Ngozi Ejedimu is a breast cancer survivor from Nigeria.

Ngozi Ejedimu

Cancer has given me a chance to finally take control of my future and chase after my dreams. I can now focus on building life on my own terms. I have learned to be proactive and courageous enough to ask for help when I need it.

Speaking up is important and powerful. I want to help women to learn how to use their voices to save themselves because we are taught that being vulnerable is a sign of weakness, a thing of shame or handing your power to others. I am going to continue to use my voice to help women overcome obstacles and thrive. My life experience has given me the perfect foundation for that kind of work.

I am now interested in abuse, trauma and its effects on mental health. Even if there is no scientific evidence to back it up, I am convinced that my relationship contributed to the breast cancer diagnosis. Trauma can have devasting effects on the body which manifest as different conditions.

I am bolder and resilient. When I am faced withdifficult situations, I tell myself,“If cancer did not kill me, this situation will not.” I am no longer a people pleaser and taking decisions is easier and faster.

I was diagnosed in 2016 with stage 3 triple-negative breast cancer. Leaving my marriage after 23 years in 2022 after my mental health had taken a beating and moving to a new country in 2023 was one of the hardest things I had ever done. The pain and brokenness tore through my soul and with it came chest pain so intense that I thought I had a recurrence and ran to the hospital. Thankfully, it was stress from all the trauma.

Is there strength in vulnerability? Not where I come from. I was born and raised In Nigeria. Growing up as a child, you are taught to be seen and not heard, once you decide to break that norm, you are labelled as rude and with that came the mission to drown your voice and stifle your personality. What was considered rudeness? The fact that you stood up for yourself. The fact that you had a voice.

Let us move on to Adulthood, where you could not be honest and open about your feelings, because it was seen as a sign of weakness or airing your dirty linen in public

I remember the first post I put up after my breast cancer diagnosis, I deleted it out of fear.

What would people say?Was it right for people to know my business!

Why, exactly, was I announcing it to the world? I was scared and needed support.

My next post was because I realized noone was talking about breast cancer in Nigeria behind the scenes and that was where vulnerability came in, I called it the good, bad, ugly and the truth.

Talk about breast cancer was its association with death, scenes from movies where the patient looked worn down like a ghost about to melt away. Imagine my shock when I realized there was a humorous side to the breast cancer journey, like the day I thought my fingernails were bleeding, which sent me into panic mode, apparently it was just some bit of red lipstick that had gotten under my nails.

Yes, I know I am supposed to be writing about how cancer has changed my mindset, can you guess that is what I am doing already. I did not start writing about my journey because I felt it would be therapeutic. It has eventually had that effect.

I started to understand the mission when I realized it was helping other women and then pictures of my scar to motivate women and help them make informed decisions around their breast health led me to breast cancer advocacy and awareness and with it came writing, research and conversations.

I have talked about breast cancer in Nigeria from different angles using storytelling to encompass themes like changing the narrative, art meets breast cancer and conversations that matter.

How has cancer changed my mindset and outlook on life?

I am protective of my mental health and no longer tolerate toxic situations.

I have the tenacity and the conviction to be a real force for positive change and I will use my voice to make a difference. A lot of people do not understand the power of information, finding and using it to advocate for themselves.

And it is OK to have boundaries even when you are vulnerable. Boundaries will protect your sanity and wellbeing and keep out unwanted invaders during and after the cancer journey.

The journey is harder after treatment, something cancer survivors do not talk about enough.

This post was written and submitted by a CURE reader. The article reflects the views the author and not of CURE®. This is also not supposed to be intended as medical advice.

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Where I grew up, cancer was not openly discussed.  

Cancer Gave Me My Voice Back

I am sitting at my desk and checking my mail, and it’s been six years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. A lot has happened since then, and I can tell you for free that an invaluable gift that money cannot buy is mental and emotional support.

Call me dramatic because I can be. Breast cancer is a traumatic experience with a lot of mind and body experiences so I expected compassion and empathy. I felt I would be treated like a long-lost princess by my family.

I did get compassion, because cancer is associated with death, but empathy is another thing — especially after I finished treatment. People forget and make assumptions that the journey is over. People stop being nice. I wish I could understand it, but I don’t, and hey, life must go on for those around you.

People are kind on social media probably because they are somewhat connected to cancer in one way or the other, so when I started sharing my journey, it felt nice getting messages of encouragement, especially on days that were not so good. But offline, things are different, especially around friends and family.

I have come to realise that there is financial and emotional support, and it’s difficult to tell you which keeps one from dying or gives hope. Or is it a case of needing one more than the other at various stages of the journey?

During treatment, financial support was important and welcomed, but after treatment, I realised that emotional support was (and is) necessary. That is where empathy comes in. People don’t understand life after cancer. In the first six months to a year, you have a few folks trying to follow up and concerned about your eating habits — note I said eating habits and not necessarily about self-care, which includes mental and emotional. I don’t remember anyone asking how I felt after my treatment and surgery.

Let’s backtrack to pre-surgery, no one asked me if I was stressed and anxious. I didn’t know anything about support groups before I started the journey, but after six years in advocacy, I realise that most women in support groups are just there to ask about food and to get out of paying for consultations by asking questions within the group. Harsh, but true.

Psychosocial support isn’t really understood where I come from in Nigeria; maybe its because people still don’t understand the seriousness of the disease or cancer is just lumped up with every other thing, so its just an ailment and you should be better after treatment.

A likely scenario for me is being told, “I thought you said you have finished treatment, so what is the problem?” How do you explain or start educating people when you are asked that question?

I thought I would be treated with some degree of empathy after I was done with treatment, but to my greatest shock, everyone treats and acts like I never even had cancer. How do you make them understand that you will always have side effects, the manageable and not-so-manageable ones? How do you explain the fear that comes when you hear a breastie (breast cancer survivor) you knew has died?

You are not even allowed to express any fear without someone reminding you to be grateful to be alive.

Maybe the initial burst of adrenalin after treatment made life after breast cancer seem like a breeze, but now I find out that I am struggling. I now advocate for therapy before and after treatment. I am struggling to be heard when I complain that my surgery site hurts, especially after strenuous activities. I am struggling to keep up with my voice in getting people to understand the need for psychosocial support, and there is the unspoken fear of recurrence, especially when the body is constantly in stress mode. I am struggling to find work that doesn’t physically drain me; fatigue is real.

People around me seem to want to support on their own terms and what I want is different from what I need.

I will advocate for mental health care in 2023. I have been depressed for almost a year now and didn’t realise it. The constant crying anywhere for no reason was one clue, amongst other things.

Social media has been good for my mental health, as I have come across a lot of resources that help me cope, even though I know that I need more than that as support. My stress and anxiety levels were high. Support after breast cancer is important. I started therapy and these are a few things I have realised, the worst thing that can happen to you during therapy is to have someone who isn’t a right fit. Physical and psychological impacts of trauma have a subtle effect on our quality of life. PTSD is real.

Six years after breast cancer and I am more confused than ever, but I cling on to hope because in getting answers, if I seek, I will find and in finding, I will get my groove back.

This post was written and submitted by Ngozi Ejedimu. The article reflects the views of Ngozi Ejedimu and not of CURE®. This is also not supposed to be intended as medical advice.

Now that I’m six years out of my breast cancer treatment, people assume that I’m better and lack empathy. However, my anxiety is still high. 

Ngozi Ejedimu

Cancer Gave Me My Voice Back

Everyone Thought I’d Be ‘Better’ After Cancer Treatment, But I Still Struggle

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