'I thought it was a misdiagnosis': How Wanjira Wairegi overcame stage 3 ovarian cancer

When pain began gnawing at the left side of her lower abdomen in March 2021, Wanjira Wairegi thought it was nothing unusual.

She was 58 then, a civil servant nearing retirement, and the discomfort seemed tied to her bladder. 

Each time after she eased herself, the pain vanished. 

But the problem persisted for two weeks, prompting her to seek medical attention.

“Being a woman, and the pain being around there, my first thought was that it must be a gynaecological problem,” she recalls.

The first visit to the gynaecologist would mark the beginning of a journey she never imagined — one that would test her body, finances, family bonds, and faith.

An ultrasound was conducted, though it gave no clear diagnosis.

The medics then opted to conduct a Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI), which revealed that there was a tumour pressing on her bladder.

“I then learnt that’s why I felt the pain whenever my bladder was full,” she says.

She was advised to undergo immediate surgery to remove the tumour because it was big and aggressive, and the doctors needed to determine its further effects.

Two weeks later, the biopsy results were out, confirming her worst fears.

“It was stage 3 ovarian cancers. It was a shock,” Wairegi recalls how she received the diagnosis. 

According to Dr Catherine Nyongesa, an oncologist at Texas Cancer Centre, Stage 3 ovarian cancer means the disease has spread beyond the ovaries to the lining of the abdomen (peritoneum) or nearby lymph nodes.

“At this stage, it is considered advanced but still treatable. Survival outcomes depend on several factors, such as the patient’s overall health, the cancer sub-type, and how much tumour is removed during surgery,” she says. 

To the outside world, Wairegi kept her pain hidden.

At home, her family noticed something was wrong, but they couldn’t tell what it was.

“My husband was with me. He held my hand and offered me a shoulder to cry on because he was the only one who knew at the time. Not even my children knew my condition,” she narrates.

“I kept it to myself, hoping the doctors might have made a mistake in my diagnosis.” 

Wairegi reveals that the secrecy was partly driven by the stigma which cancer carries in many Kenyan households.

 “In our communities, cancer is seen as a death sentence. People start looking at you like you are going to die tomorrow,” she says.

The medics then gave her enough time to heal the wound from the operation before she could start treatment.

A month after surgery, her gynaecologist referred her to an oncologist to begin the treatment journey.

She began chemotherapy; she was scheduled for eight sessions, three weeks apart.

“Chemo is not easy at all. The day it’s administered, you feel fine, but two days later, the side effects begin,” she explains.

She was also prescribed a medication that required her to inject through her thighs for three days.

For her, the worst was extreme fatigue and weakness that she felt.

 “I couldn’t even lift a cup of tea. For a whole week, I couldn’t do anything, not even able to walk from the sitting room to the door. I just lay on the couch,” Wairegi says.

Other side effects included diarrhoea, nail and skin darkening, hair loss and persistent back pain. 

Some of these changes, such as skin pigmentation and thinning hair, have remained visible on her today.

Dr Nyongesa says that when surgery achieves optimal tumour removal and chemotherapy is completed, outcomes are comparable to international standards.

After reporting her latest diagnosis, Wairegi’s employer allowed her to continue working from home, an arrangement which was extended from the COVID-19 period.

“That was a blessing. After each session, I would take a week off. By the second week, I had regained my strength. Work helped me stay focused,” she reminisces about the great support she got from colleagues.

Though a civil servant, the cancer treatment still came at a steep cost.

 Each chemotherapy session cost Wairegi about Sh 58,000, plus an additional Sh 10,000 for her pre-treatment tests.

The pre-test was done at every visit to monitor how the organs were functioning before administering chemotherapy.

“NHIF would cover part of it, my private insurance would cover another part, and I would sometimes top up around Sh5,000,” she says.

But the then-used National Health Insurance Fund’s support was inconsistent at best.

“NHIF should standardise support for cancer treatment,” she says.

In January 2022, a PET scan confirmed that Wairegi was cancer-free.

A PET scan is performed to examine the entire body for any metabolic changes that may indicate disease and to show how organs and tissues are functioning.

Luckily, this spared her the stress of going through radiotherapy.

Since then, she has been undergoing quarterly reviews and annual scans to check for any possibilities of recurrence.

The oncologist says ovarian cancer has a relatively high recurrence rate, often within two to three years after treatment and therefore a patient needs follow-up visits to monitor their progress.

The side effects of chemotherapy still linger, Wairegi says.

“I still have back pains, and I can’t sit for too long. That’s why I always keep my hair short because it never grows back fully,” she says.

Now retired at 62, Wairegi prioritises her health above anything.

 “I can’t live without a medical cover. I have realised that with cancer, anything can happen without warning,” she notes.