We often associate loss with feelings like pain, guilt, grief, anger, and sadness. But confusion? It is rarely mentioned, though it should be. When I found myself deeply confused by what was happening to me, I felt like something was wrong with me. How could this be happening? If something so huge could come out of nowhere, it meant I was living in a world where anything could happen; and that realisation added fear and terror to the confusion. One moment, I was going about my day as usual, and the next, my entire world was turned upside down.
We often associate loss with feelings like pain, guilt, grief, anger, and sadness. But confusion? It is rarely mentioned, though it should be. When I found myself deeply confused by what was happening to me, I felt like something was wrong with me. How could this be happening? If something so huge could come out of nowhere, it meant I was living in a world where anything could happen; and that realisation added fear and terror to the confusion. One moment, I was going about my day as usual, and the next, my entire world was turned upside down.
One Sunday, I woke up feeling too tired to go to church. I decided to sleep in, and when I finally dragged myself out of bed, I thought I would clean our bedroom. As I was scrubbing the bathroom, I felt a sharp pain in my left breast. Although I didn’t think much of it at the time, that moment eventually became indelible in my journey. After lunch, I took a bath and decided to rest. As I lay in bed, I heard what felt like a voice telling me to check my left breast. Immediately, I reached over and felt something hard; almost like a stone. I was shocked. This was a breast I carried with me every day. How could I have missed this? That is why I say cancer is a silent killer. The truth is, I have always feared cancer deeply, especially after watching my aunt die from cervical cancer. It was terrifying. From that moment, I made it a personal mission to do whatever I could to protect myself from the disease. I had regular check-ups, including mammograms. The last thing I expected was cancer in my breast.
As soon as the scanner touched my breast, I was hit by a wave of pain and knew what it had found wasn’t good.
Even without confirming what it was, I shared with my husband what I had discovered in my breast. He was as baffled as I was. I made up my mind to see a doctor and find out what was in my breast. The following day, I was too busy at the office to go for a checkup, so I decided to go the day after. I went to former IHK in Namuwongo and spoke to my doctor about the general body weakness. I thought maybe I was pregnant or something. We did all the checkups, and everything was negative. But the doctor said, “Your white blood cells are really, really high—as if they are fighting something. Maybe you have an infection coming on.” He suggested I take antibiotics. Before getting the antibiotics, he recommended I do a scan.
As soon as the scanner touched my breast, I was hit by a wave of pain and knew what it had found wasn’t good. I saw fear on the lab technician’s face. She looked terrified. She asked, “When did you feel this?” “Yesterday,” I replied. She suggested I see another doctor immediately and booked an appointment for me in the same hospital. At 5 PM, I was sitting with the doctor.
He began asking me a series of questions, each one leading to the next. Deep down, I felt like the symptoms I was experiencing pointed to cancer. He asked, “Do you drink?” I said no. “Do you smoke?” No. “Has anyone in your family died of breast cancer?” Again, the answer was no; even my grandmothers are still alive. “At what age did you have your first child? Have you been breastfeeding?” My answers were all yes, yes, yes. But the way he asked those questions made it clear, he had seen something.
He recommended a mammogram, which I did the following day. It showed a mass in my breast. He then recommended a biopsy, which I was too terrified to do. The doctor started calling me incessantly, but I refused to pick up. Finally, I went to Novik Hospital. I did the same tests. Everything was the same. When they recommended a biopsy, I ran away again.
I went to Kampala Hospital, did the same tests, and got the same results. When they also recommended a biopsy, I finally agreed. By then, I hadn’t confided in anyone, apart from sharing my discovery with my husband. I simply told my husband and colleagues I was going to the hospital for a blood checkup.
They did the biopsy, removing three samples from the mass. The fourth one, unbeknownst to me, pierced my nipple up to the chest rib. After dressing the wound, I went home.
Somehow, news started spreading that I was dying of cancer. As expected, everyone came with their solutions. My parents insisted I didn’t have cancer. Some friends urged me not to go to the hospital and to try herbal remedies instead. Someone brought me a 20-liter jerrycan of herbs and told me that if the mass hadn’t disappeared by the time I finished it, I should prepare for death. I was supposed to drink some and apply some to my breast. My sister offered to apply it for me. When we removed the dressing, she started wailing. My nipple was open, and I could see inside. We both knew it was cancer, and it had eaten away the flesh. She called my husband and told him the cancer had eaten my breast.
I was in denial for some time. With the help of my relatives, I didn’t even think of going to Mulago National Referral Hospital. I started on herbal medicine, consuming it left, right, and center. When it was time to pick up the biopsy results, my husband and sister were too afraid to go. I was determined to know the truth so I could prepare for what was coming. I hadn’t heard of anyone who had survived cancer. I knew it led to wounds, pain, and death. I had already seen the wound, but I couldn’t see myself dying. I turned to Google, which became my best friend and doctor. I read so much about cancer and found courage. That is why I commend platforms like shespell.com that provide life-saving information.
He recommended a mammogram, which I did the following day. It showed a mass in my breast. He then recommended a biopsy, which I was too terrified to do. The doctor started calling me incessantly, but I refused to pick up. Finally, I went to Novik Hospital. I did the same tests. Everything was the same. When they recommended a biopsy, I ran away again.
I went to Kampala Hospital, did the same tests, and got the same results. When they also recommended a biopsy, I finally agreed. By then, I hadn’t confided in anyone, apart from sharing my discovery with my husband. I simply told my husband and colleagues I was going to the hospital for a blood checkup.
My plan was to get a mastectomy (breast removal) once and for all. I went alone to pick up the results.
I went for another scan and saw all the markings and sizes of the lump. I gave myself one month. I said I would take whatever treatment they recommended faithfully. If the lump reduced, even by an inch, I would continue. If it didn’t, I would stop and go to Mulago. My plan was to get a mastectomy (breast removal) once and for all. I went alone to pick up the results. Once again, I checked on Google, and it was true; I had Grade Three cancer, which spreads fast. I put the results on the dashboard and continued working.
That evening, I sat in my car at the gate for a long time, talking to God. I asked Him, “If you really wanted to give me a disease, why not HIV, which I could live with?” Then another thought came: “People would have thought you were an adulterous woman.” I entered my home, went straight to my bedroom, and continued the conversation with God. I asked Him, “I grew up as an orphan. Why have you allowed my children to be orphans?” That was the last question I remember. I don’t know what happened next; I didn’t collapse, sleep, or black out. I just sat there. I think the proper term is a torpor.
When my husband entered the bedroom at 9 PM, he found me sitting in the dark. He asked, “What is wrong with you? You are seated in the darkness, and mosquitoes are coming in. Is it work stress?” His voice brought me out of the torpor, and I told him I had received my results from the hospital. He switched on the lights, picked up the results, and went to the bathroom. He spent a long time there. When I entered, I found him seated on the toilet, crying. It was a tough evening for all of us.
After one month, I went back for tests, but instead of getting better, the infection had doubled.
When my husband entered the bedroom at 9 PM, he found me sitting in the dark. He asked, “What is wrong with you? You are seated in the darkness, and mosquitoes are coming in. Is it work stress?” His voice brought me out of the torpor, and I told him I had received my results from the hospital. He switched on the lights, picked up the results, and went to the bathroom. He spent a long time there. When I entered, I found him seated on the toilet, crying. It was a tough evening for all of us.
I went to Mulago, did further tests, and started taking the herbal medication. After one month, I went back for tests, but instead of getting better, the infection had doubled. It wasn’t easy. I told my husband, “I’m ready for a mastectomy. I won’t die like an ignorant person. I have read that if you get the surgery, maybe you can survive for two or three years.” At first, he rejected the idea, but he eventually agreed and even went with me to see a specialist.
What followed was a terrible discovery about how money can compromise even the noblest professions. I learnt that some health specialists care more about how much they can make off you than your well-being. The first surgeon I saw agreed with me that surgery was the right thing to do and offered to do it. We were expected at the hospital for surgery at 1 PM, but at 11 AM, I told my husband I wanted a second opinion. We went to a hospital in Naguru, where a different surgeon also recommended surgery. When I thanked him and stood up to leave, he asked, “Where are you going to do it?” I told him I had an appointment at another hospital. After an awkward silence, he said, “I am going to be honest with you. The truth is, your cancer has spread to the lymph nodes. If you do surgery now, it could spread further.” He recommended I go to the cancer institute at Mulago for specialized care.
I was disappointed and confused. The surgeon was waiting for me, but with this new information, I had a difficult decision to make. I told my husband I didn’t know how to get out of the appointment. He made the call, and we contacted the cancer institute. They gave me an appointment for the following day. I went to Mulago, did all the tests, and opened a file. The doctors recommended chemotherapy first since the cancer was advanced. This is what I want to emphasize; if you are in Uganda and discover you have cancer, don’t waste time and money on independent surgeons. Go to the cancer institute at Mulago.
I started chemotherapy, and it was tough. My hair fell out, my nails darkened, my skin developed dark patches, and I became swollen. My features were so transformed that you couldn’t tell if I was a man or a woman. I ended all my long-term plans and started preparing my family for my demise. I turned on my children, treating them harshly to prepare them for life without me. I withdrew from my husband and became indifferent. In hindsight, I realize this is how cancer breaks families apart.
My faith saved me from tipping over the edge. I belong to a fellowship called the Fighters, where we pray and encourage each other. One day, I found a woman who had just been diagnosed with cancer weeping. I held her hand and encouraged her, and by the time we parted, she was more hopeful. When I went home, I asked myself, “If you can encourage someone else, how can you fail to encourage yourself?” This fellowship had women who had survived cancer for decades. Their testimonies woke me up, and I started believing for a miracle.
While getting my six cycles of chemotherapy, my husband was involved in an accident that left him immobilized, and he consequently lost his job. I became the main breadwinner and continued working while getting treatment. I would go for chemotherapy on Monday, rest on Tuesday, and return to work on Wednesday. When my hair started falling out, I wore a veil like Muslim women. My face was swollen, so I covered it, leaving only my eyes, nose, and mouth visible. Chemo turned my tongue blue, and one day, a secretary noticed and thought I had been eating sweets so early in the morning. I didn’t correct her. Eventually, I told my boss what I was going through but promised to keep working. I needed the job.
Six months later, the cancer overpowered me, and I became bedridden. Clearly, the chemo hadn’t been effective. Some of my relatives who live abroad suggested I fly out for treatment. A relative in Turkey recommended a great facility there. But it cost a lot of money, which I could not afford. As we were wondering where the $21,000 I needed for my travel and medical bills would come from, Harris International offered. To say I was stunned is an understatement. I am eternally grateful to Harris International for their intervention.
I spent six months in Turkey, where I had chemotherapy for four months, followed by a mastectomy and radiotherapy. When I returned, I felt indebted to the company and started working after resting for one week. I was assigned field work immediately, which, although tough, I managed. I packed food and juices from home to avoid unhealthy food. The biggest challenge was UTIs from public restrooms. Also, radiotherapy had affected my skin, and exposure to the sun caused it to peel. But I persevered. I learned that as a survivor, the most important thing is to work on your immunity. I started blending juices from mango and pumpkin leaves, which did wonders for my immunity. Slowly, by God’s grace, I got better.
Just as my health stabilized, the scar on my chest got infected, requiring treatment in India. The good news was I didn’t need surgery. I still have the scar today.
As we spoke, he collapsed, went into a coma, and passed away a month later. I had two days to repatriate his body or cremate it.
Shortly after my return, my brother fell sick. Tests revealed stage four liver cancer. We traveled to India, where I was told he had one month to live. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth; I reasoned why cause him such unnecessary anguish. I told him the doctors had advised we return home and come back six months later for a liver transplant. I am glad I did so because he was reassured and talked about bringing his wife next time. Their wedding was a month away. As we spoke, he collapsed, went into a coma, and passed away a month later. I had two days to repatriate his body or cremate it. I brought him back, and everything we had planned for his wedding was used for his burial.
I stayed home for two weeks, then returned to work on December 16. The first day back, I was told my contract was ending on December 31. I went to HR, and they said they would renew it for three months, depending on my health. They renewed it from January to March. Last week, they called me and said my contract wouldn’t be renewed. All this has taught me the importance of faith; audacious, blind faith. I know even without a permanent job, I will survive. I have God and my family on my side.
I exercise, eat healthily, and spend time with my husband. I share my knowledge and experience with others every chance I get. I do my checkups regularly. Having cancer is not a death sentence. You can beat it and live a healthy, happy, and successful life. When you get well, know you have been given a second chance. Live your best life; eat what you want, have fun, exercise, and avoid chemicals and junk food. Do tests and self-examinations. Listen to your body. If you are fatigued, ask why. If you see changes in your body, investigate. Get enough rest. Let us listen to our bodies and have faith that we will overcome whatever challenges come our way.
Everson Bwengye is a brand manager for Krystal Natural Mineral Water, a product of Harris International. She has been in sales for close to two decades. Before joining Harris International, she worked with Coca-Cola Ltd.
