And Then… I Rang the Bell

Twelve treatments.

DONE.

It seems almost impossible that I can finally say that.

When this whole thing started with one misplaced garden hose back in May, I certainly didn’t expect it to lead me here.

A broken collarbone led to an X-ray… An X-ray led to a mass….The mass led to more scans, more doctors, more biopsies, more tests — and more WAITING.

Eventually, we had an answer.

Non-Hodgkin’s B-cell lymphoma.

And finally, after all those weeks of testing and waiting, we had a plan…

Radiation.

Every weekday, I made the drive to Fayetteville — about an hour and fifteen minutes each way — for a treatment that only took 6-7 minutes.

Although, when I say I made that drive every weekday, that’s not quite the whole story.

Tasha drove me… every single day.

For every treatment, every trip up the highway and every trip back home, my daughter was right there with me.

And on the days when he could, Tony would join us for lunch afterwards.

Those lunches became another little part of this journey that I will remember — sitting together, talking about everyday things, laughing and then going on with our day.

Neither Tasha nor Tony ever treated me like I was sick or fragile. They were simply there being:

Positive.

Encouraging.

And reminding me, in a hundred little ways, that we were going to get through this.

I may have been the one lying on that radiation table, but I certainly didn’t make this journey alone.

Maybe that’s part of why staying positive came a little easier for me…
I was surrounded by people who were positive, too.

But, that’s enough about me.

Because there may be somebody reading this who has just heard the word cancer.

Maybe it was you.

Maybe it was your husband or wife.

Maybe your child.

And the minute you heard that word, your mind went to the worst place it could possibly go.

I understand.

But, for those of us who are old enough to remember cancer treatment 50 years ago, the treatment was as scary as the disease itself.

We remember hair loss, nausea, weakness and long hospital stays.

And those memories stick with us.

So when somebody says, “You have cancer,” we don’t necessarily picture today’s cancer treatment.

We picture the cancer treatment we remember from decades ago.

But cancer treatment has changed.

A LOT.

Doctors know more.

Testing is better.

Radiation can be much more precisely targeted.

There are more medications and more ways to manage side effects.

And many cancers can now be treated in ways that would have been unimaginable a generation or two ago.

That doesn’t mean cancer is easy.

It isn’t.

It doesn’t mean every person’s treatment will be like mine.

It won’t.

But here’s what I desperately want you to know:

Don’t let an old picture of cancer treatment convince you that you already know how your story is going to end.

I went into radiation knowing I might be exhausted.

I might lose my appetite.

I might feel terrible.

So I waited for those side effects.

But, for the most part, they never came.

I slept well.

I had energy.

I kept going to church.

I kept living.

And after my twelfth treatment, I got to do something I had been looking forward to from the start…

I rang the bell.

And I didn’t ring it alone.

My entire family was there…
Tasha and Kevin, Tony and Jill, Granddaughters Lauren, and Katie and husband, Ivan.

There I stood, surrounded by the people I love most, and…

DING. DING. DING. 🔔

Twelve treatments.

DONE.

There will still be follow-up appointments and scans for me. My doctors will determine what comes next, so I’m not going to get ahead of them and declare something they haven’t declared yet.

But I am moving forward with hope.

And that’s what I want for you, too.

If you or somebody you love hears the word cancer, don’t borrow your fear from what cancer treatment looked like 50 years ago.

Ask questions.

Learn about your cancer.

Learn about your treatment options.

And most importantly,

Don’t give up your hope before your journey has even started.

Cancer interrupted my life.

It frightened me.

It inconvenienced me.

But it also taught me something I don’t want to forget:

A diagnosis is not the whole story.

There is life during cancer.

There is life after treatment.

There are ordinary Tuesdays and Sunday mornings and lunches with your kids.

There are houses to sell.

There are people to love.

There are prayers to pray.

There are new things to learn.

So if you’re standing at the beginning of this road while I’m standing at the end of this part of mine, please hear me:

Don’t be afraid of tomorrow, based ONLY on what you remember from yesterday.

Medicine has changed.

Treatments have changed.

There’s reason for hope.

And just so nobody thinks ringing that bell means you’ve read the last chapter…

Oh, no. We’re not finished here.

Cancer became part of my story.

It was never supposed to become my whole story.

So keep reading.

There’s more to come.

As long as God gives me another sunrise, He isn’t finished writing my story.

But it also means that He’s not finished writing yours either.

PLEASE SHARE this with someone who has just heard the word cancer, is facing treatment, or simply needs a little hope today

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