Cycle 1 | Fertile Grounds and Empty Halls

For someone with a complicated relationship with routines, this new one has taken over my life like a tsunami. My dad has Gastric Cancer. From the moment we got the diagnosis, I went into research mode and thought we’d manage this. I mean, with improvements in cancer treatment over the years and more research, we finally knew what we were dealing with.
I had just moved into a new house in Diani after several unfortunate incidents. I had said my goodbyes to Nairobi and was ready to start settling into my new life. Of course, I was initially inclined to be a deadbeat (firstborn) daughter and help from a distance. I rehearsed my script and was ready to put my foot down and announce,

‘This is all you get from me!’ 

Then I came home for a visit and found my mum drowning—a shell of herself with hardly any backing. I thought, ‘I care too much for this woman to watch that from the sidelines’. I made a hard decision, and it has been the two of us riding and dying. Her for my dad and me for her. The chain ends there. 

I will not lie, the past 4 months haven’t been easy. It has been hellish. Reconciling with becoming the breadwinner for a family of 5. Dealing with the healthcare system. My life on pause and rehoming my cats. A lot has changed, but we adjust. That’s always been the motto.

The first several hospital visits were about getting ready for treatment. The nurses’ strike threw a spanner in the works, but we eventually got started on chemo.

Thanks to that, we landed here. Living 10 Days at a time. 

My dad’s chemo cycles come every 2 weeks: a clinic visit that hopefully ends with an admission. He then spends the week in the hospital, and at the end of the week, he’s discharged. That’s our 2-week window. Once we get home, we cross our fingers and hope for the best. 3 days before heading back, we need a blood test that determines if we qualify for the next cycle. This is when everything goes smoothly. 

Most days we don’t get admitted, or find the medication, or have a low blood count, or are fighting an infection, and all these things play a huge role in our treatment routine. Once home, it’s not smooth sailing and rest for the 2 weeks. There are visitors, prayer warriors, the side effects, and that’s just week one. After all that, I hopefully get 10 days for everything else. For my life.

This series was born on our first discharge. I didn’t know it then. The thing with public hospitals, there’s a lot of waiting involved. So on the first cycle, after waiting for 2 hours on an uncomfortable bench, I started writing in my notes app. I had an idea for a show. The moment I started writing, I couldn’t stop. By the end of that discharge, I had a TV show concept. 

The next visit, I was in a matatu. Once again, the impulse refused to be ignored, and I had 5 pages typed out in my notes app by the end of the day.

This series isn’t limited to cancer or my dad. It’s about the observations I make on my way to the hospital. I’m never the same person, never holding the same baggage or hopes. Each cycle comes with its pressures, timelines, fears, fights and irritations. That’s the lens these pieces are coming from. When I start a piece, I have no idea where it will end. The first piece started as a mental health and class piece, well… it turned into Resilience, Just Another Word For Not Having A Choice. No visit looks like the other.

After finding myself writing, I decided to make this my observational writing practice. Every cycle, on that commute, I will be in my notes app, writing. What that will lead to, I have no idea. But I will show up, allow myself to see, experience, and hopefully report back. 

I am apprehensive about this series. I have no way of knowing how long or far it will go, but I am rooting for us. Not just my family, but each of us. The faces I see every other cycle, the friends I’ve made over the last couple of months, the ones who suddenly stop showing up. Doing this alone would be harder, but I have people a phone call away, ready to answer my questions, quell my fears and hold my hand. And they have me. And now, we have you.

See you next cycle.