Ringing the bell on chemotherapy - part II

I take it all back. If there was a bell here in the cancer centre I sure as hell would be ringing it in an hours' time, marking the last infusion of my chemotherapy.

I wouldn't ring it in the expectation that my life is about to return to 'normal' - it isn't. I wouldn't ring it with on the assumption that chemotherapy has rid me of cancer - I don't know this. I wouldn't ring it in celebration of some definitive end to my cancer treatment - at best, it's still far from over.

Instead I would proudly ring it in celebration of having got this far. Today's treatment almost did not happen - my immune system was too compromised. Waiting for the go ahead this morning was a real reminder of how lucky I am to have got through this without any major hitches. I would ring it in recognition of having got through months of this punishing regime and its side effects - the treatment of which I was most scared. I would ring it to mark reaching an important way-marker along my treatment route. Ding-dong.

Yes, I have been lucky that it has not been as bad as I feared, and I am grateful for that. But each round has nonetheless been a trial. At times it has felt dark and I have felt knocked sideways. I am proud of myself for taking a day (and sometimes an hour) at a time, for listening to and prioritising the needs of my body in those moments when my busy head was still playing catch up with my reduced capacity, and for learning to adapt and surrender to the process. These have not been easy learnings me and I want to congratulate myself. Ding-dong.

I would ring it for all of those others going through chemotherapy or trying to piece their lives back together following treatment. Nothing prepares you for a cancer diagnosis and the impact that it has on your life. Quite frankly it sucks. But I have been struck time and again by the fortitude, humour and grace of those people living with cancer that I have met along the way. I am learning from them and salute them. Ding-dong.

I would ring it in recognition and appreciation of my dear family and friends and all who have continued to bear witness and cheer me on through my travails these past months. Each gentle nurse at the chemo unit. Every person who takes the time to read my blog. Every kind comment shared. Every thoughtful text, call, message or card through my door. Each bunch of flowers or surprise box of treats. Each meal provided or breakfast delivered. Every considered and precious gift. Each generous suggestion of music to enjoy, books to read or podcasts to listen to. Every single reminder that you are there for me - in whatever form - has blown me away and carried me through. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

And finally, I would ring it for Rob, for our incredible and resilient kids (who have had one hell of a crap couple of years), and for those who have been up close and personal, witnessing my deepest lows and gently holding me and my life together when I have not felt able to show up and be present. I could not have got through this far without you.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-a-bloody-dong.