Embracing My Everything
Cancer is scary, but it’s not the end. For many, it’s offered a new journey into places within us that we never knew existed or to meeting the person who had been waiting so long to come out.
Cancer is manageable and sometimes is brutal in its efficiency. I’ve learnt that no two cancer journeys are the same. My experience is unique to me, even when similar symptoms and treatments are shared.
Cancer is many things; to the patient, the family, the friends, the carers, and those who tend to us. Cancer can be beaten, but truthfully it does score victories too. But it’s not the only truth about the disease. Some battles are long and fierce, and some aren’t. But both require a lot from the individual.
The will to fight comes from a place within the person. During the good days of his journey, my friend Fred would tell me that he still had too much life to live to be taken out by cancer. I’ve learnt that there is only this life we have, and I will live it the best way that I know. Cancer forces you to dig deep and believe. You learn to muster all that is within you to be, to fight or to live.
I’ve quoted the late Stuart Scott several times, and his perspective on how to live with the disease changed my perception. “When you die, that does not mean that you lose to cancer. Instead, you beat cancer by how you live, why you live and in the manner in which you live.”
I chose to live. I live with my cancer every day. Some people once told me that I should not use the word ‘MY’ with cancer, but then whose body is battling? Whose plasma is affected? Isn’t it, ‘my’ body? Who is the one wreathing in pain or dealing with nausea or hair loss? Isn’t this chapter part of ‘my’ journey? Aren’t I required to be fully present to do any battle?
Acceptance is part of the healing.
Unfortunately, cancer breeds fear. Lots of it. But it also gives new eyes to life. It takes a lot from you. But with it taking, there is also giving.
Look at me. It started by being vulnerable on this blog and telling you about my journey. Admitting that I, Kevo aspiring ultra-runner and fitness freak, had to sit on a stool to shower, used a toilet riser to take a dump, and wore the most annoying corset to protect my spine. I used to wet my bed with sweat, would be sleepless at night waiting for the side-effects of the chemo to kick in, foolishly adding to the following day’s fatigue. I itched, saw my palms turn brown and would effortlessly pull the skin off the soles of my feet. I become numb to syringes and worried about my libido and my plumbing. This writing replaced my running, and I was able to rejuvenate gifting that I had put onto the back burner, and you know what, I loved it. I loved the sharing, and I started rediscovering myself and my voice and hoping it would settle some of your fears.
I learnt that there was no shame in this cancer game. I didn’t choose cancer, it chose me, and I had to decide how I would live with it. Is there still fear? Yes, occasionally, but living in fear robs me of discovering the many ways I could use the lemons that are placed before me.
It took a while for me to embrace who I am once again and to do so unapologetically. I had to grip all of me. This involved having difficult conversations with myself. Looking at my past and welcoming some elements into my present and using that to chart out my future. Living in the now is a beautiful thing.
I found a sense of spirituality that fills my soul. There’s a quote by a spiritual counsellor, Don Matteo Sol, that I came across that stated, “To lead a spiritual life, you need to embrace and respect your sexuality.” I thought I had fully embraced myself, queerness and all. But I recognised there were scars within me that still needed to be healed. A few months ago, on a panel, the subject of ’The church and Sexuality’ came up, and when the moderator asked what I thought, I found myself getting emotional. Enter the onions! Unbeknown to me, I was still carrying hurt. I had not realised that. There was anger at the church and the religiosity that made me believe that gay Kevin was not good enough to receive love from God, others, and self. That I was the damned of the damned because I loved differently, and I had dared even to make that public. I have carried shame and self-hate for many years. I saddled myself with the lie that I was a lesser being for being homosexual. I carried that, and many of us who are queer carry our battered and bruised selves daily. Hate-filled words, judgmental looks and in some cases, the violence we have been made to believe is our portion. Let me tell you something, we do those same things to ourselves too. We believe or have believed we were unworthy. Rejecting ourselves for we have been rejected. We are seen as stains on family portraits, and sadly, some of us have been bloated out. We deny ourselves, love, for it has been denied to us or offered with terms and conditions.
I may not have been bloated out of my family, but I snuffed out who I am for many years so that I could fit in. Fit into the school, with my boys, into university with the church, colleagues, society, and fit in in this county, Kenya. Believing it is easier walking down Kenyatta Avenue being invisible.
Imagine how difficult it is to be living with cancer in addition to not being able to live as who you are? I am grateful that I came out way before my diagnosis. Not everyone can come out. Not hiding who I am offered me time to fight this disease and not myself nor my demons.
The last six years have been a lot of learning and unlearning, and that journey continues. I move from moment to moment and use those moments to fill my day. I am a lot more present and aware, but I also remember that I am human.
There are days I don’t want to talk about my cancer and frankly don’t care about that friend of a friend. But that is this journey. I can’t be a warrior or be strong every day. That’s the truth. I’m still more human than a hero.
Lorna Irungu, whom I still miss dearly, told me one day to show up for myself when I was going through a dark day.
It’s not just with cancer but will all sickness. Maladies are personal, and even with all the kindness, care and support that one may be surrounded with, only you can show up for yourself.
Cancer has made me show up for myself. All of me. My good, my bad, my ugly and more importantly, my everything.
