There's a tradition at most chemotherapy wards, the ringing of the bell when an individual is completed their chemotherapy regiment. Those in the ward clap and cheer for the ringer of bell, they whom stand shaking the instrument furiously. They announce that they are finished with this floor, hoping to never sit in one of their chairs or lay in one of their beds again. Nurses smile as they say goodbye, there are the playful quips of "I hope I never see you again" or "If you come back you had better be lost". Hugs and happy tears are shared and the person leaves. Today this happened twice while I was in the chemo ward. I had another person ask me how many treatments I would have until I was finished, indicating the recent bell. If I ever ring that bell it will not be a celebratory achievement.
If I ever find out that there is no further chemotherapy treatments, if I hear that that was my last one, that means that the cancer has spread too much, gone too far, and that my days will be literally numbered. Ending treatment when you are living with cancer does not signify returning to the life one had before cancer, it means the end of life. Ringing the bell at the chemo floor for a terminally diagnosed patient is chilling not thrilling.
Fortunately there have been many advances in treatments, even within just the past year, let alone decades. I am currently on a trial for my specific type of breast cancer, something that wasn't even thought of ten years ago. This could prove to be the first targeted treatment for my cancer type ever. The first! Before this, it was only "blanket" chemotherapies available for me, ones that were available for most breast cancer types, but no targeted treatments that were specifically used for triple negative breast cancer. One of the best things I heard when talking with the trial nurse was that I get to keep this trial drug as long as my body can tolerate it and it is working. I have something I can use until the cancer adapts (if it does, and most cancers do adapt over time). This could take months, or years, or even longer to become obsolete for me. There's a chance, no matter how slim, that this could make all the cancer become too small to seen in scans. A chance that it could put me in remission. I've lost my hair to this treatment but if it means I get to stay here, I'll take it.
I'd like to note that even if I get the chance to be NED (no evidence of disease), I'll not be ringing the bell after I am told I get a break from chemotherapy. The bell is for completed treatment, not for breaks until the cancer returns. I also would like to say that there is genuine happiness to see people able to say they are hoping to never return to the chemo floor. I wish no one had to ever step foot in there to start. I will still clap for those ringing the bell. I will smile as they scan the room. I am happy for them, but hope I never stand in their place holding that instrument. I do not want the bell to toll for me.
