. 70 per cent of our stories were sourced from the slums. Soon, our newsroom days came to an end and we left to pursue other interests. It was during the COVID-19 shutdowns that I learned through social media that Millie had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Many were the days when I wondered how she was coping. From the chama anecdote above, it is safe to say that cancer found the wrong customer in Millie. She went at it with everything she had and was determined to come out victorious. When the cancer diagnosis was broken to her, Millie's immediate thoughts went to her two daughters. "For many mothers, when disaster strikes, our default panic mode is our children," she writes. "Who will look after my children? If I die, who will take care of them? It is a sad reality to face." These and many other thoughts are contained in her book, Dancing with My Scars: A Cancer Memoir. By now, almost everyone reading this knows someone, an acquaintance or a relative, who has been diagnosed and is actively fighting cancer. The tremendous financial and emotional costs that come with the disease make a positive diagnosis a most dreaded prospect. Many are the families that have been left destitute, especially financially, in the desperate struggle to find a remedy. This is not to forget the high mortality rate that comes with cancer. It is sad but true that many equate a cancer diagnosis with a death sentence. In the book, Millie takes us into the inner sanctums of the dreaded existence that comes with cancer. With her deft pen, she writes thoughtfully about her state of mind, from the time shortly before she found out that she had cancer, the diagnosis, the surgery, the treatment regimen, to the present, where she is using her experience to offer hope. From the hospital wards, as she undergoes surgery to remove the infected breast and gruelling journey of chemotherapy and radiotherapy, to the after effects of the medication, Dancing with my Scars gives the clearest testimony yet of a cancer victim turned survivor. Anxiety Throughout the book, the author refers to cancer as the 'cancer beast'. This reference alone is enough to tell you that what we are dealing with here is out of the ordinary. Yet, that is the scary reality many families are living with today. That she got into the dark pits of cancer, wrestled with the beast, and came out scarred but recovered is not something she takes for granted. She attributes it to hardworking medical professionals, who walked the entire journey with her and the supportive structure, both family and friends, at her disposal, that steadfastly stuck with her through her most trying moments. She also pays homage to her spirituality, her faith and belief in a higher power. She is very specific about acknowledging the various spiritual beliefs of different people as a key component in her recovery journey. Despite her fierce determination to overcome the 'beast', Millie gives the reader a peek into her vulnerability, her fears and her anxieties on the long road towards her recovery. Still, even amid such low moments, her sense of humour is not far behind. She, for example, describes how she went for a test that involved injecting the infected breast to remove samples for tests. Her friend and former colleague, Catherine Gitahi, held her hand the whole time. "Poor Cathy, she had to endure so much squeezing of her hand, until we finished the procedure, which took about an hour," writes Millie. You also need to read about her reaction when doctors had to insert a gadget, above her good breast, to ease her radiotherapy procedures. If you find yourself laughing despite the seriousness of the matter, it is because Millie is such a talented storyteller. This book forms an important resource for different people who have been affected, in one way or the other, by the cancer scourge; those living with the disease and those whose relatives have cancer. Ngunjiri is the curator of Maisha Yetu, a digital Arts and Books media platform

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