[2021-01-14] Final chemo and ringing the bell
It is fitting that the bell in the chemotherapy unit at The Ottawa Hospital's Cancer Centre is called the Bell of Hope.
Today, I rang that bell to signify the end of my chemotherapy treatments, and the beginning of hope that these interventions have slayed my cancer.
As my daughter pointed out, this is the end of one step in my treatment, and while there are more steps to come, this is a significant one. Another person likened it to having climbed a mountain.
While I was undergoing chemo this morning, I received another encouraging test result: my CA125 is at 10. In Chemo #4 and good news, I explained that the CA125 is a blood test to detect the level of cancer antigen 125 in my system. A number below 35 is considered normal. I hit 19 after 3 rounds of chemo and 10 after 5. By comparison, my number on July 29, when I first learned that I had ovarian cancer, was 920, and on September 24, after surgery but before chemotherapy, it was 862. My post-chemo results of 19 and 10, well within the normal range, give me hope.
Throughout my time in the chemo unit, I heard the Bell of Hope only once. That's odd considering that I spent more than 30 hours there over the course of my six treatments.
I asked Nurse Kathy whether everyone rings the bell at the end of their treatment. She replied, "Oh no. Lots of people choose not to ring it."
That could be because the vast majority of us went through chemo on our own: no chemo buddy allowed (with few exceptions) because of COVID. So perhaps it didn't feel the same to not have a loved one there to celebrate the milestone. It could also be, as I considered, a desire to not be celebrating our completion when others in the unit could be just starting theirs. In fact, I was on my first treatment the one and only time I heard the bell; I remember my feeling happy for that person.
So many cancer survivors and loved ones of cancer survivors encouraged me to ring the bell that it seemed a given that I would ring it too, and I'm glad that I did.
A framed poem called Ring that Bell of Hope is mounted on the wall under the bell. It is signed by Beth Staton, cancer survivor, and dated September 2007. It is dedicated to Beth's sister, Judy, who had also had breast cancer, and to all those affected by cancer. To me, that includes patients and their loved ones. The final line in the poem is consistent with my thinking:
Please never lose HOPE!
Now to the story of my neuts, as I've come to refer to them affectionately thanks to suggestions from others. This morning, I arrived at the Cancer Centre's lab at 7:05. There were already two people in front of me. Fortunately, the technician opened the lab up early, so my turn came just before 7:30, when the lab was scheduled to open. The technician asked whether I was waiting for a result so that treatment could proceed. I said yes and that I was scheduled to start chemo at 8:00. She said that it would normally take an hour for results but that she would rush them along.
At 8:05, my first set of blood results appeared in MyChart. My heart started pounding, as I opened the app on my phone. It was like looking for a pass or fail on a report card. I quickly scanned the results and saw Neutrophils: 1.0. I was ecstatic. I had made it—just—but I had made it. My chemo could proceed as planned. I could ring the bell. I would not have to make my husband come all the way back to the hospital, after just returning home, to get me right away.
At 8:35, more results showed up in MyChart, including the 10 on my CA125. My ecstasy over my Neutrophil results was replaced by serenity over my CA125 results. I relaxed while the nurses infused me with life-saving drugs.
At the risk of scooping tonight's post, I sent out texts to family members that my chemo was proceeding, along with a few emails and social media updates for people anxiously awaiting news on my neuts. On Twitter, I wrote:
Final score in Neuts vs Cancer: 1.0 to 0. Neuts came through and hit the minimum threshold. Chemo is proceeding. Last round! Thanks for all the cheering. ❤
With that out of the way, I put on a podcast, This is Love, recommended by a dear friend. I listened to Episode 30 about a British man in his 70s who grows vegetables and posts photos of them on Twitter. It was very soothing, and I fell asleep.
My time in the chemotherapy unit today flew by. I awoke when my infusion system beeped to signify that I was done the first chemo drug, which takes three hours to be administered. I was soon on to the second and final bag, which takes 30 minutes.
And just like that, chemotherapy is done. In saying goodbye to Nurse Kathy and Nurse Jacinthe, I said that I hoped I would never see them again. Jacinthe said, "Well, at least not here." Out in the world, post-chemo and post-COVID, I'd love to see these lovely women, and I'd love to be able to give them a proper hug.
Thank you, one and all for your interest, encouragement and support through my cancer journey to date. It has meant so much to me!
