First, I had appendicitis and then gallbladder inflammation. Then I started getting boils on my body, and one near my eye became so serious that it could have caused permanent damage. Over a relatively short period, I had to undergo several operations. No one could explain why all this was happening.
Eventually, I had to make a decision that broke my heart. I resigned from my job and moved back home to Sweden. Leaving Kenya was incredibly difficult. I had found a life I loved, but my health left me with no choice.
Once home, I hoped that life would return to normal, but instead my symptoms became more frequent and severe. I woke up soaked with night sweats, had recurring body aches, was constantly tired, and started losing weight. I sought medical care at both the local health center and the hospital, but no one could find the cause. Every time I left, I felt the same frustration.
I knew something was wrong. I just didn't know what.
The feeling that something was wrong wouldn't go away; on the contrary, it only grew stronger during the spring and early summer of 2023. When I also developed shingles in May, I sat in tears with the doctor. I felt enormous desperation and frustration and asked her to help me find out what was wrong. That's when I thought of the small lump in my left breast that I had had for a while. The doctor examined me and referred me for a mammogram.
After the mammogram, the doctors wanted to do an ultrasound. While the doctor was examining my breast, I saw her facial expression change. She became serious and quiet, and I immediately understood that something was wrong. I asked her what she saw. She said she saw microcalcifications, which can indicate breast cancer. It was the first time the word cancer was mentioned. I was shocked, but at the same time I felt a strange sense of relief. Perhaps I had finally received an explanation for all the symptoms I had been struggling with for over a year.
The doctors took several tissue samples from my breast and also discovered suspicious changes in my armpit, where they also took a biopsy.
Two weeks later, I received the first report: the samples showed no cancer.
However, the joy was short-lived. The doctors explained that the test results did not match the ultrasound images. They were still convinced that something was wrong and therefore decided to take new biopsies.
Another two weeks later, I was in Dublin with a friend. We were sitting in a pub when I opened my medical records on my phone. I thought the other test result would also be normal. Instead, I read the words that changed my life.
“PAD reports invasive breast cancer, grade 3, from the breast puncture, with spread to the lymph nodes in the armpit”
I booked the first available flight home from Dublin. Just a few days later, I met my care team, and everything happened very quickly. Since treatment needed to start immediately, I had to begin fertility treatment right away. I took hormone injections, and 17 eggs were frozen for the future. I had a PICC line inserted, and at the same time, several tests were done to see if the cancer had spread. Waiting for those results was the worst time of my life. I lay at my parents' house and had severe death anxiety.
When the news finally came, it turned out that the cancer was not visible anywhere else in my body. For the first time since the diagnosis, I dared to feel hopeful.
In August 2023, chemotherapy began. The first treatment gave me severe side effects. My mouth filled with blisters, I could barely eat or drink, and my skin reacted severely. The doctors therefore decided to switch to a different chemotherapy.
About 2 weeks after the first treatment, I decided to shave off my long blonde hair to donate it. I would rather shave it off than watch it fall out. That way, I felt I had a little control. This was horrific.
When I lost my hair, I lost part of my identity.
Despite the tough treatment, I tried to live as normally as possible. I continued working and playing rugby. Rugby has always been a big part of my life and my greatest passion. Continuing to play became a way to keep fighting and hold on to myself; it helped me keep my sanity.
But in October, everything came to a sudden halt. That's when my body gave out completely in the most tangible way.
After a rugby match, I developed a high fever and severe pain in the arm where my PICC line was. At the hospital, they determined that I had sepsis and a blood clot. I became seriously ill and was hospitalized with a fever of 41 degrees while the doctors fought to get the infection under control. Eventually, the PICC line was removed, and only then did I start to get better.
After this, I realized that I couldn't keep going as usual; I needed to slow down and listen to my body. I was signed off work and stopped playing rugby.
This was yet another loss during a period when the illness had already taken so much from me. No longer being able to be active felt like an identity crisis.
The more treatments I had, the more tired and drained I became. By late autumn, my legs could barely carry me anymore; it was a challenge to get from the bed to the sofa.
Chemotherapy soon became part of my daily life, with a new treatment every three weeks. I almost always had a friend or family member by my side. Their support meant more than words can describe and gave me the strength to keep fighting, even on the days when everything felt heaviest.
In January 2024, it was time for a mastectomy of my left breast. I had had a feeling throughout the autumn that the chemotherapy had not worked as it should have. The tumor felt larger, but I tried to convince myself it was just my imagination. Unfortunately, my gut feeling had been right.
After the surgery, I was told that the tumor had continued to grow despite the treatment. The cancer had spread over an area of about 18 centimeters in the breast, and eight lymph nodes still contained cancer. The news terrified me. If the tumor had continued to grow, had the cancer also had time to spread to the rest of the body? It was clear that I needed to continue treatment. What was initially intended to be a few months turned into another almost year of chemotherapy and targeted treatment.
The news that I had to continue treatment for almost another year, while also realizing how aggressive my cancer actually was, affected me enormously psychologically. In just a few months, the tumor had gone from being about two centimeters in size to covering almost the entire breast, despite several months of chemotherapy.
Understanding how quickly the cancer had developed terrified me. I started seeing a psychologist and began treatment with antidepressants. My body was also severely affected. I was constantly exhausted and had very little energy left after everything I had been through.
Just a few weeks after the surgery, I also suffered another setback. The operated area suddenly became intensely red, and I quickly developed a high fever. My father and I went straight to the emergency room, where a sepsis alert was triggered. It turned out that I had bacteria in my blood after the surgery.
After a week in the hospital on intravenous antibiotics, I recovered and could continue treatment. After that, I began 15 radiation treatments to the breast as well as hormone treatment, which put me into menopause.
For the rest of 2024, hospital visits, chemotherapy treatments, blood tests, and X-rays were interspersed. In November 2024, I received my 27th and final chemotherapy treatment. It was a moment I had fought for over a year. But even though the treatment was over, the journey was far from finished. When the last chemotherapy treatment was over, I thought the worst was behind me.
But then a new battle began, the battle to try to get my life back.
For me, life after cancer has in many ways been just as challenging as the treatment itself. My body carries the consequences of everything it has been through. It has changed, has new limits, and I have been forced to get to know it all over again.
I am still on hormone treatment and have been put into chemical menopause, a treatment that will continue for ten years. The treatment causes side effects such as joint pain, brain fog, and mood swings. The skin around my breast is tight and painful after radiation treatment, which has led to further operations. My right hip joint has partially died as a result of chemotherapy, which means I will probably need an artificial joint. These are some of the physical challenges I still live with. But what is perhaps hardest of all is the psychological part. The fear of recurrence is always with me.
I think about cancer almost every day and every new pain or change in my body awakens anxiety.
I have been in therapy for almost a whole year to learn how to cope with these thoughts. Over time, it has become easier, but they never completely go away.
Today, I am cancer-free and go for check-ups every six months. I still have a long way to go, but I have started to accept that recovery cannot be rushed. It has to take the time it needs.
At the same time, this journey has changed my outlook on life. I appreciate things in a way I never did before and try not to take a single day for granted. I have gained a different perspective on what really matters, and even though cancer took a lot from me, it also gave me a greater gratitude for life.
Cancer took a lot from me. But it also gave me lessons and perspective. Life is fragile, and every day is incredibly valuable.
