September 29th came and went without any fanfare (like a tree falling in the forest with no one to hear it) though I rang that bell anyway.

I didn’t plan anything. Why bother? They didn’t have a bell for me when I finished the hardcore stuff–remember the No-Bell Prize? My No-Bell Prize

I couldn’t even have hallucinated a bell, though I planned what I’d wear, what song I’d dance to, the speech I’d give to my adoring fans. I had it all figured out, and there was nothing.

So why would a year of me taking the antibody-drug end any differently? I’d been going to my chemo chair every three weeks since it all began last breast cancer awareness month on October 7th, but Alex had long since stopped coming. Most of my friends didn’t even know I was still trudging through treatment.

It’s not like I needed to make a chemo photo board for the easy stuff. I don’t think I even took those infusions seriously–if I didn’t lose my hair over it, did it count?

My disappointment at not having a bell to ring the first time compounded when I learned a bell exists after all. I figured I could buy a bell to donate, but the nurse suspiciously wrote back that it wouldn’t be necessary–they had a bell!

I’m not sure how that bell bypassed me. But I wanted to do something to honor the staff, doctors, and nurses nevertheless. I just gave up on the idea of celebringing. Haven’t we celebrated enough anyway? And I sure did milk this breast cancer thing enough.

So I didn’t buy my chemo graduation t-shirt or a funny hat to wear, and I didn’t sew bells all over my gold pants and jingle merrily down the halls. I was tired and couldn’t even make brownies or bring in lunch. So Insomnia cookies were more like it. That would have to suffice.

I forgot to tell the nurses it was my last day. It was that uneventful. And there I sat in my chemo chair for the last time, trying to take it all in, imagining all the hours I’d spent in those curtained-off rooms where you could hear everything going on around you if you had the state of mind to do so.

And I heard the nurses saying, “She’s the one who brought the cookies, and she even wrote a really sweet thank you card. You’ve got to go read it.”

And then one of the nurses burst in and said, “I didn’t know it was your last day. You didn’t say anything. I had no idea. You want to ring that bell?”

And I snapped out of my stupor and said, “Of course I do. I waited a year for this day to get here.”

The patient in the “booth” next to mine got excited, too, and got in on the celebration. “You’ve got to ring that bell.”

And the nurse left excitedly to make plans for me to have the send-off I’d been dreaming about for an entire year come true. As one of the nurses said, “People are going through such dark times here; we need every chance we can get to celebrate.” And here I had almost been too tired to remember.

So the alarms on my machine went off. All those beeps have different meanings, but now I speak their language. This one meant, “Come and flush those tubes. She’s almost ready to ring that bell!”

The nurse came in and said, “We got to get the last bit.”

And I said, “Good to the last drip!” (You know, like the coffee commercial!)

And my machine beeped its final goodbye. I videotaped the nurse as she smiled and said, “You’re done.” She unhooked me, and just like that, I was free. But one more thing, she beckoned me to come with her.

I followed her down the hall. Two of the nurses told me to wait for them there and went back to retrieve the mysterious bell. A man in scrubs was about to leave, but he found out I was waiting for the bell, and he joined me and a few of the other nurses who were able to gather around, too.

When they came back, they took my phone and videotaped me as I finally got the chance to ring that bell. (If you want to see how it went, you’ll have to wait until the final reveal to see the video for yourself.)

And then they told me to go home and celebrate, but first, screw Covid, I hugged them all.

I was walking in euphoria as I left. And then I turned back to my buddies at the front desk. I told them it was my last day, and I finally got to ring the bell. And with tears in my eyes, I laughed and said, “No need to get too dramatic. I’ll be back in January and then every six months after that.”

But I know those visits will never be the same. That’s when I’ll go back to planning life as I know it and expect it to be.

September 29th came and went, and I didn’t plan a thing. But I didn’t have to. You know how the song goes, “You can ring my bell. Ring my bell.”