Facebook is a place. If you have not seen it, perhaps you have not been to Facebook. For the extremely unsociable souls, Facebook is how they know whether their colleagues, friends and families are doing fine. In fact, should any of their friends die, they are quick to break the news online as opposed to taking a minute to be with the grieving family. It is curious how this social platform has made us a bunch of wraithlike antisocial creatures.

It is a meeting ground for lifetime friends, partners and for the quite fortuitous, soulmates. Facebook is where Joanne and I met. I had just graced one of Kenya’s finest Social media influencer’s page, NN. NN had asked me questions about my life which I had answered in the form of a short story. He wanted to inspire his followers. This was in October 2020. I may not have done much that year besides hand washing and wearing a mask, but I at least spoke to some hurting hearts.

 She had read my story, and this is how she reached out to me:

Good morning Cate, my name is Joanne and I really need your help. (My story was highlighted in the nurse’s forum. I am the lady with the Mega-leg ) I saw your story on NN’s page. (Am really sorry for what you went through. Happy that you came out stronger. You are such a strong woman) I was requesting if you could bring my story to his attention. Kindly.

Joanne Wanjiku Wambui as she was known by her mum and the government of Kenya was born in 1993. She raised by a strong single mother who lived from hand to mouth. Shiku, as her friends and family called her, put everything she had in her books and was admitted to a nursing school.

She would later graduate to become one of the finest nurses yet. In 2010, lymphedema set in for her. This is a condition whereby your arm or leg swell as a result of damage to your lymph nodes. For Joanne, her left leg started swelling. She initially though she was gaining some weight. Only that it was in one leg. Then the shoes would not fit. As is the norm, she was treated for a myriad of potential and probable illnesses before an actual diagnosis was made.

In 2016, the Kirinyaga County Public Service Board employed Joanne the registered nurse. By this time, the swollen leg needed constant elevation to help reduce the swelling. If you have worked with nurses, you have seen a classic example of a human being who cannot simply sit still and lift their legs. Joanne was no different. Soon, she could barely stay on her feet and she needed surgery in 2017. Her friend Ginah tells me that they expected this surgery to resolve the illness. It did not.

The year 2017 brought with it another surprise. She was pregnant with a baby boy. Since one or two surprises are not enough, there was later that year a nationwide industrial action by nurses. In quintessential Kenyan fashion, the county government of Kirinyaga sacked her nurses courtesy of the strike. As this was happening, Joanne was A) too pregnant and recuperating to take part in a strike and B) On a maternity leave.

Joanne brought her baby to the world and now out of work, she resorted to moonlighting in different private clinics to provide for her medical needs and her baby. Coming from a poor family, she was also the breadwinner of sorts for her other family members. She had to play with the cards life had dealt her.

Her plight was highlighted on a private Nurses’ Forum on Facebook. She needed further specialized surgery for her leg in India. The attending doctors advised her that her hope lay in India. Without a solid National Hospital Insurance Fund (NHIF) cover, she had to raise the required money all by herself. Normally, NHIF goes to lengths to cater for part of the medical fees for civil servants.

Joanne was no longer under Kirinyaga County’s payroll despite numerous pleas by the Union of nurses and other leaders to have her reinstated on the payroll. Those cries fell on deaf ears. Her NHIF contributions were erratic since she had to fork out the little pennies, she got paid in the part time jobs. In fact, Ginah narrates, it was not once or twice that she had to choose between buying food for her boy and paying NHIF premiums.

In the group, Joanne appealed to nurses to help her raise the medicsl fees required to undergo the operation in India. She was advised to reach out to one of Kenya’s most credible fund drivers, NN. She was only too thankful to reach out to him through me. NN was swamped with several medical appeals at that time and did not manage to personally take up Joanne’s case. He however gave us pointers on how to approach the issue to try and reach more people. We would not have been more thankful.

In a last attempt at restoration, Joanne decided to give a local hospital the benefit of doubt. The little that was raised through friends and family was barely enough to cover for a plane ticket to India let alone the treatment cost.On 11^th February, Joanne kissed her two-year old son and promised that mommy would be back soon with legs that were equal in size and shape. Her son hugged her left mega-leg and planted a fat kiss on it. She was ecstatic. He was content.

 That is the last he would see of her. She never made it out of the operating table.

Having been dismissed by Kirinyaga County, she was not on any Final Benefit Scheme befitting a Civil servant. Even after struggling to get to nursing school, it is like she never went. Her mother has to now take up the role of mothering Joanne’s son.

As I listened to this ordeal, my mind travelled to Joanne’s son. What he wouldn’t give to have his mother back. The grave where Joanne now sleeps is still fresh. Yesterday, there was a downpour that almost uprooted the cross that represent her Christian faith. Her mother looked out of the window sullenly while soothing Joanne’s son to sleep. She felt things that only a mother can explain at having lost your daughter at the tender age of 28. What if she never went to nursing school? Would she still be here? She desired answers, the rain fell harder in reply.

There is a void in the form and shape of Joanne in her son’s heart. Perhaps it is true that nursing cannot be fully remunerated. However, the son knows how much it costs: His dear mother’s life.