Someone I’ve never met, but have been praying for daily, got to ring the cancer bell a little more than a week ago. I was so very happy for her and it was moving to see photos and read about her experience. It brought back a bunch of memories from January when it was my turn.

Ringing the cancer bell comes at the end of your treatment. Cancer center staff takes you to the bell. There is a reading. There are often tears of joy and relief. There is applause. You ring the bell, and you are released to the outside world, knowing that the treatment you’ve been receiving is over. It’s a really big deal.

But that is not how it went for Scott and Kathleen when it was our turn, back in January.

We started with an appointment in medical oncology. As you know from prior posts, the news we received was good, very good. There were no signs of active cancer in the liver, the lymph nodes, or the lung. It was everything we had been working for … except the physician who was giving us the news wouldn’t go all the way. He would acknowledge that there were no signs of cancer, but he was unwilling to say that there was no cancer. I pushed him and said that we signed up for “eradication of cancer” and his response was that because I had a stage four diagnosis “those are not words that we use.” I told him he better bring my assigned medical oncologist into the room because those are “the exact words” he used and it’s precisely what we have been working toward. A long and somewhat unsatisfying conversation ensued, all of which tempered the great news that there was no sign of active cancer anywhere.

Off to radiation oncology where a similar experience was waiting for us. Now, the team in radiation oncology has always been a little more willing to engage in the human-to-human connection. And by now we had already been through the discussion in medical oncology, so the vibe was a little easier to deal with. Instead of saying “eradicate the cancer” you’re only willing to say, “the cancer looks inert.” Instead of saying, “you’re cancer-free” you’re only willing to say, “We see no signs of active cancer.” Got it. The appointment ends and with the wind taken out of our sails I say to the nursing assistant, “Do I get to ring the cancer bell now?” “Oh, do you want to do that?” Yes. Or more appropriately, well, I did when I woke up this morning.

The nursing assistant takes us to the cancer bell and we learn that it’s not a bell at all. It’s a chime. There is also no crowd of staff waiting for us. She brings out the reading and recites the words. Thank heaven she read it because the words are meaningful and the moment was so significant that for a million dollars, I don’t think I could have successfully read them out loud. I was choked up enough just being present there, recognizing what it meant. I rang the chime. We took a few photos and went home.

There were a lot of mixed messages to process that day. While I wanted a clean bill of health, hive fives, and hugs, I am grateful for the experience that I had, because it helped me look at the event differently. I went into it thinking that ringing the bell was about the end of treatment. I came out of it recognizing that for me, ringing the bell was more like the start of a boxing match. Chemo is over. Radiation is behind us. The real fight was just beginning.

I go in tomorrow for my first CT Scan in more than three months. Since ringing the bell, there has been daily Tagrisso, daily prayer, the return to moderate exercise, adherence to the immune-boosting nutrition program, and NO CHEAT DAYS. On Monday, we find out how we have done in the first three months of survivorship.