From losing close family members to being diagnosed with cancer: Tribulations of Dorcas Waithera

Dorcas Waithera’s grandmother lost her life when she was on the way to the hospital to see her new-born granddaughter and this seemed to mark a series of calamities for her. She narrates her story to Malaika Chunji and tells her why she has never given up.

November happens to be one of the dreaded months of my life. I may sound paranoid or mystical but I have reasons, both good and bad, why I harbour such feelings towards this time of the year.

My story begins at birth. I was born to a 16-year-old teenage clueless mum and I’m the first born in a family of four girls.

The script for my story dates back in 1979 at Pumwani Maternity Hospital why I let my first cry. I’m told that after birth I had to stay in hospital a little longer due to a few complications here and there. A few hours into my young life, I lost my maternal grandma. She was hit by a Matatu on her way to visit me — her first grandchild at the hospital.

Our date never took place and the little I know about her is through what my mum told me and from the few pictures she had taken.

My mum moved in with my dad who was then 26 years old and they were blessed with three more girls. Life was good as, my mum, though a Form Two drop out, got a job as a subordinate staff with Nairobi City Council. Dad, on the other hand, had a spare parts shop along Kirinyaga Road in Nairobi.

In 1993 when I was in Class Eight, our lives took a different turn. Dad started getting sick and every day was different from the other. There were days he would be OK, then the next he would get worse. The trips to Kenyatta National Hospital became part of us. At first we were told he had TB.

In 1996 when I was in Form Three, my dad’s situation worsened and this time he was admitted at KNH where he stayed for a while. When he was being brought back home — I recall this vividly, he was brought on a mattress even worse than he was when he was being admitted.

We couldn’t understand what was going on then but we knew our dad was terribly sick. The night when dad came back home, he got worse again and we had to rush him to hospital again where he stayed for a week. He died on July 27, 1996.

Dad’s death opened another chapter in our lives. Having spent every last coin on his treatment, mum started straining with even getting us food and we started living a day at a time.

Early 1998 after I sat KCSE in 1997, mum sat me down and disclosed that dad had died of HIV and Aids. Back then, HIV was discussed in hushed tones. It was hard coming into terms with such news, how could my own dad had died of HIV — why us? That was the question that really bothered me.

Having learnt something about the virus in high school, it suddenly dawned on me that mum needed to take the test to know her status. The test confirmed my worries as she turned out positive.

The discovery itself that she was sick started to take a toll on her. By then, ARVs were for the rich as they were really expensive. They were beyond our reach. I remember we were conned at some point when some guy promised to get us medicine for mum only to get us antibiotics he had bought over the counter. By then I already had small jobs like selling fruits to help mum pay the bills.

New life

Three years later, around February 2001, mum fell sick and within a week, she died. Being the first born, I had to take over from where mum left off. At 21, I became the sole bread winner for the family.

Life was so hard, we could never make ends meet. In 2002, I and two of my sisters got married. I had to take my small sister along as had nowhere else to go. Getting married was the only option at hand to escape from the hard life we were leading.

In November the same year, I gave birth to my first born son. Two years later in 2004, I had my second son. My daily prayer was for my sons not go through the kind of life we had to live after our parents’ deaths.

Life started looking up in 2005 as I got a nicer job with a Safaricom dealer. Having learnt a few things about the industry, I introduced my husband to the business and he started selling phone accessories and scratch cards. Things were so good, we even bought our first car.

Tougher times

Six years into this job, the market was so saturated, we had to close shop. I went back to job hunting again. I was lucky though I didn’t search for long; I got a job as Personal Assistant to then Kamukunji MP Yussuf Hassan.

In October 2012 on our way to a work-related trip in Loitoktok, we were involved in an accident. From eye witness accounts, I was the one who was badly injured and they never thought I could make it to the hospital as I was in a coma.

My husband, on the other hand, escaped with a broken leg, he was discharged from hospital a week later and all seemed well. But a few days after he was discharged, he started having bad headaches that were numb to any and every other painkiller there was.

The doctor recommended a CT scan which revealed a clot that was causing the headaches. This led to another tragedy; my husband died on November 20, 2012 after a surgery to remove the clot.

I started drifting into depression but little did I know I was even headed for tougher times ahead. Ten days after we buried my husband, my boss was caught up in some terror attack in Eastleigh.

This was the hardest time of my life, I couldn’t understand why all these things were happening to me. In 2014, I lost the job — life, again, threw me under the bus. I had to quickly figure out what to do to feed my family.

We started selling second hand clothes with my sister to make a living.

In 2015, I started bleeding but I thought it was as a result of being on family planning for long. The bleeding got worse, my tummy started getting bloated and the bloat became part of me. In November the same year, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.

We had to move fast as it was still in the early stages, we managed to raise money and flew to India for treatment. I stayed in India for five weeks where the doctors had to do a total abdominal hysterectomy — they had to remove the uterus, ovaries as well as the fallopian tubes.

Making sense

I came back to Kenya cancer free but still on medication up to date. Last year around September, another tragedy hit. My house caught fire and everything was reduced into ashes. We didn’t manage to salvage anything apart from the clothes we were wearing and my phone which I was using to call my neighbours for help. And oh! Three of my bibles were found intact not even a page was burnt.

As I stared into the shell that was left after the fire had been put off, nothing made sense to me. It has been a rollercoaster but I know God will help me make sense out of my story some day.

All what I have gone through has brought me closer to God. I view myself as clay in a potter’s hand, I believe once God is done with me, there are those who will run to him and experience the God that I serve. I have also written a book, ‘In the Potter’s Hands’ as I believe there are millions of Kenyans out there whose lives can change just by reading my story.