Ringing the Bell

There's a ship's bell hanging on the wall in the cancer ward in my town. It's a strange sight in this bland, empty hall, lined with curtained cells. But for the people who come here, that bell has a special meaning.

We walk through that door, over and over, for week after week and month after month. We lie for hours, struggling with pain, nausea, boredom, as the medicine that we hope will save us seeps in, drop by drop.

It's a long, long road. The life you knew before falls away. You put up with months of grinding weariness, with losing your hair and your dignity, with feeling like a stranger to yourself. Empty of strength, the smallest things become a life or death battle.

We live a life of needles and hospital beds and ambulances. Armies of pill bottles crowd the bathroom countertop at home. The stairs become Mount Everest, one slow step at a time.

There are so many blessings, though, in those dark days. Kind, caring words. Cards in the mail full of encouragement. Smiles of friends. Loving family gathering close. A strong arm as you wearily climb the stairs. A cooked meal brought to you on a tray. A thousand kind gestures that give you hope and lift you up and support you along the way.

It's a hard journey, though. A seemingly endless path, winding through hills and over stony ground. You trudge that path of pain and weariness, battling grinding fatigue, fear and despair. Your 'normal' life lies far back in the distance, and your future lies tantalizingly beyond your reach, over the next mountain, full of questions and uncertainties.

So you hang a calendar and mark off the days, one by one. Moving slowly toward that one day, circled in yellow. You get through each day, and then the day after that.

Finally you reach the end, but it turns out it's not the end - "a few more sessions," says the doctor cheerfully, "just to be sure." So you wearily draw another circle and struggle on, crossing still more days off the calendar. But on that one day, when you're finally, finally done, you don't leave quite yet.

The tradition of ringing the bell began with an admiral, Irve Le Moyne, who was going through treatment for cancer. There's a tradition in the navy of ringing the ship's bell when a hard task or a journey is completed, and on his last day of treatment he brought a ship's bell and rang it. He donated the bell to the clinic for others to do the same.

The practice caught on, and now many clinics also have bells hanging on the wall.

Finally my day came. My last day. I sat through one last treatment, the hours ticking by, slower than ever. Then I stepped up to the bell. The nurses came out to watch, beaming, and I took hold of the rope and pulled it hard, and the bell rang out, clear and triumphant, ringing it over and over, and they all applauded and hugged me. I smiled even as I wept, my eyes welling with tears of relief and gratitude. I'd finished the job, and now it's time to find who I am and step into my future.

I don't know what's ahead, of course. With cancer, nothing is certain - we of all people know that more than most - but as I listened to that sweet sound, I felt a surge of hope. I'm ready to move on.

We all have hard trials to get through. When we're young, we're struggling to get through school or find a job. Giving birth, raising children, learning new skills - we've all dealt with triumph and loss again and again. And as we age, we begin to face new tests as we lose loved ones and cope with our fading strength and aging bodies. What challenges are you facing right now in your life these days?

Maybe we need to take more time to honor each small victory, the times we persevere and stay optimistic. And maybe it's not too late to step forward to take on new challenges, to keep that thrill of accomplishment in our lives.

I have an old bell on a bookshelf. I think I'll take it out and put it where I can see it. I may yet be back in that cancer ward, but either way, I think I'll start setting some new goals. To stay positive. To make that hard phone call. To get through the next hard challenge. And perhaps I'll pick it up once in a while and heft in my hand, and ring it, telling the world I'm still here and doing what I can.

So, dear friend, whatever heavy load you're carrying these days, don't give up. Keep trying. Take it slow and steady and do your best. And whether you succeed or fail, be kind to yourself. We try, sometimes we fail - and the trial is a triumph as well, I think.

What comes next, over that hill - who can say? But I can still hear that bell, ringing clear and true, and I hope and pray there are more of those victories, great and small, ahead for us all.