mbulelo smpofu
Flora Fadzai Sibanda, [email protected]
AT just 29 years old, Ms Barbara Kamba-Nyathi, now 45, faced the unimaginable — diagnosed with stage three cervical cancer. But her battle didn’t end there.
Three months later, she was given another devastating diagnosis, which was advanced endometriosis cancer. This double blow left her with no choice but to undergo the removal of her uterus and ovaries.
Cervical cancer, a malignant tumour of the cervix (the lower part of the uterus), is a preventable disease through regular PAP smear screenings and the HPV vaccine. While it often shows no symptoms, it can present with irregular bleeding or pain in some cases. Treatment typically involves surgery, radiation, or chemotherapy.
Endometriosis cancer, on the other hand, starts in the uterus, most commonly in the layer of cells that form the uterine lining (endometrium). Risk factors include being overweight and having an early onset of menstruation. Symptoms include vaginal bleeding after menopause and bleeding between periods.
Surgery to remove the uterus is the primary treatment, with advanced cases requiring chemotherapy or radiation.
Despite the severity of her condition, Ms Kamba-Nyathi, a psychotherapist by profession, turned her personal pain into purpose.
She founded Bold Dialogue, an organisation dedicated to raising awareness about trauma and cervical cancer, with a focus on supporting women who have walked a similar path.
“I remember it was a Wednesday when my husband, a doctor, came home with my test results. He simply told me I had cervical cancer and that he had already scheduled an operation for me. I didn’t have time to process what was happening — I just knew I had to get the operation to save my uterus,” she recalled.
Her doctors fought to preserve her uterus, hoping she could still have children. But three months later, the grim diagnosis of advanced endometriosis cancer forced them to remove her uterus.
After enduring 14 surgeries, Ms Kamba-Nyathi was left numb, overwhelmed by the trauma of her medical journey rather than focusing on the emotional impact of losing her ability to have children.
“There were moments when I began to self-destruct, trying to cope with the pain. It took me a long time to come to terms with everything and move forward,” she said.
One of the most difficult aspects of her experience was the societal judgment that accompanied her diagnosis.
“Cervical cancer doesn’t come from promiscuity, as many people believe. You can get it even from one partner or, in some cases, from birth. So, it’s not just about fighting the cancer; it’s about battling societal misconceptions and judgment,” explained Ms Kamba-Nyathi.
She also spoke of the painful questions she often faced about her childlessness.
“It’s one thing when strangers ask, but when family members, who were there during my fight, ask such questions, it really hurts. I remember one relative telling me that I was too involved in her daughter’s upbringing, despite spending only a few minutes with the child. The rest of the time, I’m alone at home,” she shared, her voice tinged with emotion.
Ms Kamba-Nyathi’s journey has propelled her to raise awareness about cervical cancer and encourage others who have fought similar battles.
“That’s why I’m hosting a tea event for cervical cancer awareness next month. I want to show other women that life can go on even after battling cervical cancer,” she said.
